#Seasonal produce shopping

[heal-well-blog]

Learn how to enjoy nutritious meals on a budget with these affordable healthy eating tips. Save money while maintaining a balanced diet for better health.

[iicarussea]

hello i am here for the hamlet. 1. do uou have a tag for that 2. is pix the guy who never leaves his house?

this just reminded me i havent thought abt the au in a while but yeah !! the tag is #emperor's hamlet au

and pix actually runs an antiques shop! he travels around and looks for old stuff to fix and resells it. technically he's the reason xornoth happens in the au, but its fwhip and sausage's fault that hes out in the first place (basically scott donated a bunch of stuff he had in storage to pix, then pix sold it to fwhip not knowing what it was)

scott is actually the guy who never leaves his house, since his brother went missing he didnt really go out much, so gem checks on him and brings him groceries n stuff bc theyre pretty close neighbors & friends

(sorry if none of this made sense this au is purely thoughts that float around in my head sometimes)

[oflgtfol]

watching art videos and recognizing michaels products counts as a mental illness i think

[canwriteitbetterthanueverfeltit]

"this userbase is aging" good

[jones-erode]

Jones, a leading clothing manufacturer, crafts premium innerwear, t-shirts, shirts, and leisurewear for men, women, and kids with unmatched quality and style. for more details: jonesindia.in/

[applepixls]

Anyone else thinking about how odd the hermitcraft economy is?

in season 9 they had a minor economic recession after the diamond ore war because there were far too many diamonds in circulation making them (hypothetically) worth less than normal and ren stepped in as the king and did what has been done in the midst of a lot of irl economic depressions; he created a government so they could employ the policy of Keynesian economics (basically more gov't intervention to stabilize the economy, it mostly worked in 1930's japan!), he took control of diamonds and even introduced a new currency, royal emeralds (much like Germany after WW1! they had some hyperinflation because of the war reparations they had to pay and the gov't not understanding that printing more money makes the money worth less resulting in the mark [currency] being so worthless they started burning it because they couldn't afford wood for fires. a new gov't came into power and they replaced the mark with rentenmarks which did a lot of fixificating for the economy). Ren's gov't also introduced a lot of gov't funded projects like the quests (the irl equivalent for this would be Roosevelt's New Deal which introduced policies/projects called the Alphabet Agencies (among other things) such as the AAA, CCC, TVA (do you see why they're called the alphabet agencies?) that would adjust the value of grain so farmers could start earning money for produce again and create work that would support a growing economy, projects like building roads and bridges)

so basically, all the policies ren's government introduced were very logically sound and worked in real life to fix the economy (except that irl the Great Depression only fully ended because WW2 started-), the issue is that hermitcraft is not real life and hermits do not behave like real people, they behave like hermits.

lets start with the hermitcraft economy. unlike the real economy, hermits rarely adjust prices according to how many diamonds are "in circulation". i say this despite the fact grian in a recent-ish episode says that "everything costs more this season because diamonds are more common". that can't be true because the caves and cliffs update literally made diamonds more difficult to acquire. I will circle back to this point made by grian later

hermits not adjusting prices by server-wide abundance of diamonds (because they cant really know how much anyone has, much less the total amount of diamonds in circulation, they just know who has a lot and who is broke) means that more diamonds doesn't make them worth less like it did with German marks, it just means hermits have more expendable currency and can spend more money and less time gathering materials for projects. It is also notable that diamonds are constantly being added and taken out of circulation because they're an actual useful currency rather than real life currencies which are symbolic slips of paper. diamonds can be used for armour and tools and it can be acquired by mining. so because of how hermits spend money, taking diamonds out of the economy in s9 did nothing but make them poor and angry at the government. the hermitcraft economy is actually stronger with more diamonds in circulation and is worsened by gov't intervention.

so already the use of real life strategies is utterly useless in hermitcraft economy but there are a few other reasons as well

the hermits tendency to resist government as well as the flawed and greedy government itself are a couple but also the fact that all the hermits are self employed (in real life but also in universe). they own and stock their own shops meaning all profits are more or less direct; its not passed through hands of big corporations so the person producing the product gets mere cents. the hermits are essentially small business owners (which becomes a bit of a problem come season 10 but we're still talking about season 9). The important part is the self employment. the season 9 gov't introduces the quests which mimic and echo real life government funded projects but because they're all employed and the quests gave small amounts of diamonds back, they did very little for the hermits

I'm sure theres more to say but i think its time to move on to the very interesting season 10 economy

if you've missed it you must be living under a rock but hermits are all using permits this season meaning only one shop in the shopping district is selling any given item/material and as a result of this prices have gone sky high. at one point a single stack of mangrove logs cost 7 diamonds when in previous seasons you could get at least 1 stack of wood for 1 diamond if not more

So what is causing this economic depression and hyperinflation?

well, circling back to the point grian made about resources costing more because of abundance of diamonds, I would think it actually costs more because of the permits.

grian thinks the diamond prices are fair because he has middle of the road permits (and is one of the hermits who designed their shopping district, permit and economic system this season so he's biased), there is enough demand to keep him afloat when he's stocked but its nothing people are clamouring for and buying him out. on the other hand, joel made a lot of shops that no one shops at because his objectively weighted permits have not been selling as well as they anticipated when making the permits (also some people like etho and pearl have additional income from their not as fabulous permits because they've made a pay to play game to go with it) and finally there are hermits like mumbo whose gold, iron and item frame shops were constantly getting bought out so he was frustrated with trying to restock despite getting lots of profit

(another interesting dynamic to think about is permits like cleo's book permit which lost value as the season went on because everyone needed books early on but now that they're all playing late game Minecraft, everyone is pretty stocked up and buying from cleo less often)

Basically, grian is satisfied with the pricing because he's middle class and couldn't afford it if they were more expensive but appreciates not being constantly out of stock, joel is unsatisfied because he is lower class and never has enough expendable currency to fund his projects because materials are too expensive and his permits aren't worth enough to sell them for more, and mumbo is unsatisfied because he is higher class and is constantly out of stock because his materials sell out too often and he wants to sell them for more to stay in stock more (classic supply and demand, he doesn't want to stock them as often making the supply lower and the demand proportionally higher making them worth more and therefore more expensive)

the reason i say the permits are to blame for the high prices is because they cause the responsibility of constantly stocking something to fall on one person (in past seasons, if one persons sandstone shop was out of stock you could go check someone else's sandstone shop). the threat of taking the permit away if they arent stocked along with the difficulty of constantly stocking some of these materials raises the cost.

a great example of this is skizzleman because his mangrove and cherry wood shop was one of the first shops to be built in the shopping district, meaning he somewhat set the prices this season. now, mangrove and cherry are both difficult trees to harvest because of their unconventional shapes and the fact that they are more recent additions (and skizz's stubborn desire to design his own farms...) so because of the time required to gather them the prices already were hitched up. add that to the fact that they are trying to constantly be in stock and therefore low prices that allow hermits to completely buy out the shops are unfavourable, and you get sky rocket-ing prices. (it is also difficult because skizz had no prior experience with hermitcraft pricing)

in conclusion... hermitcraft needs a laissez-faire economy (f. a. hayek) to function and not go into economic depression. Between the nature of the diamond currency, hermits' tendency to rebel against governments, the way they use the concept of supply and demand to price their goods, and the restrictions permits put on supplying products, hermits have proven that extensive structure and government intervention have not improved economic wellbeing the way that it does in real life

thus, hermits do not behave like regular humans, they operate on fae laws of its funny so lets do it and therefore must be governed as such (aka not governed), thank you for coming to my ted talk

[these-are-the-first-steps]

Hey guys, I legit think you should all do a letter writing campaign and give netflix hell for this because it reeks of unsubstantiated tax write-off similar to what the WB has done recently and which has also earned them government officials riding their asses for fraud etc. Give Netflix hell, and also, as a tip from a Farscape fan, write to other networks you think would be a good home for Shadow and Bone and tell them you want to see them buy it and make more!!!!

I am dead serious, that is a real thing you can do and that has happened successfully in the past.

But it all depends on YOU, the FAN BASE! Organize on twitter and reddit and tumblr, and then tell the show's talent and writers and producers what you're doing so they can use the fan leverage to their advantage to try and save the show.

It's not impossible! And on a personal note I would strongly recommend HBO as a top contender to buy Shadow & Bone as they are not part of the AMPTP and work on different, separately negotiated contracts for scripted shows for the most part, and are therefore less likely to be tax-evasiony right now I think.

This is actually the most devastating news ever

[reasonsforhope]

"In some cities, as many as one in four office spaces are vacant. Some start-ups are giving them a second life – as indoor farms growing crops as varied as kale, cucumber and herbs.

Since its 1967 construction, Canada's "Calgary Tower", a 190m (623ft) concrete-and-steel observation tower in Calgary, Alberta, has been home to an observation deck, panoramic restaurants and souvenir shops. Last year, it welcomed a different kind of business: a fully functioning indoor farm.

Sprawling across 6,000sq m (65,000 sq ft), the farm, which produces dozens of crops including strawberries, kale and cucumber, is a striking example of the search for city-grown food. But it's hardly alone. From Japan to Singapore to Dubai, vertical indoor farms – where crops can be grown in climate-controlled environments with hydroponics, aquaponics or aeroponics techniques – have been popping up around the world.

While indoor farming had been on the rise for years, a watershed moment came during the Covid-19 pandemic, when disruptions to the food supply chain underscored the need for local solutions. In 2021, $6bn (£4.8bn) in vertical farming deals were registered globally – the peak year for vertical farming investment. As the global economy entered its post-pandemic phase, some high-profile startups like Fifth Season went out of business, and others including Planted Detroit and AeroFarms running into a period of financial difficulty. Some commentators questioned whether a "vertical farming bubble" had popped.

But a new, post-pandemic trend may give the sector a boost. In countries including Canada and Australia, landlords are struggling to fill vacant office spaces as companies embrace remote and hybrid work. In the US, the office vacancy rate is more than 20%.

"Vertical farms may prove to be a cost-effective way to fill in vacant office buildings," says Warren Seay, Jr, a real estate finance partner in the Washington DC offices of US law firm ArentFox Schiff, who authored an article on urban farm reconversions. 

There are other reasons for the interest in urban farms, too. Though supply chains have largely recovered post-Covid-19, other global shocks, including climate change, geopolitical turmoil and farmers' strikes, mean that they continue to be vulnerable – driving more cities to look for local food production options...

Thanks to artificial light and controlled temperatures, offices are proving surprisingly good environments for indoor agriculture, spurring some companies to convert part of their facilities into small farms. Since 2022, Australia's start-up Greenspace has worked with clients like Deloitte and Commonwealth Bank to turn "dead zones", like the space between lifts and meeting rooms, into 2m (6ft) tall hydroponic cabinets growing leafy greens.

On top of being adaptable to indoor farm operations, vacant office buildings offer the advantage of proximity to final consumers.

In a former paper storage warehouse in Arlington, about a mile outside of Washington DC, Jacqueline Potter and the team at Area 2 Farms are growing over 180 organic varieties of lettuce, greens, root vegetables, herbs and micro-greens. By serving consumers 10 miles away or less, the company has driven down transport costs and associated greenhouse emissions.

This also frees the team up to grow other types of food that can be hard to find elsewhere – such as edible flower species like buzz buttons and nasturtium. "Most crops are now selected to be grown because of their ability to withstand a 1,500-mile journey," Potter says, referring to the average distance covered by crops in the US before reaching customers. "In our farm, we can select crops for other properties like their nutritional value or taste."

Overall, vertical farms have the potential to outperform regular farms on several environmental sustainability metrics like water usage, says Evan Fraser, professor of geography at the University of Guelph in Ontario, Canada and the director of the Arell Food Institute, a research centre on sustainable food production. Most indoor farms report using a tiny fraction of the water that outdoor farms use. Indoor farms also report greater output per square mile than regular farms.

Energy use, however, is the "Achilles heel" of this sector, says Fraser: vertical farms need a lot of electricity to run lighting and ventilation systems, smart sensors and automated harvesting technologies. But if energy is sourced from renewable sources, they can outperform regular farms on this metric too, he says. 

Because of variations in operational setup, it is hard to make a general assessment of the environmental, social and economic sustainability of indoor farms, says Jiangxiao Qiu, a landscape ecologist at the University of Florida and author of a study on urban agriculture's role in sustainability. Still, he agrees with Fraser: in general, urban indoor farms have higher crop yield per square foot, greater water and nutrient-use efficiency, better resistance to pests and shorter distance to market. Downsides include high energy use due to lighting, ventilation and air conditioning.

They face other challenges, too. As Seay notes, zoning laws often do not allow for agricultural activity within urban areas (although some cities like Arlington, Virginia, and Cincinnati, Ohio, have recently updated zoning to allow indoor farms). And, for now, indoor farms have limited crop range. It is hard to produce staple crops like wheat, corn or rice indoors, says Fraser. Aside from leafy greens, most indoor facilities cannot yet produce other types of crops at scale.

But as long as the post-pandemic trends of remote work and corporate downsizing will last, indoor farms may keep popping up in cities around the world, Seay says. 

"One thing cities dislike more than anything is unused spaces that don't drive economic growth," he says. "If indoor farm conversions in cities like Arlington prove successful, others may follow suit.""

-via BBC, January 27, 2025

[mr-jurnal]

How to Save Money on Groceries: 10 Tips That Will Help You Save Money on Your Weekly Grocery Bill. In a world where expenses seem to constantly rise, finding ways to save money becomes essential. One area where we can significantly cut down on costs is our weekly grocery bill. By adopting smart grocery shopping habits, you can enjoy delicious meals while also putting some extra dollars back into your wallet. In this article, we'll explore ten emotional and practical tips to help you save money on groceries without compromising on taste or quality.

[fangdokja]

This Valentine’s, your heart might be the last thing you give away.

❤︎ Synopsis. This Valentine’s, four enemies are about to learn that love isn’t sweet—it’s twisted, obsessive, and definitely not the happily-ever-after they were hoping for. Between roses, revenge, and unexpected affection, survival may just be the most romantic thing you’ll experience.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Various x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella: Valentine's Special. Red Roses, Black Hearts - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 10,318

Valentine’s Day.

The dreaded season of saccharine, mass-produced romance, where the air reeks of cheap perfume and artificial chocolate, where every single person you know—whether it be classmates, coworkers, or that one annoying neighbor who plays obnoxious love songs at full volume—suddenly acts like they’ve ascended to a higher plane of existence because they have the privilege of holding clammy hands with another human being.

It is disgusting.

And you, well, you would rather gargle bleach than partake in this glorified corporate scam of a holiday.

It’s not like you’re bitter about being single—no, that would imply you even wanted to date in the first place. Your aversion to real-life romance isn’t a quirky personality trait or some cute little eccentricity. It is a deeply ingrained, visceral disgust, an allergic reaction that sends metaphorical hives across your soul whenever someone suggests that you, you, might want to experience “love.”

No. You don’t want it. You don’t need it. And you sure as hell don’t need a day dedicated to parading around in pink and red like some kind of overgrown toddler hopped up on love hormones and mass-market capitalism.

Of course, none of this means you aren’t completely obsessed with romance in fiction. But not just any romance. No, your tastes are far more refined—sophisticated, even.

You don’t waste your time with vanilla, run-of-the-mill love stories about two people meeting in a coffee shop and awkwardly flirting over lattes. No, you prefer your romance with a side of psychological horror, a dash of violent obsession, and an unhealthy dose of possessiveness.

That’s right. You read—and write—male yandere content.

Fictional love? Amazing. Real-life love? Revolting.

There is a fine line between passion and psychopathy, and you would rather be dragged to the depths of hell by an obsessive, controlling, morally bankrupt fictional man than even consider the prospect of holding hands with a real person.

You’ve built an empire of anonymity, a carefully curated online persona where you unleash your deepest, darkest, most unhinged thoughts onto unsuspecting readers. Nobody knows your secret, and nobody ever will. By day, you are the quiet, aloof, slightly unsettling individual that people cautiously respect but never truly understand. By night, you are a prolific creator of stories so deranged that even the most experienced horror fans would hesitate before clicking on your masterlist.

It is a beautiful life. A perfect life.

Except for the fact that, no matter how hard you try, you cannot escape the insufferable assault of Valentine’s Day.

The pink. The flowers. The terrible, terrible poetry plastered across every store window. The couples who think they’re being subtle with their PDA but are actually one step away from engaging in unspeakable acts right in the middle of the sidewalk.

It makes you want to die. Or kill. Either works.

Even your professors, the very people who should be upholding the sanctity of academia, have succumbed to the plague. There is an entire essay prompt dedicated to writing about the meaning of love, and you can already feel the bile rising in your throat at the thought of having to regurgitate some sappy nonsense about “soulmates” and “eternal devotion.”

You stare at the prompt. The prompt stares back at you. A staring contest between two soulless voids.

You could write about how love is a chemical reaction, nothing more than a biological impulse designed to ensure the continuation of the species.

You could write about how love is an illusion, a social construct perpetuated by media to manipulate lonely people into believing they need another person to feel whole.

Or… you could write about him.

The perfect man. The kind of man who would rip out his own heart and place it at your feet as an offering. The kind of man who would kill for you. Die for you. Stalk you from the shadows, leaving behind cryptic, bloodstained notes that would send shivers down the spine of anyone who wasn’t completely deranged (which, unfortunately for your mental stability, you absolutely are).

The kind of man who only exists in the realms of fiction, where love is not soft, nor gentle, nor kind, but something dark, twisted, and entirely consuming.

You smile.

Your professor is going to need therapy after reading your paper.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Tonight, you have a yandere fic to update.

────────────

You live in the comfort of your room, tucked away from the world, basking in the glow of your screen. The outside is a horror show, a grotesque landscape of expectations and human interaction that you’d rather not partake in. You could stay locked up forever, hunched over your laptop, writing the most depraved, spine-chilling, erotically twisted stories known to mankind—and you would���if not for her.

Her.

The bane of your existence. The one force of nature capable of tearing you away from your self-imposed isolation.

Your best friend.

You’re not entirely sure how it happened. You’re certain she just decided one day that you were her responsibility, like a stray kitten she picked up off the street and forced into domestication. You didn’t agree to this. You didn’t want this. And yet, here she is, constantly invading your space, forcing you to experience social interaction against your will.

And the worst part? She’s a pervert.

Not just any pervert. An extreme pervert. A monstrous, unholy abomination of a pervert.

You, despite writing the most detailed, graphic, heart-stoppingly intense smut known to man, feel absolutely nothing. Your readers foam at the mouth over your work, leaving you comments that range from awe to pure degeneracy. Meanwhile, you sit there, dead inside, typing out the filthiest, most depraved acts with the same level of emotion one might have while compiling tax documents.

But her? Oh, she eats it up. Devours it. Worships it.

She texts you at ungodly hours with things like:

“BRO. BRO. THIS SCENE?? THIS SCENE??? I’M GOING TO PASS OUT.”

Or

“You’re lying to me. There is NO WAY you’re a virgin. NO WAY. YOU HAVE TO HAVE DONE THIS BEFORE.”

And your personal favorite:

“HOW ARE YOU NOT HORNY RIGHT NOW. EXPLAIN.”

It’s exhausting.

She has no shame. She’ll read your work aloud while you’re trapped in a car with her, watching your soul leave your body as she dramatizes every sinful act with the enthusiasm of a Broadway actor. She’ll corner you and demand explanations for why a character moaned a certain way, as if you have an answer other than, “I don’t know, it just sounded right.”

Your dignity is in shambles.

And what’s worse? She can make anything sound perverted. Anything.

You could be eating a slice of pizza, minding your own business, and she’ll somehow turn it into an innuendo. You could be talking about the weather, and she’ll find a way to make it sexual. The sky is looking a little gray today? “Yeah, just like the color of my soul after that last chapter you wrote. That ruined me. That made me feral. I’m in shambles. You’re a monster.”

You sigh deeply. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve sighed today.

You’re sitting at your desk, typing away, trying to ignore the looming presence behind you. She’s reading over your shoulder again, eyes scanning the screen at an inhuman speed. You can feel her judgment. It’s suffocating.

Then she lets out a dramatic gasp.

“Oh. My. Damn.”

“No,” you say, preemptively shutting her down.

“You did not just write that.”

“I did.”

“That’s illegal.”

“It is not.”

“That should be illegal.”

“You’re overreacting.”

She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. “HOW ARE YOU NOT SCREAMING WHILE WRITING THIS???”

You blink at her, unamused. “Why would I scream?”

“Because this is HOT. I’m sweating. I’m disoriented. I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down.”

She grips your arm. “You’re a menace to society.”

You turn back to your screen, continuing to type as if she isn’t having a crisis right next to you. You’re used to this. It happens every time. You don’t know why she keeps acting like this is new information.

She groans, falling back onto your bed dramatically, arm draped over her forehead. “I don’t understand you. You have the power of God and degeneracy in your hands, and yet you feel NOTHING.”

“I’m here for the horror,” you remind her, voice monotone. “The thrill. The psychological torment.”

She sits up. “And the sex.”

You scowl. “I don’t care about the sex.”

“You write it really well for someone who doesn’t care.”

You shrug. It’s true. You do write it well. It’s not your fault that you have a gift. If anything, it’s a burden.

She narrows her eyes at you. “So you’ve never felt even a little bit—?”

“No.”

“Not once?”

“No.”

She exhales, long and suffering. “You’re broken.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“I have to be. You need a keeper.”

You roll your eyes. “I need to be left alone.”

“NEVER.”

She launches at you, wrapping her arms around you in a suffocating bear hug. You try to pry her off, but she’s strong—unreasonably strong. She’s always been like this. The kind of woman who could probably snap a grown man in half but still giggles at cute animals. The type to offer sage, older-sister advice to people in need, only to turn around and read the most degenerate smut imaginable.

You give up, slumping in her grasp. You’re used to this, too.

She rests her chin on your head. “So, when’s the next chapter coming out?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble into her arm. “Whenever.”

She gasps. “That’s not good enough.”

“That’s all you’re getting.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

You pause. Your eye twitches. “You say that, but it feels more like you’re holding me hostage.”

“Same thing.”

You sigh again. The longest, most suffering sigh known to mankind.

There is no escape.

────────────

The moment you agreed, she clasped her hands together like a demon about to perform a blood ritual.

"I knew you’d come around, my little goblin," she cooed, grinning like the Cheshire Cat on steroids.

You stared at her, deadpan. "I want you to know that I have never hated myself more than in this moment."

She ruffled your hair like you were a golden retriever puppy who just learned how to sit. "And yet, you agreed. Love that for you. Love that for me. Love that for us."

You wanted to die. She could probably arrange that, but she was having too much fun watching you suffer.

———

This all started three days ago, when you were sick at home, curled up in bed with a fever, blissfully unaware that your best friend was about to declare war on your social ineptitude.

Somehow, against all logic and reason, you had a friend group. Well, they were more like her friends, and by extension, you were just there. If they were a pack of wolves, you were the black cat perched in the distance, watching, unblinking, knowing full well you were above the food chain nonsense.

That was until some idiot decided to open his mouth.

"Dude, why does she never go out? What, is she scared of people? I bet she’s never even been on a date."

Your best friend paused mid-drink, setting her bottle down with a slow, deliberate motion that sent warning signals to every single person at the table.

"The fuck did you just say?"

The guy shrugged, completely oblivious to the incoming hurricane. "I mean, no offense, but she just gives that, y’know, scary, reclusive serial killer vibe."

Silence.

Then, your best friend let out a laugh, one of those fake, manic laughs that made her seem like she was about to flip the entire table over. She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with something deeply, deeply unholy.

"Oh, bet? You think my best friend—my personal goblin—is just some socially inept cryptid? You think she can’t get a date?"

The guy snorted. "I mean—"

"No, no, no, shut up. Shut the fuck up. You just declared war, asshole." She slammed her fist onto the table. "I will have her slaying at prom, and when she does, you’re gonna take your L like a little bitch."

"Dude, chill—"

"No, no, no, fuck you. I’m gonna make her so hot that when she walks into prom, everyone’s gonna be like ‘who’s that mysterious goddess’ and you’re gonna sit there in your crusty ass suit looking like an extra in a high school romcom."

The whole table was silent. She downed the rest of her drink like a shot, wiped her mouth, and pointed directly at the poor bastard.

"Watch me."

———

"No."

"Oh, come on, it won’t be that bad."

"No."

"Just a little blind date."

"No."

"Okay, what if it’s not a date? Just an interaction. A social experiment. Like putting a chimp in front of a mirror to see if it recognizes itself."

You stared at her, unimpressed. She beamed.

"No."

"You wound me," she sighed dramatically, flopping onto your bed as if her soul had been shattered by your sheer refusal to entertain her bullshit. "Do you not want to broaden your horizons? Experience life? Have someone fall madly in love with you and offer you their fortune?"

You turned your head ever so slightly to glare at her. She grinned.

"No."

"Babe. Babe." She sat up, crisscross applesauce. "I need you to at least leave your house before I have to start smuggling you vitamin D supplements like a shady drug dealer."

"I get vitamin D from my phone."

She looked personally insulted. "That is the saddest shit I’ve ever heard."

"Then leave me alone."

She gasped, clutching her chest. "Betrayal. Backstabbed. Left for dead. I hope you know this is going to be war."

———

And war it was.

The next day, she was outside your house. 7 AM. Dressed like a fucking FBI agent. Sunglasses. Black suit. Earpiece.

"Ma’am, step outside the vehicle."

You shut the window.

The next day, she showed up at your job. (You didn’t even tell her where you worked. She just knew.)

"Hey, babe," she greeted, all smiles and sunshine. "What time do you get off? There’s someone I want you to meet."

You turned and walked the other way.

The next day, you were grocery shopping. She cornered you in the cereal aisle.

"Surprise bitch, bet you thought you’d seen the last of me."

You gripped your basket tighter.

"You will go on this date."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "What if they’re rich?"

You hesitated.

Her grin turned victorious. "I knew it, you little capitalist gremlin."

"I will set this entire aisle on fire."

"And that’s why I love you, babe. Now, let’s talk outfits."

────────────

You stare at the massive stack of papers in front of you like it's a corpse that just plopped onto the dinner table. A thick pile of documents, neatly arranged (a feat you did not think possible for her), bound together with an actual fucking paperclip.

"Alright, bitch," your best friend announces, slamming her hands down on the table with enough force to rattle your soul, "we're finding you a man."

You want to die.

"I really don't think—"

"Shut up."

"But—"

"Shut. Up." She slides the first page in front of you with the precision of an executioner. "Now, look at these premium selections. Hand-picked by yours truly."

You glance at the first paper. It lists a name, age, occupation, social status, and what appears to be a 'Yandere Rating' out of ten. Your soul attempts to astral project.

"Why does this have a yandere rating."

"Because you love that toxic, possessive, I-would-murder-for-you shit, don't act like you don't. I read your stories, bitch."

You close your eyes. "I never should've told you about that."

"You didn’t. I found out."

"Even worse."

She ignores you, shuffling the papers with the excitement of a game show host. "Okay, let’s see. This one—absolute beast. Ultra-rich, emotionally stunted, crazy in the head but hot. Probably gonna pin you against a wall and tell you he can't live without you within the first three dates. Very murder-y. A solid 9.5/10 yandere rating. Thoughts?"

You blink. "That sounds terrible."

She cackles. "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Bitch, I will expose your AO3."

Your face remains neutral, but internally, you’re already calculating how quickly you can erase your existence from the internet.

She slaps another paper onto the table. "Okay, next up—he's got a crime record."

"Absolutely not."

"Listen, listen, it's not murder, okay? It’s just minor felonies. Some fraud, a little blackmail, typical rich people crime—he’s clean otherwise."

"I literally don't even want to date."

"Yes, and yet here we are." She flips through the stack before pausing, then, without hesitation, crumples an entire sheet of paper and tosses it into the trash. "Nope. This one's ugly."

You exhale slowly. "You’re judging a criminal less harshly than an ugly man."

"Priorities." She shrugs, as if this is the most obvious fact in the world. "If they're gonna be toxic, they have to be fine as hell. Otherwise, what’s the point?"

"I don’t think that’s how—"

"Ohhh, this one!" She practically vibrates as she holds up another paper. "Listen. He’s possessive, dominant, completely depraved, but he’s got the money to spoil you rotten, and he’s super hot. A high-quality psycho."

You press your fingers to your temple. "This is literally a human trafficking scenario."

"But he’s rich."

"So is Jeff Bezos."

"Exactly."

You stare at her. "Do you even hear yourself."

She leans forward, her grin sharp. "Yes. And I stand by it."

You take a slow, deep breath, contemplating your life choices, then glance at the remaining stack. "Are all of these just different variations of ‘hot psychopath’?"

"No. Some are just regular psychopaths."

You stare at her. "...How did you even get these?"

"Connections."

"What connections?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"No."

"Good. Now, next on the list—" She pauses, frowns, and immediately chucks another paper into the trash. "Nope, too soft. You’d step on him, and he’d say ‘thank you.’"

"Just kill me."

"We need balance!" she insists, gesturing wildly. "You’re emotionally dead inside, so we need someone who can handle that without crumbling into dust. If we throw in another doormat, it’s gonna be pathetic. What you need is someone who can keep up with your depressing ass and also fuck you stupid."

You violently choke on air.

"You’re deranged," you rasp out.

She merely grins. "And yet, you’re still here listening to me."

"Because I literally have no choice."

She slaps a new document in front of you. "Alright, final one for now. Listen to this. Business empire, genius, emotionally bankrupt but functional, probably into some nasty shit but looks good in a suit."

You eye the paper. "This sounds like a corporate mafia drama waiting to happen."

"Exactly. And we both know you’d eat that shit up."

You don’t answer. She doesn’t need you to. The smirk on her face tells you she already knows she’s won.

She leans back in her chair, utterly self-satisfied. "So. Who’s it gonna be?"

You stare at the remaining stack, then at your best friend, then at the way your soul is currently floating ten feet above your body.

"You know what," you mutter, defeated. "Just pick for me."

Her grin is positively diabolical. "Oh, bitch, you’re gonna regret that."

You already do.

────────────

You sit slumped over in your chair, staring blankly at the absurdly thick stack of documents your best friend just dumped on the table like she was presenting the results of a scientific breakthrough. You have suffered long and hard for this moment. And by suffered, you mean you had to endure watching her go through an entire lineup of would-be suitors like some kind of overenthusiastic auctioneer while you stared into the abyss, hoping it would finally stare back and drag you into eternal peace.

But here you are, still breathing, against your will.

“Alright, after an excruciatingly thorough vetting process, four candidates have survived. I know, tragic.” Your best friend sighs dramatically, as if the whole ordeal was emotionally devastating for her. It wasn’t. She’s enjoying this. You know she is.

She pushes the first file toward you, tapping it twice. “Now, before you say anything, I already know what’s on your mind—‘But aren’t they all just cliche tropes ripped straight out of a questionable romance novel?’”

“That is not what I was going to say,” you respond, monotone.

“You were thinking it,” she accuses. “And okay, fine, I admit it—yes, they’re cliché as hell, but trust me, darling, these are the closest to your… preferences. Or at least the closest you’ll get.” She leans forward, a glint in her eyes that spells danger. “Trust me. I can tell.”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “I don’t have preferences.” She ignores your comment.

"Alright, bitch. Four finalists. Four potential future providers of dick and distress." She claps her hands together with a grin so smug it should be illegal. "I know you don't give a single fuck, but I need you to understand that these are the best options available to your pathetic, unromantic ass."

You stare at her. "I hate you."

"Love you too, dumbass. Anyway." She dramatically flips a folder open. "Before you start bitching, let me clarify something. These guys? Technically, not yanderes."

You blink. "Then why am I here."

"Because they're the closest match to your degenerate tastes. Trust me, I can tell."

You press a hand to your forehead, contemplating if slamming your skull into the table would grant you the sweet release of unconsciousness.

Then you let out a long, slow sigh, resigning yourself to the inevitable. "Just do it."

She smirked. "You always make it sound like I'm about to execute you. But fine. Let’s start with the first one."

———

She yanked the first folder open and dramatically shoved the profile in front of your face. The rich prince, the untouchable student council president, the golden boy.

You glance at the file. His extracurriculars are a cursed list of everything you despise: fencing, business management, charity events, and what you dread most, hosting school galas.

“This motherfucker. Top of the hierarchy, heir to a ridiculous empire, and so disgustingly charming he could probably get away with tax fraud in broad daylight. He’s a genius, annoyingly good-looking, and has an ego the size of the national debt. Basically, a walking privilege check.”

You just stared at her. “I hate him already.”

“I know, right? That’s why you’ll get along so well. He’s the type to flirt with you just to piss you off. Loves playing the fool, but make no mistake—he’s got a god complex that even Jesus would side-eye. He’s also obscenely rich, so if nothing else, you can mooch off him. Plus, imagine the sex."

You immediately regretted breathing. “I don’t want to imagine that.”

She gave you a pitying look. "It’s okay, I’ll imagine it for you. I’d say he’d be the type to pin you down with a cocky little smirk and make you beg just because he can. The kind of guy who teases you for hours just to see how long you last before you break." She tilted her head in deep thought. "Yeah, he’d be insufferable about it. But you like a challenge, so it works."

You were considering launching yourself out the window. “Next.”

“Fine, fine. Now, this one’s fun.” She slapped open the second folder.

———

"The delinquent. Your classic bad boy. Most famous troublemaker in school. Absolute bastard. Arguably a feral animal with human rights."

You glance over the profile. Multiple suspensions, record-breaking number of detentions, rumors of gang affiliations. The worst part? Top physical scores, zero effort in academics, still passing with minimal attendance.

You stared at the profile. “Why does it say ‘once bit a teacher’ under notable achievements?”

“Because he did.” She snickered. “This guy’s a walking crime waiting to happen. Fights just for the hell of it. If a fire breaks out at school, he was probably involved. I don’t think he even knows what rules are. But the man is sharp. He’s the kind of guy who will break someone’s nose and walk off whistling. Imagine the sheer lawlessness of your dynamic.”

"Why."

"Because he's a menace. A hot one. And if you're going to be dead inside, at least let someone else do the thrill-seeking for you. Plus, look at these notes on his dating history—nonexistent. He's a territorial little shit who probably wouldn't even let you look at other men without giving you a possessive death glare. He'd fight a guy for breathing the same air as you."

You rub your temples. "Isn’t that just primal jealousy?"

"Yes. And it’s hot. And just imagine the sex,” she cooed.

“No.”

“Listen, this is important. He’d be rough, no doubt. Fast, reckless, all adrenaline. Probably the type to take you in places that are very much not legal or appropriate. And he’d absolutely mock you about everything. If you blush, he’s got ammo for years. You’d hate him, but in a fun way."

You wanted to detach your soul from your body. “Moving on.”

———

She snorted and opened the third folder. “Alright, this one’s different. The intelligent doctor and artist. A rare combination of someone who can both kill and heal you.”

You stare at the profile. High-level intellect. Medical prodigy. Specializes in surrealist paintings. No known scandals. Speaks in a way that makes people question their mortality.

You peered at the profile. “He seems... disturbingly normal compared to the others.”

“Oh, no, he’s not,” she assured you. "He’s just the quiet kind of unsettling. Genius intellect, ridiculously composed, and there’s something really fucking off about how serene he is. The kind of guy who watches people like they’re puzzles he already solved. He’s patient, calculated, and definitely has secrets you do not want to find out.”

“Sounds exhausting,” you muttered.

She grinned. “But wouldn’t he be hot about it? You’d think you were safe, and then bam—suddenly you’re alone with him, and he’s looking at you like you’re a rare artifact. He’s the type to say the most poetic, devastating shit in bed. Imagine him whispering some existential nonsense in your ear while ruining you. Tell me that wouldn’t be the most intense experience of your life."

“I refuse to answer that.”

“Anyway, he’s refined, patient, and he has the aura of someone who would casually sketch you while you’re sleeping.” She sighs dreamily. “Also, I have a strong suspicion he has some absolutely filthy thoughts beneath all that cold intelligence. You know the type. The ones who look all deep and poetic but actually have the most deranged kinks.”

Your soul leaves your body. “I don’t need to know this.”

She pats your shoulder. “You do.”

“I really don’t.”

———

“Boring ass,” she muttered, flipping open the last folder. “And finally, the academic. Your intellectual equal. Top scholar, scientist in the making, will probably end up running some research institute and using it for shady experiments."

You glance at the file. He’s at the top of every academic competition. Scores are beyond perfect. Cold, logical, reclusive.

“He’s the most similar to you,” she says. “Which is either really good or really bad.”

“Bad.”

“Good.” She smirks. “Because that means you two could theoretically hold an entire conversation just arguing over who’s smarter.”

“A fellow miserable overachiever. Fantastic,” you deadpanned.

“See? That’s why you’d get along. He’s practical, logical, and absolutely ruthless when it comes to proving a point. He’d challenge you constantly, and you’d hate how much you respect it. I guarantee your conversations would either be deep philosophical debates or petty arguments over who’s right about something stupid. And the sex—oh, the sex.”

You dropped your face into your hands. "Please stop."

She ignored you. "With him, it would be clinical, controlled, and ridiculously efficient. He’d make sure every move is perfectly calculated. You’d think he’s cold, but it’s just because he’s too fucking logical. He’d be treating it like an experiment on your responses, and you’d be left questioning if he actually cared or was just collecting data. Kinda hot."

You slowly exhaled, staring into the abyss. “Why are you like this.”

She shrugs. "Because I care about your sex life. You’re welcome."

She then grinned, patting your shoulder. “Now, who’s your pick?"

“I’m picking death.”

“Death isn’t an option.”

“Neither is any of this.”

She gives you a sickeningly sweet smile. “Oh, bitch. You underestimate me.”

────────────

It starts with a sigh. It always does. A deep, long-suffering exhale that feels like it drains a year off your lifespan as you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

Your best friend? She’s laughing her ass off.

“Let me get this straight,” she wheezes between snorts, nearly doubling over from how hard she’s laughing. “All four of them—every single one—you managed to piss off all of them?”

“Yes,” you say flatly.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

She gasps, clutching her chest like you’ve personally stabbed her. “Not important?! The four most powerful, well-known, and untouchable guys in the entire school—wait, let me correct myself—the four most untouchable guys in the entire damn city hate your guts, and you didn’t think that was important?”

You blink. “Not really.”

She howls. Actually, physically howls. She slaps the table, wheezing between fits of laughter, practically sliding off her chair from how much she’s losing it. You just watch, unimpressed.

“Holy shit,” she finally gets out, wiping a tear from her eye. “Dude. You’re the worst.”

“I’m really not.”

“No, you are.” She takes a deep breath. “Alright, hold up. I need to hear this one by one. From the beginning. How the hell did you manage to make enemies with all of them?”

You roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t call them enemies.”

“You wouldn’t call them enemies,” she parrots. “Because you don’t have any social skills. Everyone else would.”

“I think they’re just being dramatic,” you deadpan.

“Uh-huh.” She leans forward, grinning like a wolf about to hear some premium entertainment. “Alright, out with it. How’d you piss off the prince first?”

You sigh. Again. You should start charging for this.

────────────

You weren’t one to talk to people. It wasn’t a matter of shyness, or even preference. You just didn’t see the point.

Words were tools, necessary for survival, but beyond that? Completely overrated. People wanted to chat, to laugh, to bond. They wanted connection. You wanted quiet. You wanted them to stop existing in your general vicinity. So you did what you did best: you stayed out of their way.

It worked.

Until it didn’t.

────────────

The day you made an enemy of the most powerful student in school, you were just trying to turn in a form.

It was a simple task. A direct, no-nonsense mission. Enter the student council office, dump the document on the desk, and leave. No engagement necessary. No unnecessary eye contact. You even timed it perfectly—right when the council president was known to be out, probably hosting another insufferable pep rally for an event nobody cared about.

Except he was there.

And he was lounging like a self-satisfied deity, feet kicked up on the desk, twirling a pen in one hand while flipping through paperwork with the other. The sight alone was annoying. The sheer audacity of a person to be so… obnoxiously present. Fluffy neat hair, bright eyes, a grin that looked like it had never known a moment of humility. He radiated untouchable, almost divine levels of confidence.

He looked up. And in that moment, you knew.

He recognized you.

“Ohhh,” he mused, dragging out the sound. “If it isn’t the human black hole.”

You paused. Blinked. “What.”

“You know,” he said, waving his hand vaguely, “you just kinda suck all the joy out of a room. Like a void. A really cold, dead void.”

You tilted your head. “...Are you trying to flirt with me?”

His grin widened. “Are you into that?”

“No.”

“Then yes.”

You stared. He smirked. The paper in your hands crinkled slightly as your grip tightened.

“I need to submit this,” you said, monotone, lifting the form like an offering to some insufferable god.

“I’m not taking that.”

You blinked again. “You’re the student council president.”

“Exactly! I delegate. That’s the secret to success, y’know?”

Your eye twitched. “Your name is literally on the submission instructions.”

“Well, yeah, because I like the attention.”

You inhaled slowly. Deeply. Somewhere in your head, you heard your best friend’s voice narrating your own life: And this was the moment she seriously considered homicide.

“Fine,” you said, dropping the paper onto his desk, “then I’ll just leave it here.”

He reached out lazily, grabbed it, and without breaking eye contact, slowly—painstakingly—shoved it off the desk.

The silence that followed was almost religious.

You stared at the fallen paper.

He stared at you.

“I’m not picking that up,” you said.

“Neither am I.”

Your fingers twitched. He smirked. The room temperature dropped several degrees. For a long, long moment, neither of you moved. It was a battle of sheer, unbreakable will.

“...You’re so mad right now,” he said, delight dripping from every word.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

You did. You really did.

The silence stretched. A battle of wills.

You were still standing there, staring at the paper on the floor, while he sat back with the self-satisfaction of a man who had never known loss.

“C’mon,” he drawled, chin propped on his palm. “I know you wanna pick it up.”

You said nothing. You just stared at him with the deadest, most soulless gaze known to mankind. He looked back, and you could see the amusement glowing behind his bright, insufferable eyes.

You exhaled through your nose.

Then, without hesitation—without a single wasted movement—you picked up his cup of hot chocolate and, with the precision of a surgeon, dumped it directly on his head.

A rich, dark cascade poured over his fluffy, previously immaculate hair, dripping down his forehead, staining his pristine uniform. It was perfect. It was artistic. It was poetic justice, crafted in under three seconds.

He froze.

The room went completely, utterly silent.

You, however, weren’t done.

Swiftly, efficiently, you pulled out your phone and snapped a photo. The flash illuminated the scene in sharp, unforgiving clarity.

Dripping hair. A stunned, slack-jawed expression. Hot chocolate soaking through the fabric of his blazer like a crime scene.

You took a second, longer look at the picture. Then, with an air of complete disinterest, you saved it directly into your drive backup.

His shock hadn’t even caught up to him yet. His brain was still buffering.

You calmly turned the screen toward him, showing him his own humiliation.

“If you mess with me again,” you said flatly, “this is going on the school forum.”

He blinked once. Twice. His expression twitched. And for the first time, you saw it—an actual, genuine crack in that unshakable confidence.

It lasted a fraction of a second.

Then, slowly—so, so slowly—his mouth curved into something new. Not the usual cocky grin. Not the smirk of someone who thought he had the entire world wrapped around his little finger.

No.

This was something else.

A slow, wicked, positively unholy grin.

Like a beast just realizing it found prey worth hunting.

“Ohhh,” he breathed, eyes gleaming with something both predatory and exhilarated. “You are so much fun.”

You tucked your phone away. “Glad you think so. I hate you.”

“Liar.”

You turned and went to leave, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

But, just as you reached the door—

“You’re gonna regret this,” he called, voice deceptively light. “I’m a very petty person.”

You paused. Glanced back.

Then, in the most monotone, unimpressed voice you could muster—

“So am I.”

As you exited the student council room, you heard the faintest sound behind you—low, breathless laughter.

Like someone who had just discovered their new favorite game.

────────────

The second one, you met him in detention. Because of course you did.

Technically, you weren’t even there for anything interesting. Not for fighting. Not for vandalism. Not for anything remotely impressive. No, you were here because a teacher had asked for your opinion, and you—being a natural-born social disaster—had given it.

“‘An archaic relic of bureaucracy that produces nothing but misery and debt’ is not an appropriate way to describe the school’s education system,” your teacher had snapped.

“Would you rather I say it’s good?” you had asked, genuinely confused.

Apparently, that had been the wrong answer.

So here you were. Sitting in the back of the room, arms crossed, eyes blank, waiting for time to pass like a medieval peasant awaiting the guillotine.

And then he walked in.

You immediately clocked what kind of person he was. He carried himself with the casual arrogance of someone who had never followed a rule in his life. Tattoos peeked out from under his uniform sleeves, his tie was nowhere to be seen, and his uniform was barely recognizable as one. He had the lazy stance of a guy who made teachers question their career choices and a presence that made people instinctively shrink back.

Unfortunately, you weren’t people.

His gaze landed on you like a predator spotting an unsuspecting rabbit.

Except you weren’t a rabbit. You were just... unfortunately here.

He strolled over, dropping into the seat beside you, his body language loose, confident, exuding the kind of energy that made authority figures reach for blood pressure medication.

“New?” he asked, his voice a slow drawl, eyes flicking over you with open curiosity.

“No.”

His smirk widened, sharp and lazy. “You talk like a corpse.”

“And you talk too much.”

That made him pause. Just for a second. Like he was recalibrating. Then he grinned, the expression laced with something both amused and dangerous. “Not many people have the guts to talk back to me.”

You blinked. “I don’t have guts. I just don’t care.”

He let out a short laugh, a low, considering sound. “Huh.”

You returned your stare to the front of the room, hoping that was the end of the interaction.

It wasn’t.

“So, what’d you do to get stuck in here?” he asked, propping his chin on his hand like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

“Answered a question.”

He frowned. “That’s it?”

You nodded.

His frown deepened. “You mean you ran your mouth.”

“I answered honestly.”

“Yeah, ran your mouth.”

You sighed. “Are you always this insufferable?”

His smirk stretched, sharp with amusement. “Only when I’m interested.”

You gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Wow. I’m honored.”

“You should be,” he shot back, grinning.

You rolled your eyes and returned your attention to the front of the room. Not that there was anything interesting up there—just a barely functional projector and a wall clock that seemed to have stopped in 1973.

Silence. For a glorious ten seconds.

Then:

“So, what’s your deal?”

You inhaled slowly through your nose. “I don’t have a deal.”

“Everyone has a deal.”

“Well, mine is not talking to annoying people.”

“Guess you’re breaking your own rule then.”

You turned your head, making a show of staring at him with dead, soulless eyes. “Lucky me.”

His smirk widened. His chair creaked as he leaned back, stretching like a particularly smug cat. “You know, I don’t usually take an interest in people like you.”

“People like me?”

“Yeah. Tiny. Mouthy. Clearly incapable of winning a physical fight.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t just poison you instead.”

His laughter was sudden, sharp-edged. “You’re funny.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” he said, still grinning. “That’s what makes it funny.”

You sighed, returning to your previous strategy of ignoring his existence.

It didn’t work.

“So, do you just piss people off for fun, or is that an accidental talent?”

You didn’t look at him. “Why? You feeling pissed off?”

“Nah.” A slow pause. “Not yet.”

Something about the way he said that made you glance at him again. His smirk had cooled into something else—something harder, more assessing. You’d known from the second he walked in that he was bad news, but now you could feel it, thick and tangible, like a storm about to break.

Still, you weren’t one to back down.

“I could try harder,” you offered.

His eyes darkened, something flickering behind them—something you probably should have taken as a warning.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured, tone deceptively light. “Go ahead.”

You tilted your head, considering. Then, you shrugged. “You’re a walking cliché.”

That got a reaction. His smirk vanished, replaced by a sharp-edged stare.

“Excuse me?”

You gestured vaguely at him. “The whole ‘too cool for rules, bad boy with authority issues’ thing. It’s exhausting. You should at least try to have a personality.”

He stared at you, expression unreadable. Then, in a disturbingly calm voice, he asked, “You ever been hit before?”

You blinked. “Not recently.”

He exhaled, tilting his head back. “God. You’re fucking annoying.”

“You started this conversation.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, “biggest mistake of my life.”

“Wow. Must be nice if this is the worst mistake you’ve ever made.”

His jaw twitched. For the first time, he actually looked pissed.

Good.

Unfortunately, that also meant he was now visibly debating whether or not to knock your teeth in.

Your eyes flicked to his hands—bigger than yours, calloused, flexing slightly, like he was restraining himself. He was taller, broader, a lot stronger than you. You weren’t stupid. If he actually decided to swing, you were probably going to die.

But hey. What’s life without a little risk?

You met his glare head-on. “Are you about to hit someone half your size?”

He tilted his head, exhaling slowly. “Thinking about it.”

“That’s pathetic.”

He actually growled, low and irritated, and you barely had time to register the movement before he was shifting forward, one hand reaching out like he was about to grab you—

And then the door creaked open.

“Alright, detention gremlins,” the teacher’s voice drawled from the front of the room, “keep your murder attempts to a minimum.”

You didn’t even blink, just turned lazily in your seat as if you hadn’t nearly gotten your face rearranged.

He, on the other hand, pulled back immediately, exhaling sharply, clearly forcing himself to relax.

The teacher shot him a look. “Sit still, delinquent.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t say anything. He just slumped back into his chair, arms crossed, eyes flicking briefly to you.

You met his stare.

Slowly, you smiled.

His fingers twitched.

This was going to be fun.

────────────

For the third man, the first time you met him, you were sitting in a hospital bed, staring at the white ceiling, contemplating your existence and whether or not you could convince the nurses to let you leave early. The fluorescent lights hummed a dull tune, matching the flatlined rhythm of your enthusiasm for life. You didn’t even want to be here. The injury wasn’t even that bad. But the moment you’d said, “It’s fine, I can still walk,” and then promptly collapsed, the people around you decided that maybe you weren’t the best judge of what counted as ‘fine.’

And that’s when he walked in, the doctor assigned to your case.

Tall. Elegant. His every movement controlled with the same level of care you’d expect from someone painting the Sistine Chapel, even though all he was doing was picking up your chart. His black-gloved fingers trailed over the paperwork before he flipped it open, eyes skimming your medical history like he was reading a novel he had already figured out the ending to. Cold, calculating, and frankly, a little theatrical.

You stared. He looked like the kind of person who’d be the main villain in a psychological thriller.

“You have a concussion,” he said, his voice measured, precise.

You blinked. “Oh.”

There was a pause. The kind that stretched a little too long, like a piece of gum being pulled between fingers. He looked at you. You looked at him. Then, with the kind of energy that could only be described as ‘well, I guess I have nothing better to do,’ you muttered, “Neat.”

He blinked, once. A slow, unreadable gesture. “I wouldn’t describe a traumatic brain injury as ‘neat.’”

“Well,” you deadpanned, “I would.”

Silence. He adjusted his gloves, movements smooth, unhurried. You were pretty sure this man had never rushed anything in his life. The air of quiet, detached arrogance practically radiated off of him in waves.

“You seem disinterested in your own well-being,” he observed, as if he were commenting on the weather.

You tilted your head, expression blank. “And?”

His brows barely twitched, but you swore you saw a flicker of something behind those eerily calm eyes. Like a candle in a dark room. Something minute, almost imperceptible. A single frame of a horror movie before the jump scare.

Then, without a word, he set your chart back down and began his examination, his touch careful, professional. You sat there, letting him check for signs of worsening symptoms, feeling absolutely no inclination to make this easier for him. He had the air of someone who rarely got rattled, and for some reason, that made you want to rattle him.

So when he was checking your pupils with a penlight, you stared unblinkingly into his eyes and said, “You look like the kind of guy who has a hidden art studio where you paint unsettlingly lifelike portraits of people you find interesting.”

He paused.

The light flickered over your eyes as he considered you. Then, calmly, as if answering a normal, everyday question, he replied, “And if I did?”

You shrugged. “I’d say you’re pretty bad at hiding it.”

Another pause. Then—so brief it could have been a trick of the light—the corner of his lips twitched upward. Amusement, buried beneath layers of restraint.

He pulled back, setting the penlight aside. “I don’t have a hidden art studio.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s exactly what someone with a hidden art studio would say.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

His gaze flickered over you, assessing, weighing. “Difficult.”

You smirked, feeling a spark of something sharp and insubordinate curl in your chest. “Only with people who think they have me figured out.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just studied you with an unreadable expression, as if deciding whether to be irritated or intrigued. You had a feeling he wasn’t used to being challenged. People probably either feared or revered him, treating his words like gospel. You, on the other hand, had the distinct urge to annoy him purely because you could.

The tension stretched between you, coiling like a taut wire. Then, with an air of finality, he turned away, retrieving a prescription pad and beginning to write. “I’ll be keeping you for observation.”

Your eye twitched. “Why?”

He didn’t look up. “Because I suspect if I let you leave, you’d immediately do something to worsen your condition.”

You opened your mouth to argue, then promptly closed it when you realized he was absolutely right. Damn it.

“You can’t just hold me hostage in a hospital,” you grumbled.

He tore the prescription from the pad, setting it aside. “I’m your doctor. I can.”

You glared at him, but he remained entirely unbothered, like a marble statue in a white coat.

For the first time in a long time, you had the distinct feeling that you’d just met someone who was actually going to be a problem.

And judging by the glint in his eyes when he finally met your gaze again, you had a sneaking suspicion he felt the same way about you.

────────────

The fourth guy?

It started with a test. Not just any test. A national-level competition meant to determine the brightest academic minds of the generation.

You sat at your desk, filling in the answers with mechanical efficiency, while the only other student in the room doing the same was him. The top scholar. The prodigy. The golden boy of academia. He who must not be named because if you ever say his name out loud, you might actually vomit.

The two of you had been at this for years. Competing. Spiting. Resenting.

The rivalry was so intense that your parents had to be physically separated at parent-teacher meetings, lest they start arguing over whose kid deserved to be hailed as the superior intellectual. The problem was that neither of you ever pulled ahead definitively. Sometimes you won. Sometimes he did. Sometimes it was a tie, which was the absolute worst because it meant the war had to continue.

The one thing you both silently agreed on? No one else needed to know.

So in public, you two were strangers. A nod at most, a passing glance, like two ships in the night. But the moment you were alone? The gloves came off.

And today, the moment came in the form of a single test result.

You finished your exam a fraction of a second before him, slamming your pen down triumphantly. He, sitting at the desk beside you, slowly turned his head to look at you, expression unreadable.

You smirked. He narrowed his eyes.

Neither of you spoke.

You both already knew what this meant.

It had always been like this. Subtle gestures. Microexpressions. Entire conversations conveyed through a single glance. And this time, your glance said:

That’s right. I beat you by 0.2 seconds. Cry about it.

His glance, in return, said:

You think this means anything? You’re delusional. Enjoy your fleeting moment of victory while it lasts.

You both turned in your papers and walked out without a word, maintaining the illusion that you had no connection to each other. That was, until you reached the hallway.

“You look extra dead inside today,” he said, adjusting the strap of his bag.

“Yeah, because I had to sit next to you.”

He scoffed. “I make you look alive by comparison.”

“You make me wish I was actually dead.”

“Touché.”

And that was it. That was your normal conversation. Because no one else knew, it was always like this—just pure, undiluted antagonism with an undertone of reluctant respect.

But the moment you stepped outside where other students could see, you both went back to pretending the other didn’t exist.

———

The problem with childhood rivals is that you know too much about each other. He knew about the time you threw up in second grade because you drank three chocolate milks in one sitting. You knew about the time he cried in fourth grade because he lost a chess match to a five-year-old. These were secrets that, if revealed, would destroy either of you instantly. And so, an unspoken truce existed: Mutual Assured Destruction. If one of you fell, the other would go down as well.

But that didn’t mean you had to be nice to each other.

The school’s annual debate competition was proof of that.

You weren’t even supposed to be on stage today. The original competitor from your class had gotten sick at the last moment, so your teacher shoved you in as a replacement. And, of course, standing across from you at the podium was none other than him.

“I see fate continues to curse me,” you muttered, gripping the microphone.

“Likewise,” he replied, adjusting his tie.

The topic? “Should academic rivalries be encouraged?”

He was on the pro side. You were on the con side.

The sheer irony nearly made you laugh. But the moment the debate started, it was war.

He argued that competition drove people to improve, citing numerous studies. You argued that it created unnecessary stress, pointing out various psychological reports. He said rivalry forged discipline. You countered that it led to burnout. Back and forth, your arguments clashed like swords, neither side yielding. The audience watched, captivated, unaware that this was nothing new to either of you.

It wasn’t until the Q&A round that things got personal.

One of the judges asked, “Do either of you have experience with an academic rival?”

You and him made brief eye contact. A single second of hesitation.

Then he, ever the smug bastard, smirked and said, “No, I don’t have a rival. No one has ever truly been on my level.”

Your eye twitched. Oh. Oh, he wanted to play it that way? Fine.

You smiled, saccharine sweet. “Oh, same here. I’ve never met anyone who could actually challenge me.”

The audience laughed, completely oblivious to the nuclear warfare happening in your minds.

You won the debate by a narrow margin. He took it in stride, shaking your hand like a good sport, but you both knew this wasn’t over.

It was never over.

———

Years of this. Years of pretending. Years of knowing that he was the only person who could truly get under your skin, and vice versa.

And yet, despite everything, despite the constant battle for dominance, there was a grudging acknowledgment: neither of you would have been as good without the other.

But you’d never say that out loud.

Not unless you wanted to lose the war.

────────────

Back in the present, your best friend is still wiping away tears of laughter. “I swear, you’re cursed. Only you could turn four of the most powerful guys in this school into your sworn enemies without even trying.”

You sigh. “It’s not my fault they’re all easily irritated.”

She grins. “Enemies-to-lovers speedrun?”

You groan. “Absolutely not.”

But she just smirks.

Because honestly? The way things are going, it’s inevitable.

———

You take a deep breath, leaning back in your seat as you finish recounting the absolute disaster that was your past. "So, yeah. That’s how I managed to piss off the entire unofficial ruling class of this school without even trying. It’s not my fault they’re all allergic to basic human interaction."

Your best friend? Oh, she’s wheezing. Bent over. Completely losing it.

You just stare, dead inside.

"I cannot believe you," she chokes out, clutching her stomach. "Four. Not one, not two—four of the most powerful guys in this school are now your sworn enemies. I swear, you’re a walking curse. A divine anomaly."

You sigh, propping your chin on your hand. "See, this is exactly why they can’t be the choices."

That only makes her laugh harder.

"No, no, no, you don’t get it," she wheezes, slamming a hand on the table. "This is why they have to be the choices. Like, this is fate. This is math. The sheer statistical improbability of you randomly antagonizing the four most dangerous guys in school without even trying—"

"—Means they’re going to murder me in my sleep, not fall in love with me," you interrupt flatly.

She shakes her head, eyes gleaming. "No, no, no. This is the setup for the best enemies-to-lovers arc I’ve ever seen. This is gold. This is poetry. This is—"

"A death sentence."

"—A story unfolding before my very eyes!" She gestures wildly. "Four. If it was just one, okay, sure, maybe it’s just bad luck. Two? Fine, you have a talent for pissing people off. But four?" She leans in, deadly serious now. "That’s fate."

You stare at her, unimpressed. "You’re literally using the fact that I’m universally despised as an argument for romance."

"And I’m right."

"Objectively false. I can present multiple counterarguments—"

"Oh, I bet you can," she interrupts, grinning. "And you know what? They’d all be wrong."

You cross your arms. "Fine. Let’s debate this logically."

She cracks her knuckles. "Bring it."

"One: They hate me. Like, actively hate me."

"Great foundation for romantic tension."

You scowl. "Two: I have no romantic interest in any of them."

"You say that now."

"Three: They have power, money, and influence, and could absolutely ruin my life at any moment."

She smirks. "Oh, so they could ruin your life. But haven’t."

You narrow your eyes. "Yet."

She shrugs. "Or maybe, deep down, they’re already obsessed with you."

You groan. "That’s not how real life works."

She leans in, voice smug. "Then explain why none of them have done anything too serious to you yet. With the power they have, you should’ve been completely crushed by now. But instead? They’re keeping you around. Engaging with you. They want your reactions."

You hesitate for a fraction of a second.

She grins, sensing her victory.

"Don’t even start," you mutter.

She tilts her head. "Too late. You are the main character in an enemies-to-lovers story, and I will see this through."

"Over my dead body."

"Listen, if it happens, it happens. I’ll be there at your wedding, sipping my champagne, telling everyone, ‘I told her so.’"

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. "I am never telling you anything ever again."

But she just laughs. Because she knows.

And that’s what terrifies you the most.

———

You shake your head, exhaling sharply. "This is bullshit."

She grins, clearly enjoying your suffering.

Your eyes drift to the side, landing on a thick stack of papers—her so-called research. A Frankenstein’s monster of printed profiles, handwritten notes, and stapled-together disasters. This is what she’s been using to "help" you find a so-called suitable match before she apparently decided to scrap the entire thing and make your life a living hell instead.

You reach over and pull a few sheets from the pile, scanning them briefly. Your eyes land on someone near the bottom of the stack. Someone you haven’t met. No noted incidents. No mortal enemies. Just a generic, normal guy with no apparent psychotic tendencies.

"Alright," you say, holding up the page. "This guy."

Your best friend leans forward, glancing at the name, then immediately scoffs. "Him?"

You nod. "Yeah. He looks the most normal, statistically conquerable, and unlikely to plot my untimely demise."

She groans, tilting her head back like you’ve personally offended her. "Are you serious? This is the blandest option in the entire lineup. This is, like, choosing plain toast at an all-you-can-eat buffet."

"Exactly," you say, unfazed. "I don’t want a disaster. I want stability. Normalcy. Someone who doesn’t have the power to ruin my life."

She gestures dramatically. "And this is what you land on? A literal NPC?"

"He has a face. He has a name. That’s already enough for me."

She smacks the table. "That’s bare minimum! You’re literally picking a filler character when you have the Final Four right in front of you!"

"And I’m perfectly fine with that," you say, deadpan.

"No, no, no. You don’t get it." She leans forward, voice firm. "You cannot settle for Generic Background Character #12. Look at the narrative potential! The power struggle! The development!"

You sigh. "I am not a character in a novel."

She smirks. "You keep saying that, and yet, the evidence continues to pile up against you."

You roll your eyes. "Look, just because I have bad luck doesn’t mean I have to indulge it." You tap the paper. "This guy is a logical, safe choice."

"Safe choices don’t make history."

"They also don’t make headlines for scandals, criminal activity, or blood feuds."

She groans again, slumping in her chair. "You are so frustrating. You have four absolute powerhouses lined up, each with the potential to make your life an experience, and you want—what? A guy whose biggest personality trait is that he’s 'nice'?"

"Yes."

"Disgusting."

"Predictable."

"Boring."

"Stable."

She narrows her eyes at you. "You are dodging fate so hard right now, it’s embarrassing."

"I am making logical decisions so hard right now, and you refuse to acknowledge it."

She smacks the table again, exasperated. "I’m not saying you have to date them! I’m just saying you should at least consider them before you throw yourself into the void of mediocrity!"

You cross your arms, staring her down. "And I’m saying you are severely overestimating my ability to survive a romantic entanglement with any of them."

She grins, tilting her head. "Or underestimating their desire to keep you alive and entertained."

You pause.

She smirks.

You scowl. "No."

She leans back, victorious. "Just saying. It’s gonna happen."

"It is not."

She winks. "We’ll see."

────────────

The next day starts off normal. Or at least, as normal as it can be when you’re still recovering from the previous night’s argument with your best friend. You’re just trying to make it through the school day without incident—low profile, no chaos, just peace.

And then your phone buzzes.

You glance down, expecting something trivial. Instead, you see a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: You owe me for last time. Meet me after school. Don’t make me come find you.

You blink. Stare. Read it again.

There’s only one person you "owe" anything to in the eyes of certain individuals.

You: No.

No response.

Your phone buzzes again. Another unknown number.

Unknown: Be at the café near campus at 4. I already told them you’d be coming. Don’t embarrass me.

Your eye twitches. What.

Buzz.

Unknown: I assume you have no plans. I’m picking you up at 6. Don’t make me wait.

Your stomach sinks. There is no way. There is no way.

Buzz.

Unknown: I’ll be outside your place at 7. Don’t even try to run.

You slowly, slowly lower your phone.

You already know who's responsible.

Your best friend. Your traitorous best friend.

You whip your head around the classroom, eyes locking onto her immediately. She’s sitting at her desk, chin propped up in her hand, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t just orchestrate your demise.

She knows.

She feels your glare.

And she grins.

You stand up so fast your chair nearly topples over. You’re going to kill her.

♡ A/N. I don't really like celebrating Valentines Day. Not really my thing nor do I care, but it's alright. It's not like I hate it. I'm more of… it's just there. That's it. wdym it's too early. Well it ended up becoming a series, so… shiz. Still debating whether I should go unrestrained horror or dark humor psychological style... who knows. Also, since my friend doesn't like Caleb, I can officially create LaDs Caleb content.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

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❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2 [you are here]. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

[cutehoons02]

Mission: Don’t fall in love with the campus superstar

University series: Heeseung Jungwon Jake

*pairing: pervy campus superstar Jay x barista Girl

*trope: grumpy x sunshine

*synopsis: What would happen when the captain of the university baseball team as well as the campus superstar comes to work in the university cafeteria with you? Jay is the superstar of the campus, he has the pressure to be the captain of the Baseball team but at the same time he tries to produce music and study instead you are the classic girl who does not want to have distractions and who spends the days studying and working; but Jay is a storm of emotions and even the most tender girl can not not give in to his flattery.

*tags: fluffy,humor,Jay loves to tease the protagonist, the protagonist does not bear much Jay, kisses, Jay is a green fleg, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl), masturbation, (f.m receive it),fingering,pet names (sunshine,good girl) (rockstar), jealosy,+16

(English is not my native language)

9.9k (🎸)

The university cafeteria was full as always at eight in the morning. The smell of freshly ground coffee mixed with the chatter of students, newly baked brioche, and people’s chatter gave a sparkling energy that Y/N found strangely reassuring in that place. She loved working there despite the intense shifts. There were always interesting people to watch and his boss was incredibly patient with his experiments of milk art and various coffees customized for the different seasons.

That morning, however, her quiet rhythm was abruptly interrupted.

Jay Park entered the cafeteria as if he were the protagonist of a movie. Dark sunglasses - despite being indoors - and a leather jacket laid carelessly on the shoulder. A sports bag was hanging from his right hand, while the left one was slipped distractedly into his jeans pocket. His walk was slow, and calculated, as if he were aware of the glances that turned on his way.

<< That’s Jay Park, right? >> whispered a group of girls near the bar, holding their breath as he passed.

Y/N recognized him. How could she not? It was everywhere: on social media platforms, in the posters of university sports teams, and even in his roommate’s TikTok feed, who did nothing but watch his videos wherewith his collection of electric guitars every day posted some cover and with its charm made millions of views.

"Great," you thought, rolling your eyes.

Jay approached the counter and took off his sunglasses with a theatrical gesture, showing his deep eyes and an expression that seemed to say: I’m here to save the day.

«Hi, I’m looking for the person in charge,» he said, his voice low and full of confidence as he stared at you from head to toe. You looked at him, trying to keep a neutral expression. "It’s on the back. But if you’re here for free coffee, I don’t think you should try."

Jay bowed his head, a smile that seemed half amused and half irritated. «I’m not here for free coffee, sunshine.»

"Oh, sorry, the rockstar is talking to us, common mortals?" You said, crossing your arms.

The nickname made him stop for a second, before his smile came back, more arrogant than before. «Interesting. You always have this personality... or are you just angry because your day started before me or maybe you woke up on the wrong side of the bed?»

"On the contrary," you said, with a fake smile. "I love getting started early. It gives me more time to put up with guys like you."

Jay laughed softly, shaking his head. «This job will be fun.»

Just then, your boss came out of the back, wiping his hands on the apron. 'Jay! Perfect, you’re here. Here’s your uniform.'

«Uniform? Uhm...sure I must put that subspecies of robe over my sweaters or sweaters» he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Tried to hold a laugh when you saw his expression change, but his security cracked for the first time. The boss handed him a cream-colored apron from the coffee shop with the logo in the center.

' Welcome aboard,' said the chief, then he turned to you. 'Y/n, why don’t you show him how it works here? Today he will pair up with you. You’re always the best at making new people feel comfortable, take it under your wing'

You felt the smile slide from your face. "Wait, with me?"

Jay turned to you with a smile that was both a grin and a challenge. «It seems we are partners, sunshine!»

Jay was an impossible presence to ignore. From day one, you were committed to showing him everything there was to know about the café:

How to use the coffee machine, the correct way of blending milk, where the ingredients for the cakes were, and even how to handle the most complex orders.

But, of course, Jay had decided to make your task much more difficult.

«So I have to press this button to make coffee?» he asked, the tone full of innocent curiosity.

"Exactly," you replied, with infinite patience. "Just press that button and the machine will do it all by itself."

Jay looked at you and tilted his head slightly. «It seems easy. Are you sure even a rock star like me can do it?»

"Well, if you can play a guitar solo without missing a note, I think you can handle a cappuccino," you said, crossing your arms.

Jay smiled, the kind of smile that he knew was irresistible. «Interesting. So you’ve been watching my videos?»

"I didn’t say that," you replied quickly, blushing barely. You watched all his videos as a little "stalker" to understand why the girls were obsessed with him while he was playing those guitars that would cost more than your parents' various salaries of their whole life. You didn’t understand much about electric guitars but the covers were nice and some famous artists had even put back his videos, but surely the girls did not look much at how the music played but who played it, Every time Jay recorded a video, he was beautiful, sometimes he looked like a nerd with glasses, other times with a Ralph Lauren shirt that made his muscles stand out, Other times he played with sweatshirts of the baseball team and others real rockstar with t-shirts of rock artists and his inevitable leather jacket.

«But you didn’t deny it, have you seen if I covered your favorite song?» he muttered, loud enough to be heard.

You puffed, turning to make an order, "I can not watch the hundreds of videos that place to see if you played my favorite song, I have no time to waste but surely you will not play it" felt that Jay was laughing behind you and It was unbearable.

Days passed and, at each turn, the cafeteria seemed to become a tourist attraction for all the students on campus. Girls Y/n had never seen before suddenly showed up with bright smiles, flawless clothes, and demands that were far too complicated.

' A double latte macchiato with almond milk, vanilla syrup, and a dash of cocoa, please said a girl with a mellow voice, leaning against the counter to attract Jay’s attention.

«Immediately» he replied, with a smile that would melt even the most cynical heart.

But when he turned to make the drink, you noticed that he had no idea how to start. As always.

"Jay, the almond milk is there," you said, indicating it with a nod.

He turned to you, leaning against the counter with a mocking air. «Oh, so help me now? I thought you were too busy hating me.»

"I don’t hate you," I said dryly. "I don’t have time for that. You’re just... annoying."

«Yet you are always ready to correct me» he replied, with that unbearable smile that made you want to throw the first container of milk at him.

The more days passed, the more you realized that Jay was good at everything - except for his real job. He made coffee now and then but spent most of his time flirting with clients, having light conversations, and... attracting an absurd amount of attention.

One day, while you were cleaning one of the tables, you noticed another familiar scene. Jay was at the bar, with a girl laughing too loud at a joke he probably hadn’t even finished.

When the client finally left, you approached her, visibly irritated. "You are aware that technically you should be working, right?"

«But I’m working» he replied, leaning on the bar with that relaxed air while preparing a cappuccino. «People are happy. The cafeteria is full. I would say I’m doing a great job.»

"Jay, don’t take me for a fool. Someone else is always preparing their orders while you’re doing the showman with any girl who opens that fucking door of this coffee shop."

Jay chuckled, his hand in his hair. «Are you jealous?»

"Why would I be jealous of you? Not."

«No, not me,» he said with a smile that irritated her beyond measure. «Smiles that I reserve for everyone but not for you, sunshine.»

You were blocked for a moment, you could not stand it anymore, why the absurd reason that fate had made you know such an arrogant and self-satisfied guy?

"Maybe if you smiled less, you’d have time to do something useful and commit to something that isn’t frivolous."

Jay laughed, a deep and relaxed laugh that seemed to make fun of you but at the same time made you feel comfortable. «I promise you that the next smile is only for you, sunshine.»

You stared at him, but the truth was that you couldn’t stop thinking about those words for the rest of your shift.

The cafeteria was more chaotic than ever, thanks to the Jay Park effect. But despite his annoying behavior, you couldn’t help but notice how good he was at making everyone else feel comfortable except you. It was like he was doing it on purpose like he was having fun challenging you every turn.

It was a morning like many others, and you tried to get to the classroom in time so as not to be late. Psychology of interpersonal relationships was one of your favorite subjects, but the professor had the annoying habit of closing the door as soon as the clock ticked and not letting anyone in.

When you finally sat down, putting your laptop and notebooks in place, you felt a movement behind you. You didn’t pay too much attention until a familiar voice that you had learned to recognize and couldn’t stand did not break your moment of concentration.

«Sunshine, what a coincidence to find you here.»

You looked up at the sky and sighed deeply, immediately recognizing the tone. You just sunflower, just to confirm what you were already afraid of: Jay Park had sat right behind you, with that arrogant smile that you knew all too well.

"What are you doing here? , don’t tell me you missed me already and stalked my schedule" you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Jay laughed and gave you a slight pinch on the cheek while smiling at you

«Pff, calm I have not stalkerized your schedules and I did not miss at all this is the course of psychology of interpersonal relationships» he replied, leaning on the back of the chair as if he were the master of the world. «Interesting course to include in my CV»

You stared at him incredulously. "You? Psychology? You don’t seem like the type."

«Why not?» he replied, crossing his arms with a grin. «Relationships are my field of expertise.»

"Ah, sure," you replied, sarcastically "Flirting with all the girls on campus counts as a sociological experiment, I’d be curious to know if at least one of these girls has you friend-zoned to stand down once?"

Jay chuckled, amused by your tone and this time he came perilously close to your face which was red with anger.

«I didn’t know you were so attentive to my... experiments and relax all my experiments have been successful!» and he winked at you.

You quickly turned around, ignoring him as the teacher started the lesson. But all the while, you could feel Jay’s gaze on you. And when, at the end of the lesson you got up to collect your things he was already next to you.

"What do you want now?" button, putting the notebook in the bag.

«I thought I’d keep you company until the cafeteria» he replied in an innocent tone, although the smirk on his face told another story.

"No need, thank you," you replied trying to get rid of him.

Jay, however, did not let himself be discouraged. «Come on, you can’t always be so serious. Living a little won’t hurt you, you know? Every time I see you, you’re always so tense and serious, it seems like you hate everyone!»

"What should I do? Live my life like you, you mean?" you said, stopping to watch. "Spending your days doing nothing useful, wasting time and money because you don’t need to earn it?"

Jay raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

"Not everyone has rich parents who can buy him everything. I cannot afford to waste time. I work here to pay for my studies, and it’s not easy, so stop acting like it’s all a game."

Jay’s smile flinched for a moment. «I’m not saying that he doesn’t work hard. I’m just saying that...»

"What?" you interrupted him in a sharp voice. "That I must relax? Do you know the difference between me and you, Jay? I don’t have the luxury of stopping. I have to do everything myself."

For a moment, silence fell between you. Jay looked at you with a different, almost serious expression. He did not answer immediately, and you took advantage of the moment to leave, leaving him there, motionless in the corridor.

That afternoon, the work shift started as usual. You were already in the cafeteria setting up the counter and preparing the first meals. But when Jay came in, something seemed different. He didn’t make his usual theatrical entrance, nor the usual tantalizing comment.

Instead, he approached you for the first time and looked into your eyes without the usual smile of defiance.

«Y/n» began, in a low and sincere tone.

"What is it?"

«I didn’t mean to offend you before,» he said, scratching his neck and seeing for the first time a glimmer of sincerity and perhaps embarrassment from Jay?

«You’re right, I don’t know what it means to work so hard to get something. I got everything served on a silver platter and... well, maybe I act like it’s normal. But it’s not.»

You watched him, unsure of how to respond. "It’s not a contest, Jay. I don’t want sympathy or excuses. I just want to do my job without someone making me feel like I’m wrong or being arrogant with me."

He nodded slowly. «Understood. So... maybe today I’m trying to work. Show me what I have to do.»

"Really?" you asked, skeptical.

«Seriously» he replied. And this time he gave you a smile that seemed sincere.

The days at the coffee shop seemed to flow more smoothly after that candid conversation between you and Jay. It was as if a certain balance had been reached: he was more engaged in work and less in chatting or flirting with the girls, and you found the schedule that you had together of shifts even a little pleasant. Nevertheless, your interactions were not lacking in tension, with sharp lines and looks that said more than words.

One afternoon, during a break between shifts, Jay approached you as he was setting up some empty cups on the counter with a 32-tooth smile.

«Hey, did you know that there will be a baseball game tonight for the opening of the new academic semester?»

"So what?" you asked, and continued to tidy up the register.

«And so you should come» he replied, as if it were obvious.

You lie down quietly, shaking your head. "I don’t have time for this."

Jay tilted his head, pretending to be hurt. «Sunshine, you’re not saying you don’t want to support your... favorite coworker?»

"Favorite coworker," you repeated sarcastically, staring at him. "This is new."

«There will be the girlfriends of my friends and also the girlfriend of Jungwon who is your roommate, I promise you that you’ll have fun then there will not be 2 hours of leisure that would do you good» he looked at you with that smile that made everyone crazy but you wanted to say no.

"Thank you," you replied sarcastically. "But I don’t know if that’s the case."

«Oh, please, you have to come» insisted Jay, the slightly more serious tone. «It’s not just a match for me. It’s important. I’m trying to get noticed by some professional teams and you know better than me that my dream is to become a Baseball player and beat all the records»

That phrase made you stop for a moment. Despite everything, Jay had a dream. And you knew how important it was to pursue something that you believed in.

You finally let yourself be convinced - or rather Jungwon’s girlfriend forced you. Your best friend was excited to see Jungwon cheer for Jay and, of course, she didn’t leave you any choice.

The university stadium was full of screaming students, and the energy in the air was contagious. T/L immediately settled in the stands next to Jungwon, while you stayed slightly behind, trying not to look too out of place.

When the game started, Jay was a force of nature. Every time he hit the ball or made a strategic decision on the field, the audience burst into applause and screams. He seemed ready for the moment, with his natural talent and confidence radiating from every move.

'It’s amazing, isn’t it?' said Jungwon, looking at you with a smile.

' Admit it, you would never have thought he was so good.'

"Not bad," you admitted, though you avoided adding how impressed you were.

The game ended in a landslide victory for Jay’s team, and the applause was deafening. But as soon as he left the camp, Jay was surrounded by a group of girls, all eager to get his attention.

You watched the scene with a strange feeling in your stomach. There was something about the way he smiled at all of them, the way he seemed perfect, that bothered you. Why did it have to be like this? Why did he have to be good at everything and have the world at his feet?

"Perfect and unbearable," you murmured, trying to ignore the growing annoyance.

Later that night, as the crowd started to disperse, you found yourself in the parking lot waiting for T/L who was waving at Jungwon. You were exhausted, ready to come home and forget all that day.

But you didn’t notice Jay reaching for you, with a sports bag resting on his shoulder and his hair still slightly wet from the post-game shower.

«Hey,» he said, attracting your attention.

You looked at him, sighing. "Congratulations on the game. You did well."

«Just good?» he asked, tilting his head as he had that annoying grin you didn’t tolerate

"Okay, great," you said. "But you know already, I don’t know much about baseball but I saw that everyone was impressed by you, so don’t get your head in the game."

Jay laughed slowly, getting closer. «I wanted to thank you for coming.»

"T/L forced me," you said, crossing my arms.

«Sure» he said, with an enticing smile. «But you came anyway. Your support counts for me»

You roll your eyes. "If you’re done with your compliments, can I go? I’m tired and it’s so cold out here, I should have stayed in my room warm with Netlifx and a hot chocolate."

But when you tried to pass by him, Jay moved to block your way. It was not threatening, but his smile disappeared, replaced by a face she could not decipher.

«Why are you always so hard on me?» he asked, his voice getting lower and lower as she approached your body.

"Because you are... you," you replied trying to keep control. "You’re annoying, arrogant, and... and you seem to have it all. It’s frustrating."

Jay looked at you for a long moment, then did something unexpected. He came even closer, narrowing the space between you to almost touch your face.

«Words, sunshine» he muttered in a provocative tone but with an absent smile.

Before you could answer, Jay stooped down and kissed you.

You stood still, your heart beating fast, unable to move or think. It was a sweet and intense kiss at the same time as if Jay was trying to tell you something that words could not explain.

Jay touched your hips with his big arms and put you even closer to him to make you feel the warmth he felt only by kissing you, You put your hands in his chest covered with a jacket and he immediately let his tongue into your mouth and you muttered something undecipherable to the contact of your two mouths and the dance that they were doing their tongue.

When he finally broke off, he looked into your eyes with a serious but also slightly amused expression. «You were never just a game to me, Y/n.»

And before you could answer, he walked away, leaving you, confused and with a heart in turmoil.

You’ve been feeling like a disaster for days. The fever had forced you to bed and, unwillingly, you had to take a week off from work. A week in which Jay was left alone to run the cafeteria. Every day you called him, making sure everything was in order, that he knew how to do the most complex orders, and that he wasn’t spending his shift flirting with customers. Jay always replied in his usual playful tone, teasing her mercilessly.

«Don’t worry, sunshine» he said to you. «The cafeteria won’t burn, and yes, I remember how to put milk on. Although I can’t guarantee that it will be as perfect as when you do.»

And every call ended with him mentioning that kiss, making you blush even through the phone.

«Get well soon» he had said last time. «I might think of coming to check in person that you are resting»

"Don’t even try," you answered, in a tone that was more of a plea than a threat.

That night, you were wrapped in a blanket, watching an old movie while your head was still pulsing. He was almost asleep when you heard the bell ring.

"T/L? You open!" you shouted to your roommate, hoping she would hear you.

A few seconds later, you heard a sound of footsteps and then the incredulous voice of T/L. 'Oh my God.'

"What?" you asked with your eyes wrinkled and trying to get off the couch.

As you stepped out into the hall, the scene in front of you left you speechless: Jay Park, with a mischievous smile, stood there with a paper bag full of food containers and medicine.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, shocked.

«I thought someone should bring you food» Jay replied with a natural voice, entering as if it were his home. «And then I wanted to make sure you were alive. You were starting to sound like a ghost on the phone.»

T/L turned to you, wide-eyed and smiling.

T/L turned to you, wide-eyed and smiling. ' Jay, you’re amazing,' said your roommate, barely holding back a laugh. ' Oh, by the way, I should go to Jungwon. I don’t want to disturb... what’s going on here.'

"T/L", blushing deeply.

' Have fun!' T/L nodded to Jay and quickly left the door, leaving them alone.

You’re turning to Jay, still incredulous. "You shouldn’t have come here. I’m fine."

«You didn’t seem so well the last time you called me,» he said, placing the containers on the small table in the living room. «And then, it’s funny to see you so vulnerable.»

"I am not vulnerable," you replied with crossed arms, even though your voice betrayed the discomfort.

Jay smiled and started to arrange the food containers. I brought you homemade ramen, kimchi, and a tiramisu for dessert. I hope you like it...»

"You... can cook?" you asked, incredulous.

«I told you, sunshine. I can do many things» he replied, giving you a look that made you want to bury yourself.

As you ate together, the tension between you seemed to subside. Jay would tell you funny stories about working in the coffee shop, how he finally learned to make a decent cappuccino, and how he enjoyed watching customers ask for him.

«Of course, it’s not the same without you» he added, in a softer tone.

You blush again, trying to focus on his ramen. "Stop it."

«Stop doing what, sunshine?» he asked with a smirk.

"To say things that make you blush."

Jay came a little closer, putting his elbow on the table. «It’s too much fun to see you trying to hide behind that good girl mask and for a couple of months now it’s been my favorite game to make you blush.»

You looked up at him, trying to ignore him.

You looked up, trying to ignore him. But when Jay’s eyes got more intense, you felt his heart beat faster.

"Jay," you started, trying to keep control.

«Shh» he interrupted you. «Don’t say anything.»

And before you could protest, he leaned towards you, slowly approaching as if waiting for you to stop him. But you stood still, unable to turn your eyes from his eyes.

When your lips met for the second time, it was as if everything else disappeared. The world seemed to be reduced to that moment, to that kiss.

When you left, Jay looked at you with a smile as you tried to recover.

"What are you doing?" you asked, still incredulous.

«I told you so» he replied, in a light tone. «I am good at many things.»

You snorted, but couldn’t hold back a smile. The kiss had just ended. He did not move away immediately; instead, he put his hand on your back and began to curl it slowly, noticing that you were shivering.

«What’s the matter, sunshine» he asked, with a tone that mixed concern and curiosity. «Is it me who makes you shiver or is it still the fever?»

You shook your head, embarrassed, trying not to cross her eyes. "Don’t say nonsense."

Jay tilted his head slightly, amused. «Nonsense? Should I worry or feel flattered? I didn’t think you could get the thrills of pleasure just with my hands I can’t imagine when I will use...»

You looked at him very badly and did not answer, preferring to concentrate on anything other than him. But Jay, as always, was not going to let it go. «Okay, enough. You need to rest. And since you don’t trust me, I’ll take care of everything.»

Before you could protest, Jay picked you up like it was the most natural thing in the world.

«Jay! What are you doing?!" you cried, your face turning red even more than the fever.

«I bring a good girl to bed» he replied, smiling with his air of defiance.

You were slightly moved, but Jay held you tight as he carried you to your room. «If you move too much, you might drop me» he warned. «And we don’t want you to end up worse than that, do we?»

When he laid you gently on the bed, you looked at him with a combination of embarrassment and disbelief. "You shouldn’t have."

Jay shrugged. «Yes, we do. Now let’s see how badly you’re feeling.»

He took a thermometer from his bedside table and handed it to him. «Take your fever. Don’t argue, be good.»

You snorted but did as you were told. When the thermometer beeped, Jay took it to check.

«Almost 38. You need to rest» he said, in a tone that for once seemed genuinely concerned. He took a tablet from the bag and a glass of water from the nightstand. «Take this one. And don’t argue.»

You obeyed again, but the redness on your face was not just from the fever. Jay took off his sweatshirt and put it on.

«So you won’t be cold,» he said, placing it on your shoulders.

You looked at him surprised. "I don’t need your sweatshirt."

«Don’t be stubborn, sunshine. You know you’re a mess right now.»

You snorted again, but I tucked you into the sweatshirt, which still had its scent. Jay smiled triumphantly and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Why are you still here?" you asked, crossing my arms.

«Because I know you well enough to know that you will not take care of yourself properly», he replied.

"Jay, get out," you said, trying to keep a steady tone, even though it was hard with your weak body and that warm sweatshirt on.

«No» he answered, lying beside you with nonchalance. «I must make sure that you rest.»

"You don’t need to be here," you replied, trying to drive him away with a feeble attempt.

Jay, of course, did not move. He came a little closer, hugging you slightly.

"What are you doing now?" I asked, my voice full of disbelief.

«Keep you warm. It’s a green flag gesture, right? I read somewhere that you girls are crazy about these things» he replied, with his usual bold smile.

"You’re unbearable," you murmured, turning slightly toward him.

Jay laughed softly. «Maybe. But admit it, sunshine, you don’t mind so much.»

I didn’t answer immediately. The fever, the warmth of his presence, the scent of his sweatshirt... all contributed to your confusion.

"If you keep talking, I swear I’ll get up and throw you out," you finally murmured, trying to sound serious.

Jay smiled, stroking your hair softly. «I’ll let you talk then. With the fever, you are much more nice and tender.»

You looked at him, your lips curled in a half smile. "I shouldn’t let you stay here."

«Yet here I am» he replied, with a clever light in his eyes.

The morning light was filtering through the curtains, caressing your face. You stretched slowly, feeling much better than the night before, but your peace was interrupted when you realized that you were not alone.

There was a warm body next to you. Jay.

He was still there, hugging you as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his face relaxed in sleep and an arm holding you tight. He seemed incredibly serene, so different from Jay who teased you every day. He seemed... almost innocent.

You started laughing quietly, trying not to wake him. It was surreal to be in that situation, yet you couldn’t help but feel the warmth of that moment.

With a trembling hand, you found yourself moving without thinking too much. You began to gently touch his face, tracing the lines of his perfectly sculpted jaw, following the contour of his meaty lips.

Finally, your eyes fell on the small birthmark on Jay’s neck, a unique spot in the shape of a heart or butterfly, difficult to define, but incredibly charming.

As your finger lingered there, Jay slowly opened his eyes but said nothing. He had been awake for a while, but he wanted to enjoy that moment, your light touch that made his heart beat faster than normal.

When you realized he was awake, you suddenly blocked your face, turning a bright red. "Oh my God, I woke you up!"

Jay smiled, his voice still roaring from sleep. «I was already watching you.»

You looked at him with a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

Jay leaned slightly, giving you a light kiss on the forehead. «Because I liked too much to feel you touching me. You can continue if you want. Maybe on my chest this time.»

You were left speechless, the shock mixed with a sudden urge to laugh. "You’re incredible. How can you be so cheeky even when you wake up?"

Jay shrugs his shoulders, pulling you back toward him. «It’s one of my talents.»

"You’re unbearable," you murmured, trying to push him away, but without too much conviction.

«Yet, you are here» he replied, with a satisfied smirk.

You sighed but did not move from his embrace. Even if you would never admit it out loud, being in his arms was not so bad. It was... pleasant.

Jay looked at you for a moment, his dark eyes shone with something deeper. «I didn’t know you liked me so much, sunshine.»

You looked up, trying to ignore your fast heartbeat. "Don’t get too excited, Park."

Jay was lying next to you, with a smirk printed on his face, as if he were in his natural element. You were still wrapped in the warmth of the bed and her sweatshirt, you looked more relaxed than the previous evening, but there was something in the atmosphere that had changed.

Jay, with his innate confidence, began to move his hand down your back, gently passing under the sweatshirt you were wearing. His fingers were warm and light, and the touch was more affectionate than intrusive, but it was enough to make you stiff for a moment.

"Jay," you mumbled

«I’m just making sure you’re comfortable, sunshine» he replied, with an innocent tone that contrasted with the cunning smile he threw at you.

You looked torn, but then, with a deep breath, you relaxed, leaning your head on Jay’s neck. Its familiar and reassuring scent surrounded you, making you feel more peaceful.

Jay kept drawing little circles on your back, his hand moving slowly, exploring but never going beyond a respectful limit. It was as if he wanted to see how far you would let him go.

But you decided it was time to turn the tables.

With a slight smile on your lips, you barely moved and began to place little kisses on Jay’s neck. It was a timid gesture at first, but when she noticed that he stiffened in surprise, your courage increased.

«What are you doing?» asked Jay, his voice suddenly lower and more stony.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you focused on the small butterfly or heart-shaped spot that you noticed the night before. With a light touch of your lips, you began to kiss, driven by an impulse that you could not control, you sucked her slightly.

Jay moans softly, an almost imperceptible sound, but enough to make you smile against his skin. It was as if, for the first time, I had found a weak spot in that self-confident boy.

«Y/N...» he muttered, but his voice had lost its usual impudence and there was something more sincere. There was a vulnerability, as if for once he wasn’t in charge of the game.

You pulled yourself slightly back, watching him with a smirk that was both sweet and provocative.

"What’s the matter, Jay? Don’t you like it when someone takes over or are you used to having everything right away?"

He looked at you, with dark eyes that shone a dangerous light and at the same time amused. «Oh, I like it. But don’t think I’ll let you beat me so easily.»

You slowly grovel, but before you can answer, Jay comes closer, his lips touching your forehead. His hand on the back became firm, holding you close to him.

«You’re playing with fire, sunshine» whispered to your ear, her voice low and sweet, but with a hint of challenge.

"And you think you’re the only one who can play?" You answered the smile that widened as you retreated against his chest again, satisfied to have turned, even for a moment, your usual balance.

Jay was silent for a few moments, a smile on his face. «You know what? I like this version of you. The one who knows how to stand up to me.»

"Someone must do it," you said, closing your eyes.

«And that someone is you, sunshine» When you heard that phrase from Jay you put yourself back near his legs, now completely on his knees as he sat leaning against the bed’s keyboard, and his arms were wrapped all around you and his face buried in your neck.

You started touching his chest under the over shirt he used to sleep in as pajamas and felt how sculpted his muscles were for the eternal hours of training on the other hand Jay was touching your neck all the time, His hands on your breasts as he pinched your nipples through his shirt, moaning at the feeling of your tits in his hands were perfect for his big hands and he couldn’t wait to stick you.

From time to time, his hands were going down your pussy, touching the spot where you needed attention most before he came up on your chest, and this time he was getting his hands in your body and getting rid of that pajama shirt.

When he saw you without a shirt had a slightly open mouth and immediately began to torture the left breast «This body is made to be mine, look until yesterday you were embarrassed and wanted to kick me instead you are here now to have your breasts licked and you touch your pussy» moaning quietly and after little Jay feel your pussy still covered in pants "Jay, can.... Can I make you feel good this time?" he looked at you with a smile hanging on and the excitement that grew more and more.

«Are you sure, sunshine? You don’t have to» you said yes with your head and you were slightly embarrassed you didn’t know where you had found that courage but he had been so good to you yesterday and you didn’t know how to thank him.

Jay helped you to take off his pants and boxer shorts, throwing his head back when your hands immediately went to find his cock and play with it. Burying his head in your pillows, he moans about your name, whining at the feeling of your hands finally wrapped around him after wishing for you for so long.

Jay was so big, thick, and muscular, that you’d get your mouth watering just to see him. He was so toned but so thick, and his cock fitted perfectly. God, the thought of that monster inside you had already made your eyes swirl, you didn’t know if you had sex with him that morning or another day but you knew that sooner or later you would want it only for yourself and no other girl.

You spat lightly into Jay’s cock and licked and sucked his already slightly pink tip, moaning at him as his eyes rolled back. He stood up slightly to see you with his cock in your mouth while you were fucking him, he gently took your hair and made a half tail and you licked him even more wildly.

«You are so good with your mouth, every time you answered me I would have kissed you or put my dick in you, sunshine... Fuck, you’re so pretty full of my dick» panted Jay, moaning against his cock, already thirsty for him while he pulled your hair harder to make you get even more in his dick.

«D-where do I come from? Fuck, I’m coming, it’s so nice, baby. Take it so well for me, shit...»

You were too busy choking on your dick to answer right away, so you had to take a minute to get away and catch your breath, replacing your mouth with your hand while holding the other.

«Do you want me to fill your mouth with my cum and liquid?» You wanted to answer him: please fill my mouth with your cum but you couldn’t talk and I shook my head while you pumped his cock even more into your mouth.

When Jay squirted and came into your mouth you tried to swallow every shred of his essence, moaning at his cock afterward as you licked every solitary drop coming out of your mouth.

In the end, you were completely exhausted and Jay was extremely shocked that the girl he had met a few months before yelling at him or giving him orders was now kneeling and exhausted for giving him the best blow job of his life.

You returned to work after having fully recovered, your spirit was back as usual: serious, focused on your goal.

The cafe seemed to be getting more crowded since Jay started working there, and to your surprise, it seemed to have become a familiar presence for everyone. Not only the employees but also the customers treated him as if he had always been part of the team as if Jay was meant to be there, comfortable among the smiles and daily chatter.

You were watching him, a little surprised by his ability to adapt and integrate so quickly but also it occurred to you what happened the other morning; would he make fun of you? Would treat you like a slut or even worse, not care? But for the little you knew Jay would never treat you like that, right?

Jay didn’t seem like the ordinary working type at all, yet he moved with an ease that left him almost speechless. He was always smiling, attentive to people, and perfect in his role. But there was something that bothered you while you were watching him: he seemed to put more effort into acting as a "good guy" than being a "social guy". It almost seemed like he was trying to impress you as if he wanted to show you something.

One afternoon, while you were serving at a table, a guy came in. He was the opposite of Jay in every possible way. Tall, with blonde hair and the look of a studious boy, but he had a disarming smile that had already made more than one client’s head spin. When he approached the bar, you noticed it immediately.

' Hello,' said the boy, with a sure smile, 'I’m Matthew. I saw you earlier in Psychology class and when I asked about you around everyone told me that I had to come to the university cafeteria to try one of your cappuccinos'.

You were a little embarrassed and you smiled back. You had never heard anyone make such a statement so directly. "Thank you... Which one do you prefer?"

The boy, coughing, handed you a note. ' Here’s my number, if you ever want to study with me. I don't know how to make a coffee outside of work, I would like to get to know you better.'

Jay, who was passing by them, couldn’t help but notice the interaction and hear the worst excuse invented in this world to ask a girl out. His look, at first indifferent, became more attentive when Matthew touched the arm of Y/N with a certain ease. There was something unusual in the air, an energy that he could not ignore. The tension between them was palpable, and Jay could not help but react.

He approached the bar with his quiet but determined step, and before you could say anything, he bent over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder with naturalness. «Hey, sunshine, all right?» he said, casting a sharp look at the boy.

Matthew raised an eyebrow, surprised by the gesture. ' Sorry, but... what’s going on? You’re... together? Nobody told me that you were engaged,' he asked, his voice now more cautious.

You were stiff, not knowing how to react. You wanted to make a joke, to take the tension away, but the situation was out of control.

Jay, noticing your discomfort, decided to take you by the arm, with a strong gesture but without violence. He lifted you slightly, bringing your face closer to yours as if to protect your space. «Yes, we’ve been together for a while,» he said with an enigmatic smile, looking at Matthew with an intensity that left little room for misunderstandings.

Matthew seemed puzzled but, with a last smile, he walked away, leaving the bar with a slight hint of frustration. Jay stood there, holding you for a moment longer than necessary.

You looked at him with bright eyes, mixing disbelief and a subtle anger. "What do you think you’re doing? You should not have gotten in the way," You said, trying to shake off his embrace.

Jay looked into your eyes, his smile concealing a slight hint of possessiveness. «I don’t like to share,» he said, his voice low and still. «And you are mine, Y/N. I don’t want others to think that I can have a chance.»

You stared at him for a moment, a mixture of emotions running through your face. But before you could answer, Jay pulled you back to him, bringing his lips closer to his in a kiss that, this time, left no room for doubt. It was not a kiss of passion, but one that seemed to define a boundary, a line that both now had crossed.

When they broke away, Y/N looked at him intently, the breath that was escaping her the fastest. "Don’t ever allow yourself to do that again," you said, but your tone was so fragile as if you were not so sure you wanted to keep that distance.

Jay smiled as if he understood something more than you. «Don’t worry. There’s no need to talk about it. I know how you feel. I want only want you.»

But Y/N, even as she struggled with the emotions that were starting to mount inside her, detached herself from him, looking at him with an indecipherable expression. " I’m not a toy, Jay. And I don’t want to be treated like that."

Jay watched you for a moment, but he didn’t answer. He felt conflicted with you, but somehow the bond you were building kept deepening. And he knew in his mind that he would never be willing to let go of someone like you.

The weekend had arrived and, as usual, the cafeteria was a mix of chaos and tranquility, but this time there was something different in the air. Jay had not shown up for work and not only that morning but for 3 days, and it was immediately clear that his absence weighed on you. You felt frustrated and, for the first time, even a little angry. You knew that Jay had his priorities, the baseball team above all, but you never would have imagined that he would disappear without even a warning, You had discovered that he went to Japan for a game thanks to the social media of the university team and I asked you where had gone the girl a few months ago who didn’t care about these things?

While you were making coffee, the thought of Jay skipping the weekend without telling you anything made you bite your lower lip. Maybe he thought you would understand, that you would be comfortable with his absence, but you weren’t the type who easily accepted being put on the back burner. Although you were always sympathetic to him, you felt slightly angry at the time for the feelings you were beginning to feel for him. After all, there were no signs that Jay would consider you a priority, were there?

"Why didn’t he even warn me?" you mumbled in a low voice

The hours passed and his frustration grew ever greater. The evening was coming and, although you had a lot to do, the thought of Jay did not leave you, in the maxi screen of the cafeteria came a lot of his friends including Jungwon to see the game late in the morning and everyone talked about him.

Perhaps you needed a break, to forget for a while its presence in the cafeteria and your heart.

That night you went back to the apartment and it was empty because T/L was from Jungwon. You took a hot shower but after a few minutes, you heard the beep of a message on your phone.

The news you were waiting for, or perhaps that you feared, had arrived: Jay was back in Seoul. And instead of going straight home, he went to your house without changing.

You looked at the message, uncertain whether to answer or not. "Why now?" you thought with a mixture of curiosity and irritation.

A few minutes later, you heard the bell ring, and when you noticed Jay appeared, with his bad boy air that seemed to be an integral part of him. He hadn’t even changed his team logo sweatshirt, but you noticed him right away, the one who knew how to draw everyone’s attention in the room.

«Hey,» he said, with his smile that had a shadow of sincerity that could not hide. «I thought it would be nice to stop by before going home. I missed you.»

You looked at him with a mixture of disapproval and disbelief. "You missed me? Yet you didn’t even have the decency to warn me that you wouldn’t come to work."

Jay stepped towards you, but you moved away from him so that he would not be too far behind. «I’m sorry,» he said sincerely. «The team needs me, you know. But... it’s not that. I really missed you. I didn’t think I would miss being away from you so much. I didn’t write because I wanted to give you some space for what happened in the bar with that guy...».

Jay’s words touched you more than you wanted to admit. But your anger didn’t go away so easily. Despite missing him, you couldn’t ignore the fact that he was gone without even giving her a warning.

"Here’s the bad boy that everyone loves, who goes away without a word," You said, trying to keep his coolness. "And now you’re coming back to me like nothing happened."

Jay looked at you intensely, and his smile slowly faded. He knew his actions had hurt you, but he couldn’t control his desire to be with you. Your presence was the only thing that made him feel...complete, even if he did not want to admit it out loud.

He came to you and put a hand gently on your cheek and with his thumb caressed it. «I didn’t want to upset you,» he said, his voice softer than it had ever been before. «I just want to be with you. You’re important to me.»

You felt your heart beat faster, and despite all that you had felt for his absence, you could not ignore the fact that Jay had always specially treated you, in a way no one else had ever done.

But you didn’t want to be just a "secondary priority" in his life. He’s tired of feeling like that as if you were just a hobby for him.

"Is it too much?" you asked him, a little angry. "Is it not enough that I make room for you in my life, Jay?"

He stared at you for a moment, and then, with a calm he had never before, wrapped you in a hug. «No. I never have enough,» he said, whispering to your neck. «Because you are the only thing I want and now I will show you.»

Jay pushes you into bed while he continues to kiss you and takes off that wrinkled shirt and the short shorts you used as pajamas, touches your panties slightly but he was rid of them immediately also, and lays you near the edge to make you come.

«Stretch it out more, darling, today I will make you feel good». His voice is hoarse as his hands go to press on your thighs until he has no sight of your sparkling pussy.

His cock is flinching at the sight of your beautiful pussy. Fuck. You’re dripping in your excitement, and all he did was kiss you. Yet, there is already a messy web of excitement covering your swollen lips. She growls slightly when she sees your beautiful pussy clenching for the need to have her fingers inside and his cock.

You’re milking gently when Jay presses his middle finger and index against your pussy to spread your lips. The warmth of his fingers is different from when you touch yourself it’s much better, "Jay more pls, it’s much nicer to feel your fingers around me than mine that are small". Jay, when he heard this phrase stopped for a moment to look at you, how was it possible that the girl who scolded him constantly touched?

Jay puts two fingers between your folds. He curls it and slowly pumps it, feeling your hot wet pussy stretch around his long fingers. Just as he thought you were tight and had to prepare you for his cock.

«Fuck, sunshine. You’re so sensitive and wet just for me» His growl is deep and makes you clench his fingers. «I need to taste you."

The excitement clouds your mind and makes you feel drunk as it pumps more and more of its long fingers around your pussy. The way Jay looks at you like you’re the thing he wants most in the world makes you gush out of his fingers. Her hot mouth clings to your clitoris, swirling her tongue around the sensitive bud. You scream as his fingers slowly start to fuck your hole, reaching out to prepare for his cock.

"Jay" You scream as you bow back, pressing your pussy against his face in search of release.

Your groans stop when he forces his tongue into the tightness of your pussy. The moans she gives you make you release more juices in her mouth while waiting.

«Fuck, Y/N.» Jay moans in your soggy pussy. «You have a sweet pussy, the most beautiful and the sweetest."

All you can focus on is the way his tongue penetrates you with a force that makes you see stars. He skilfully slides his soft tongue along your aching folds until all you can do is shout for him. Jay smiles between your folds, fingers slowly massaging you deep.

When you look down you see that he is looking at you with unconditional desire, Jay groans along with you as you come all over his face. His cock contracts against the sheets as you keep moving your hips to crush your pussy in her mouth. With a low moan, she continues, using her tongue to fuck you during your orgasm.

You’re a panting disaster when it moves away. His chin is covered by your release and for a moment you wonder how someone can be so fucking attractive.

«Are you ready?" said Jay as he took off his Calvin Klein boxer shorts and saw his cock already erect and how reddish

"I didn’t think the campus rock star would ask if a girl is ready to get fucked by him" You watched with your mouth slightly drooling as he slowly caresses, smearing the presenial liquid that drips from his thick tip all over his venous length.

«Stop teasing me, sunshine, that I have always been too good to you» His voice was sweet but at the same time decisive.

Jay lined up at your entrance and your hands were weaving in his hair, bringing it back to your lips. He immediately returned the kiss, slowly pushing his hips forward and wrapping himself in your tight warmth.

You frown, your lips separated from hers as your face twitched and a moan overflowed from your lips, quickly closing your mouth. «Fuck, you’re so tight, I thought I’d prepared you for sunshine»

You couldn’t say a word, the noises stuck in your throat as he practically split you in half with his dick. In the end, he hit the bottom with a strong push and you could hear every ridge and vein, a deep breath that left him while he spoke, his voice trembled, «I’m about to start moving»

«move Jay pls, I need to hear you» whispers, a whimper sliding from your lips as he pulls himself out, pushing back in faster than before.

You couldn’t think clearly, your mind was confused and completely focused on how good you were feeling at the time, how well jay was fucking you, setting a perfect rhythm, and making you feel so good with him.

"Jay, fuck," you mumbled, your hands moving on his neck, his arms, his back, wherever you could grab to root. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed quietly through the room and small moans came out of your lips.

«I will make you cum on my cock. I’ll let you understand that for me you’re not just a hobby but everything for me» he sighed, his hand coming down to press on your stomach, your eyes wriggling back for the pressure, «fuck, you’re taking me so well, sunshine, full of my dick»

He stopped for a second and grabbed your legs and pressed them against your chest, holding them there by the back of his knees as he started moving again, the new angle made him feel even deeper. " Fuck, oh my god", you whined, throwing your head backward against the pillow. Had practically locked you under his grip, unable to do anything but take it all.

A certain push pushed him up against your G-spot, and a broken jolt left your lips as you pulled his hair lightly and began to suck on the sweet spot you loved so much «Right there?»

"Yes, yes, please oh my god," you stammered. he sped up, hitting the perfect spot repeatedly. You feel your high growing fast, the band ready to break.

"I’m close," you whined, and his hand immediately went down to rub circles on your clitoris. The added stimulation pushed you even closer to the limit, your eyes closed.

«Me too, baby. I’ll fill you with my sperm» he groaned, his thrusts became sloppy as he approached the limit, "would you like, this time to be filled not your mouth but your pussy?»

"please, I need it. I need your sperm", you complain, your hands pulling the sheets harder as you feel the band in your stomach getting tighter, "I’m going to come!"

He accelerated his thrusts, rubbing harder on your clitoris, «come for me»

His words pushed you over the edge, your toes clenched and your eyes rolled back as your orgasm exploded, and your release poured out all over his cock. Your pussy squeezed tight around him, making it harder for Jay to move while he moaned, watching how your face writhed as you succumb to overwhelming pleasure.

«Fuck, baby. you hold me so tight. I’m about to come, I’ll fill you» his voice was choked and trembling, his hips were slamming against yours as he shot his sperm inside of you, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. He swung his hips slowly against yours, helping you both to overcome your heights.

Your breath slowed down as your body relaxed in the sheets, trying to process what had just happened. his forehead fell softly against yours as he pressed a sweet kiss on your lips before freeing your legs, making you put your weak body over his and squeezed you to himself, You still felt his cum gnawing off your pussy but were too exhausted to get up.

Jay sprayed your hair and gave you another little kiss on the forehead «Do you understand that for me you will never be a sunshine pastime? It’s from the first time I saw you that I dreamed of having you, but I didn’t think you had such a difficult character with me»

You laughed lightly against his neck and you leaned even closer to him as you heard his heart beating fast.

"I hope so for you, Jay, because even if at the beginning you irradiated me I always found you fascinating and as I am yours, you will be mine" Jay started to laugh and moved slowly to look you in the eyes. «I didn’t think my favorite barista could be so territorial with me, but I like sunshine!»

I hope you like it:) I had a lot of fun writing this one-shot about Jay🎸

comments and reblog are appreciated

©cutehoons02 all rights reserved 2025.

[shithowdy]

the discussion surrounding generative images costing artists their jobs and being trained on stolen work is extremely important and worth having, but the reason i'm so zealous about pointing them out when i see them (and helping people learn to recognize them) is, once again, consumer and media literacy. ai generators have their arguable uses as tools for inspiration, but they are also tools for manipulation.

generative images, unlike a good photoshop, can be produced instantly with absolutely no skill required, which means that everything from online shopping to political propaganda is now inundated with convincing fakes. this could easily be you!

when doing your shopping this season, please pay close attention to products from unfamiliar sources like etsy shops.

does the product show multiple angles? (this is the most important thing for which you should look)

does the product have a lot of superfine details, yet no zoom on them?

do those details actually connect and make sense as shapes?

are things that should be symmetrical, such as chair legs or lamp bases, actually symmetrical?

does the light source make sense? (like this lamp example: why is the base not illuminated if the lamp is lit?)

if purchasing a print from an etsy (etc.) shop, is the style consistent or does the "artist" somehow seem to be an expert in every style and medium? (like, beware of shops like this one-- even without zooming and investigating, the inconsistent style is quite a red flag)

can you find an "original" of the image, like on an artist's social media, or does it seem to only exist in the context of the shop?

do the elements and details of the image easily distinguish themselves, or do parts of them merge weirdly together? (to use an example from the previously linked shop, check out the bottom of the coat on this image and how it fuses with the clothing beneath-- this is only the most immediate and obvious issue in the image)

REVERSE IMAGE SEARCH EVERYTHING.

my inbox is always open if you want help determining if something is fake. love you guys, protect your wallets.

[dearmash1975project]

It was fitting that Brian was the first person I spoke to for this. It was his letter, after all, and the age written on it (age 11), that touched me so deeply that it sparked this whole project. I’ll keep my methods on how I tracked him down close to the vest, so as not to illustrate how easy it is to find anyone in this digital age; needless to say– getting an email back that read “Dear Lily, Yes I did!” was thrilling. We scheduled to speak on the phone and did on July 15th, 2024.

{Interview continued under the cut}

Brian Nores was no longer 11 when we spoke on the phone. Between the passage of time and the life that fills the mind since age 11, he didn’t remember writing the letter until my email.

An email, he told me, that his partner advised him not to answer as it was “probably a scam.” Thankfully for me, Brian is “always getting himself into trouble” and answered my inquiry about a letter he may or may not have sent while living at X address in 1975. In hindsight, his partner was definitely right for being wary.

Brian credited his late father for the letter’s existence and described memories flooding back after reading the words he wrote nearly 50 years earlier. Not long before he wrote the M*A*S*H letter, Brian was a boy scout who wanted to quit. His father instructed him that he could quit, but he had to write a letter to the scout master explaining why he wanted to leave the troop. His dad ‘never let him off the hook for that,’ and it was likely this instillation of values that gave Brian the confidence to speak his mind after the fateful episode aired. [In a fascinating ending to the boy scout anecdote– Brian, who still lives in the area, was at the local frame shop years later where the owner recognized his name and produced the letter, which the scout master was having framed.]

When I asked if he remembered the episode he responded how anyone who has seen it would; he remembered it very well. He recalled being “disturbed” and “shocked” by it. In a world before spoiler alerts, he explained, “the whole world saw that episode and reacted in real time.” As an 11-year-old, but also as an American youth raised on American narratives of war, he remembered expecting Henry to “go off into the sunset” and be okay.

“For me, M*A*S*H ended after that episode.”

Brian watched occasionally after season 3 but had no idea the series continued for as long as it did (M*A*S*H aired from 1972-1983). “It was never the same, certainly.”

Brian was in 5th grade in 1975, and at his young age he had never seen something on TV that disturbing. He told me he reached out to an old friend to discuss the letter, and they reminisced about their lives at that time. “Age of innocence” was the term he used with me. At that point in his life, he had never lost any relatives or experienced any hardships. “The most shocking thing that I had experienced prior to that was a large earthquake in ’71.” For Brian, this episode marked one of the first experiences he had had with death.

It's an extraordinary level of influence to have, that the simple ‘writing off’ of a character can have such an impact on a young life. We often characterize television as a sort of hobby, one that has less of a cachet than movies; but the mechanism by which media compels our emotions is the same.

Brian reflected more on this impact when telling me that The Mary Tyler Moore Show was his favorite series, and he recalled crying at the finale in 1977. He remembered thinking “How could they end this?”

To Brian, television was “taken a little more seriously then.” With one TV, there were fights over who got to hold the clicker when you sat around the set as a family. “You got one chance to watch it.” He explained. “What a different world we live in now.”

Brian still lives in the area where he grew up and drives past his old house and “down memory lane” often. He is still close to two of his childhood best friends. He shared with me some of his thoughts on aging, a topic that still feels “surreal” to him. “Only recently have I started to experience change. Restaurants etc. going away. Everything that we grew up with has changed. TV, movies, roads, politics. I don’t like this!” He laughed. “You look in the mirror and think.”

Brian had no idea that his letter ended up in the archives of our country’s National History Museum. “Really surprised” is how he described his reaction to the news; one of the aforementioned childhood friends was “blown away.”

“What it said to me (...) was that it reaffirmed/reinforced some of the things that my dad told me. Doing the right thing and following through.” Brian shared.

“What a difference it can make. That this moment is occurring because I spent a few minutes writing.”

~~~~

Thank you so much to Brian for granting me this interview.

Subject photos courtesy of Brian: Letter-era Brian/current-era Brian, Huntington Library Garden, California.

Accession information: Photo taken by me, 3 July 2024. “Letters from viewers regarding the death of Henry Blake.” Box 22, Folder 4. M*A*S*H Television Show Collection, 1950-1984, Archives Center, National Museum of American History. https://sova.si.edu/record/nmah.ac.0117/ref359?s=0&n=10&t=C&q=NMAH.AC.0117&i=0

[occamstfs]

Surfin' The Years Away

Wade reluctantly follows his boyfriend into a new thrift shop. After trying on some old surf shorts he is blasted into the past. With each passing moment and stray thought he's body and mind molded into the King of this mid-century beach.

What better time for a surfer TF than Winter huh? In season for any Aussie/Southern Hemisphere readers I might have haha! At any rate, Hope you enjoy this little time travel TF, got a cowboy TF coming next ;) Best ! -Occam

Wade and Dylan don’t know how they’ve somehow overlooked the vintage shop on Main Street until now. Wade’s more than happy to make a note of it and come back later, quite eager to get out of the cold. But when Dylan pulls on his sleeve and begs they check it out, “We’ll just be in and out babe-” the driver acquiesces with a grumble and turns into the small parking lot.

Before the engine’s off, Dylan hops out of the small car and sprints inside in search of some theoretical hidden gem. Wade sees his sigh in the icy air before he knew he released it. Longing for the end of the winter he trudges carefully along the icy sidewalk behind his happy-go-lucky boyfriend. 

The woman at the counter pages through some old magazine of vintage clothing while Dylan raids the racks. Wade eyes the cluttered store as he fights back a sneeze from the dusty shelves. Quite the eclectic shop, certainly not a store with a specific market in mind. What can only be leather fetish gear hangs on the walls next to some army surplus gear and in between are rack after rack of pastel skirts and oversized vintage suits.

He hears his boyfriend squeak in excitement as he pulls two things off their coat hangers. “Wade! Look~ Bell Bottoms!” He holds a pair of something more akin to boho pants up to his waist and poses, “Aren’t they just 60’s chic babe?” Queen that he is, Wade opens his mouth to question or debate when exactly they became vogue, but before he has a chance there’s a glimmer in Dylan’s eyes as he pulls out a piece for Wade to judge.

“And I found these for you babe!” Stretching the string waistband with a wink, Dylan produces a pair of surf shorts that are surely a few sizes too large for Wade, who remains ready to leave. Responding to a complaint not yet uttered Dylan raises a finger to silence him and continues, “C’mon just try ‘em on Wadey! You can tighten them all the way up, this way if you keep up on your gym plans they’ll be perfect for your beach bod!” 

Wade grumbles and reaches out to grab the shorts. Though he’s loath to admit it, he’s surprised at how right they feel now that they’re in his hands. Pursing his lips he doesn’t acknowledge the strange sensation. Wade shakes his head in shock as after a moment holding them, he’s filled with an urge to strip then and there to throw them on. Blushing at the strange thought he keeps silent and allows himself be dragged towards the two shabby dressing rooms in the back of the store.

Dylan, holding his bell bottoms and a vest Wade didn’t see him pick up, does a little pose before dipping into the changing room on the left. Ready to be done and slightly on edge from his intrusive thought, Wade enters the curtained space opposite. Like any other of the millions of dressing rooms throughout the country there’s a mirror, a small mounted bench, and spot to hang up your clothes. What is less expected is the bizarre silence that overtakes him as he steps past the curtain, as if he were in a recording booth.

Holding his shorts he forcefully assumes it’s just his ears popping and he’ll be right as rain any moment now. It’s anyone’s guess as to why the sound of Dylan’s humming as he changes into his little outfit is totally muted by two hanging sheets of fabric. As far as Wade is concerned his boyfriend has simply decided to go quiet, willfully ignoring how out of character that is for a man as uncomfortable with silence as Dylan is. Faced with this strange supernatural quiet Wade feels himself begin to understand the discomfort.

The man’s two feet away, Wade should hear the shuffling of clothing if nothing else. Hackles officially raised, Wade starts to investigate, though before his hands can reach the curtain he’s struck with a migraine and thought that’s not his own blaring in his head, It is of no concern, I should change into the surf shorts. Lip quivering the shorts are already in his hands as he turns back to the mirror.

His reflection flickers as his pants fall to the ground, goosebumps soaring up his legs from the shock of losing their cozy covering. Unwilling to acknowledge whatever horror must lie in the mirror he forces his eyes shut as his body moves of its own accord to pull the baggy shorts on. When he feels them cinched and tied on his thin waist he opens his eyes, holding fast to the idea that everything is fine, must be fine.

In the mirror he finds his reflection as it always is, tacky swim shorts notwithstanding. He looks exactly as he should. Wade sighs in relief before he notices that he’s not out of the impossible jungle yet. What is different is the room in which he finds himself, the curtain now striped, a harsh bulb hangs above him, the small bench replaced by a damaged wooden stool. 

Taking time to rationalize how he’s gotten these details mixed up, as is the only explanation, he sees a shimmer in the bottom of the mirror. Looking closely he sees a spark slowly panning up. When it reaches his feet he sees them slowly begin to darken, tanned by a sun they’ve rarely seen before they begin to bulge and lengthen. Seeing feet more akin to swim fins than what he knows he has he yelps and jumps away, getting tangled in the rough curtain before spilling into the vintage store’s hallway.

Dumbfounded, Wade scrambles to the floor and sees the vintage store is no more. In its place is what appears to be a cabana. Large windows show a bright beachside summer day, a far cry from the frigid world he knew it should be. Before he can pinch himself awake he flinches as some surfer bro gestures to his shorts and shouts, “Eyy Wade! Lookin’ killer brah!” 

Refusing to engage with the world he’s found himself in, Wade beelines to the tall, tanned, muscular man who addressed him by name and asks as his eyes start to tear up, “D- Dylan?” The surfer’s eyes focus in and his mouth closes into a look of shock before dropping into a slack jawed, “Whuh?” and settling on a smile as he laughs and ruffles Wade’s hair, “‘S Ray dude, you know that ahahah!” 

Ray? Wade rubs his eyes as he tries to remember if he knows a Ray, though really he doesn’t think he knows any surfers. Ray. With each searching thought comes a creeping sensation. The name feels right? It feels more at home, more familiar in his head, as if he’s thought of the man thousands of times. Ray. Yeah, he knows Ray, how could he not. Looking at the man standing opposite him, blushing at the tan pecs at his eye level he is struck with countless memories of watching him on the waves. Cheering on his, brah? No that can’t be-

“Should take your shirt off too Wade, show off for the ladies eh?” Ray flexes and Wade narrows his eyes, okay well that’s enough of this dude. He then slaps his forehead, what’s he thinking he just needs to call Dylan, obviously. He quickly runs back to the changed-changing room and arrives just in time to find his pants shifting into vintage shorts, quite like the pair he now wears. Swallowing his fear he reaches into the pocket for his phone, though the only thing he produces is a beaten up wallet and his car keys, now missing their fob.

Putting forth great effort to steady his breathing he checks the wallet to find a similarly damaged driver’s license unlike any he’s ever seen. Gone is the plasticine card he’s carried for years, replaced by some water stained, taped together laminated bit of paper with a signature sloppier than he’d ever use scrawled under his name. His eyes refuse to look at the date of birth as he opts to sprint back and confront Ray.

His feet pound hard on the few steps back to the cabana’s lobby, heavier than they had any right to. With each careening step they widen and lengthen racing to match the wretched paddles he saw in his reflection. Their soles roughening from what must be years of walking along dingy beachside sidewalks, perfect for sticking to a waxed board. “Okay dude, Ray, whatever your name is I’d like my phone back. I don’t think this stupid little prank is funny.”

Ray pauses mouth hanging open, its default state apparently, as he processes whatever it is that Wade must be whining about. He tilts his head and smirks a stupid smile at the clerk that Wade only just noticed, “Hear that Mabes? Wader over here thinks you had a phone in the changing room! Hah!” 

She rolls her eyes before turning to address the clearly apoplectic newcomer, “Wade I don’t know what your deal is today-” she pauses to look him up and down and groans, “God! How many times do I have to tell you guys, if you’re going to come in at least throw on shoes. No one wants to see your disgusting little feet.”

Ray performs indignance at this, throwing a heavy arm around Wade’s shoulder, though he shoots higher than he should as if he were expecting his bro to be taller than he is, “Now Mabe, babe. You won’t get me defindin’ the cleanliness of my brah here, but little! I’ll have you know he’s got the best board huggers this side of San Fran!” Wade narrows his eyes in confusion as whatever is going on is clearly beyond and beneath him. Though as Ray finishes speaking, the smaller man grunts as his feet cramp.

Looking down, Wade discovers that, alongside the world around him, he too has begun to change. His feet have clearly already grown, Dylan always poked fun at his small shoe size, but now they have grown beyond measure. Wade recoils in shock as they balloon once more, toes stretching further as his soles bulge wider.

They seem so large that he wonders where he’ll be able to even get shoes that big. Eyes flickering back and forth he figures he’ll just have to order them on Ama- uh? Wade’s eyes glaze over briefly as he loses his train of thought. His head pangs with pain as the idea of online shopping starts to fade. Surely they have catalogues for extra-large shoes or something, he’ll check with Ray later, yeah. Ray’ll know.

Speaking of, Ray and Mabel have continued arguing. Wade is unaware that as he was lost in his own mind, his new surfer bro has continued to defend him, and with each complimentary phrase Wade has begun to inch taller in height. Speaking of waves conquered and tubes bodied, Wade catches the tail end of one particularly exaggerated story as his mind begins to fill in the details. Back stretching and calves slowly bulking as he clearly recalls bailing from his board. He grunts again as he surges taller, thighs slowly bulking up as his new height exposes a pale midriff, attracting eyes from both of the spatting pair.

Finding he has their attention he clears his throat and begs, “Look, I don’t care about any of this-” Ray recoils in shock, “Can I borrow either of your cellphones so I can call my boyfriend?” Their eyes widen at the brazen use of boyfriend though the friends are well aware of Wade’s proclivities, what actually causes the strange stares is his asking for a cell phone. “Brah, did you hit your head or what? You know the cabana don’t have a phone.” 

Wade shakes his head, he doesn’t know that he doesn’t care, “Sure! Whatever!” he reaches out, “Can I borrow your cell phone.” Mabel and Ray eye each other once more before breaking out into laughter, “Shell phone? What are you on about dude?” Wade stares back with absolute shock and derision before his vision goes spotty and his head burns with a rolling headache. His hippocampus physically pulses as his mind and memories are rewritten.

A cell phone is foolish? A dream. A phone you could just up and carry anywhere? Science fiction. And yet he can almost picture a small black mirror in his hand. Embarrassed from their laughter and determined to not let this fact of reality be erased he continues to stare at his hand as if he’s trying to will one into existence. Unfortunately the only change that he notices is his skin bulging as his hand flexes larger, a few scars blanch from years on the beach as his hands struggle to keep up with his advancing height. One could almost hear his bones cracking as his fingers lengthen and grow calloused while his fingernails lose their polish, grow dirty, and shorten

He pounds the cabana counter and Mabel clicks her tongue, “Okay let’s cool it buddy, you wanna make a call Ray’ll take ya down the street.” She motions to the door with her head and Ray escorts him out, “Come back when you’ve worked out whatever this is on the waves huh Wade?” she pouts as she watches the pair go, taking care to stare at Ray’s defined back with a smile, then she snickers and whispers to herself as she gets back to her magazine, “been watching too much Star Trek I bet.”

Ray’s chipper as ever as he leads Wade out of the cabana, unknowingly more comfortable now that his arm rests closer to where it should after Wade sprouted a few inches. For his part, Wade finds himself distracted by the wild blue sea. Waves rise and crash into foam and he’d swear he could feel the bubbles, the surge on his skin. Like a dog staring at a treat he fights desperately with the urge to sprint across the sand to enjoy it right now.

In fact, his thicker feet begin their plodding to a surf wagon nearby with a couple boards stowed before he’s stopped by a question from Ray, “You wanna take your shirt off so you can get some sun brah? Lookin’ a little pasty there.” Wade shakes his head and tries to disregard his words, though as his mind continues to be assailed by a hunger to surf he gives up the ghost on the shirt battle and reveals his pale weak chest to the world, “s- sounds radical. I’l uhh, catch some rays. hah”

Ray starts to laugh at the pun but instead grimaces as the sight of Wade’s small pasty torso is incongruent with the reality that he knows to be true. Though with a mind accustomed to shrugging off strange ideas and problems too big to worry about he quickly throws his arm around Wade’s shoulders slowly growing wider. “Well let’s getcha to a pay phone so you can call your buddy!” 

Wade rolls his eyes and crosses his arms as the pair head down the boardwalk. He can scarcely focus on the increasingly rapid changes occurring to his body and mind as he’s still distracted by the sound of crashing waves. As the Summer Californian sun beats down on him, his skin starts to darken, closer to the shade Ray recognizes as Wade. Spreading forth in patches he tans to the customary surfer brown, ushering forth from surf shorts that aren’t quite filled and up past a core that is only now getting defined.

So too does his hair suddenly start to lighten. Lengthening into something sun bleached and salt stained. His usually clean-cut look begins to giveaway as the life he knows he should have is slowly eroded, just like the ebb and flow of the waves calling out for him. Pecs beginning to form darken and shine with sweat under the beating sun as he dreamily stares at the sea. Though despite it all, despite true real memories of life in the twenty-first century slowly fading like a mirage, he still remembers his time with Dylan clear as day. To this he holds fast as he stumbles forward from his heavier upper body.

As he continues to grow into this new form, molded by the alien world of the past around him, he begins to notice other surfers and beachgoers eyeing him with familiarity and nodding with respect. After his bicep bulges larger from returning a few shakas, he bumps his shirtless body into Ray to get his attention like he's done a million times. Finally tearing his eyes away from ogling scantily clad women, Ray tilts his head as Wade asks in a tone clearly affected by the thickening neck and shifting disposition, “Hey brah, er- Ray? Am I like, a big deal?”

Ray looks dumbly at Wade as his irises change to match the deep blue of his quarry before laughing, “Hah! Such a cut-up today brah! Course everyone knows you, you’re always ripping! If anyone needs any tips or tricks they come to you.” Wade clenches at his head as years of memories and knowledge rush into his mind. Equivalent to the sensation of bailing on his board into the choppy sea, he’s drowning in visions of showing off on the waves and taking care to help anyone who so desires to join him in enjoying the spray of a set. His chest puffs with pride and puffs larger with pecs as his jaw widens and now-blue eyes roll back. He’s the king of this beach. And just like that, as soon as the words, the idea, cross his mind he’s overwhelmed and pulled under. 

He awakens laid out on a bench somewhere down the way, he hears the Beach Boys playing through some static nearby and opens his eyes to see Ray’s face painted with concern, though as soon as he hears Wade speak up he returns to his usual happy-go-lucky expression. “Gnaaarly dude- feel like I just woke up for the first time~” The new surfer then coughs up some sea water which he finds as strange, he wasn’t surfing was he?

This small quibble with reality acts as one final life preserver to the life he once knew. Just odd enough for him to question his situation, his reality. For a moment he stares at his tanned, veiny hands and questions is this who he is? Trailing up arms patterned with sun-bleached blonde hair and briefly hung up on the quarter-sized nipples poking off a thick chest. He scratches his stomach, for some reason expecting to find a bit of a belly, his fingers instead bump against tight abs.

Unfortunately his last grasp at the future is haplessly wasted as he’s almost immediately distracted by Surfin’ U.S.A, “Ugh-” he chokes out in his now perpetually fried, laid-back voice, “Why’s this dad rock playing?” Ray laughs and helps the man up, “Maan Wade you’re on a trip today, first goin’ on and on about selling phones and some enter-net! You know your dad hates the Beach Boys! Ahahah” With this paltry grasp his past self is evermore washed to sea, Ray’s recollections sound just as strange to Wade as they did to him and Mabel. 

Even the explicit mentions of cell phones and the internet isn’t enough to prevent the rubber band from snapping as decades of lived experience with future technology is wiped from his mind. Memories of the modern world thoroughly displaced by life sprinting across the sands and mooring the foundations of surfing as a continental sport. Just as Ray has done countless times today alone, Wade smiles dumbly in brief reflection on his life lived.

 Going forward on rare occasions some fragment of his other self washes up to his mind like jetsam. Sometimes when he sees a record he can’t help but wonder if they’ll be smaller one day or he’ll reach for something in his pants out of habit when he has a question to ask, before shaking it off like a strange tic. His crew often labels him some kind of prophet as he seems almost too keenly aware of how global events will shake out.

“I swear brah, gettin’ me worried that your new guy’s slipped ya somethin’” Ray says with a wink. Wade flinches with a start, that’s right! He needs to call Dylan immediately! Putting change in a pay-phone like he’s done all his life he dials a number he knows by heart and holds his breath, begging the universe that Dylan will answer the other line as the ringing tone vibrates the receiver, and then his miracle is answered. 

Sounding as if he’s discovered cloud 9, somewhere across the town his love, Dylan, answers, “Heyyyyy, ‘s this Wadey?” The sound of his voice fills Wade’s thicker chest with comfort, “Dyl! God it’s so nice to hear you…” He stands there for a few seconds, only then does he notice how tight his swim shorts have become from his bulking thighs and building ass. Though of course, the most prominent issue at the moment is the rising dilemma in front. He blushes and bites his lip as he tries to speak with more discretion, “You uhhh, down to come over to ours later today?” 

He can almost hear the smile of the man on the other line, “Uhhh yeahh, yeah… Me ‘n my uhhh freaks are on a trip righnow. But yeaaah, think I could swing by baby” Wade can almost see the man on the other line, delighting in the feeling of his fingers twirling the phone wire in his hands, certainly too high to work out a time but Wade doesn’t mind. The promise of a future fuck and time together after is more then enough, “Righteous brah, well I’ll see you then Dyl.” His lover just giggles and the pair hang up at the same time, bonded tighter than ever despite their strange unknown journeys apart. Sighing in delight and ignoring the pulse in his pants, Wade turns to face his brah.

For the first time Wade throws his arm around Ray’s shoulder as the pair wander off towards his wagon. Ray gestures for him to try and mask his clearer than anything erection though the surfer just shrugs, “Oh sure dude, as if anyone ever misses your goose eggs you little horndog.” The pair guffaw and continue to tease eachother as they start back towards Mabel’s cabana.

 Glimmer in his eyes and too eager to not speed up, Wade hits his bro on the back and challenges him on a race to their boards. His new legs carry him faster than he’s ever managed before. Settled into his new life the feeling of his feet pounding into the hot sand fills him with contentment. There’s no place he’d rather be than soaring across the beach while his crew watches.

[jones-erode]

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[lowspoonsfood]

I'm a college student working several jobs & taking a class for summer. My cousin got me a slow cooker but aside from rice idk what to do with it. Recipes online require buying so many little things and I can't make it seem worth it. This is my first time grocery shopping on my own and I'm overwhelmed with how much it costs/is taking even when I just eat the same 2 foods (eggs for breakfast, burger for lunch and dinner) and easy microwave stuff over and over. The closest grocery store is also limited in ingredients. Easy slowcooker recipes that don't require me dropping a bunch of money would be so helpful <3

followers, any ideas for anon?

i would say there might be some variety or things you haven't tried yet if you check out the microwave tag and there is a small slow cooker selection as well. i know groceries are super hard right now and inflation is affecting everyone. i do want to say that it is always okay to go to your local food bank to supplement your pantry/fridge if you're struggling (yes, you are struggling enough if you have to ask am i struggling enough) - everyone deserves to eat! also, a lot of places have seasonal summer free produce programs right now. try googling (your county/town) free produce.