#and a cup of coke with them to tbh

[candy-ac3]

I wanna get my pancakes and eat them for breakfast but don’t want my parents to know I stayed up all night (normally would be waking up like a hour later then now)

[morownic]

you found your house, but where’s your home?

Japan was home to your childhood and the innocence you had lost a long time ago, and there was no way you would taint it with your deep, irremediable sorrow. You were never going back there. You were never going back home. (Have you ever had one?)

warnings/tags: NSFW MDNI (graphic descriptions of drug use, overdose, and blood; non-graphic smut), non-ultraman AU, afab + fem pronouns, non-graphic descriptions of a car accident, suicidal ideation

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a/n: still written in the big spirit of oh no (tbh i was kinda convinced this song is practically gonna be the theme song for this series lmfao) + big influence of the breach + maps. this took a month to finish because i was in the trenches and my laptop broke lol thats why i didnt proofread and the ending is kinda ehh as well. i hope there are still people reading this though </3

Blues and purples washed over the crowd of college students as the party reached full swing. Music thumped in your chest as if it wanted to replace the beating of your heart, and drunken chatter rang in your ears as if they wanted to replace the voices in your head. Your eyes swept over the room, looking for a familiar face to ground yourself in the midst of your high. Some people greeted you as you made your way through the sea of bodies. Even though you failed to recognize most of them, you practically bounced as you greeted back and asked for their names and majors, complimenting them on their appearance and making small talk before moving on to the other person that had approached you. Mirth ran through your veins, so much so that it caused nausea to bubble in the depths of your stomach, as you kept moving from one conversation to another without so much as taking a breath and moving around with a twitch every now and then and a restlessness that slowly built up your exhaustion. When you finally saw Harley, your roommate, you gave the last person who spoke to you a jovial goodbye and a giddy side-hug before making your way toward her.

If you weren’t coked out of your mind, you would have immediately noticed the look on her face as she realized that you were not sober. Disappointment, concern, horror. You merely offered her the widest smile you could wear as you downed whatever the content of your cup was. The bitterness and burn of alcohol didn’t even make you flinch, and at that moment, you wondered if you should have heeded the sign that you gotta stop yourself now. Harley, on the other hand, looked at you as if you had just grown another head in front of her.

“Are you serious?”

Still, in your state, you couldn’t register her anger just yet. You were just confused as to what she was referring to as your smile slowly morphed into a frown. “What?”

“God, I thought you’ve been clean for–” Harley was momentarily interrupted by someone tapping on her shoulder, to which she responded with a rather aggressive ‘Give me a fucking minute!’ before she turned back to you. “You’re fucked. You’re really fucked.”

You were still puzzled, but your own indignation was starting to surface. “What the fuck’re you saying?”

The person behind Harley was saying something to her again, a sense of urgency evident in their speech and gesture, and you saw her gaze flickering between you and them. You caught her cursing under her breath before she said something you couldn’t hear to them and craned her head in your direction with a scowl on her face.

“I’ll be right back. Do not fucking do anything stupid, you hear me?!”

A glimpse of your roommate’s bleached hair was all you saw before she disappeared into the crowd. You couldn’t even process your interaction, let alone get another word in. The realization that you were alone, again, somehow sobered you up. Your eyes felt heavy as they swept over the room once more, hoping to find someone who could distract you from your approaching crash. Gone was the euphoria that ran through your veins and kept you moving. The bluish lighting lost its color and no longer cast a glow that made you feel at ease; its coolness only made you feel more despondent in the middle of the party. The steady pulse of the music somewhat replaced your slowing heartbeat, yet it was muffled in your ears, blending with the chatter around you that grated on your overstimulated nerves. Each breath and step you took as you aimlessly walked through the crowd were slower than the last. You had never experienced your high crashing down as quickly as this. You thought that maybe, just maybe, talking to someone else about some mundane things or the latest gossip would at least be better than going back to one of those bathrooms for a fix. But there was no one to drag you into their conversation, let alone drag you into some corner just to temporarily reprieve you from the weight of it all; everyone was lost in their own world, while you just wanted to run away from yours, to forget and forget and forget.

So you did what you had been doing for the past year to patch up that hole in your heart ever since your parents died.

The bathroom you slipped into was bathed in deep purple, with flickering fairy lights framing the mirror where you saw your own reflection. You almost broke down when you did, because you hated what you saw. To others, you looked fine, pretty even, what with how the silk dress fitted over your form, how the red of your lips and nails seemed to glow in the dark, how your hair still seemed effortlessly kept even though it was a bit disheveled. To you? You looked fucking horrible. If it weren’t for the dim lighting, everyone would have noticed the dark circles under your eyes that you had tried to hide with layers and layers of concealer and the hollow of your cheeks that you didn’t bother contouring. You were a couple pounds lighter than you had been a month ago. Your veins stood out like dark, winding rivers beneath your skin, and your metacarpals had bulged like tree roots protruding from the ground. You put your purse on the counter, sluggishly rummaging through its contents to find your stash. Pressure wrapped around your head like a rubber band as you fumbled with the items inside your purse, trying to control your breathing so that pressure wouldn’t snap. You pulled out a tiny, crumpled resealable bag filled with that godforsaken white powder.

(Couldn’t you have found another way to numb yourself?)

You carefully opened the bag and poured the amount that you thought could lift the crushing weight from your chest onto the counter. With an old credit card your father once gave you before he returned to Japan to run away from you and your mother again, you arranged a few neat lines that you couldn’t even count on one hand because of how distressed you were. Even if you had at least retained a bit of your rationale, you would only have given yourself a pat on the back for lining them nearly as straight as a ruler. You hastily ripped a piece of paper from the tiny notebook you carried with you, rolled it up, and placed it against your nostril.

One sharp inhale and your world burst back into color, it seemed.

No more of that suffocating burden in your chest. No more of that dull ache devouring your entire body. Only that abrupt, exhilarating thrill returning to your bloodstream. Your body tensed for a split second, with your gasp for air making you sound like you had been strangled by death himself just moments ago. (But even death would have been kinder to you than you did to yourself.) At least, this way, your world felt warmer. Not the cold, barren land that you never bothered to nurture, even more so after your parents had passed. Their faces coming to the forefront of your mind made you snort another line, and you were taken back to your childhood home in the Tokyo suburbs; home where your dad played baseball and watched recordings of the Giants’ games with you, where your mom pulled you in for a side-hug as she plated the tonkatsu she cooked for dinner, where you ran around in your backyard either playing with bubbles bought from the local festival or a kite your dad had made for you. Those memories hurt you enough to make you take another bump.

Peace was not something you could afford—not when the line you took, crossed, only made you remember his face. You held back a sob as you took yet another bump. He was just that doe-eyed boy in high school; the boy who laughed in earnest after you parroted some stupid middle school joke you heard from one of your old classmates, the boy who scored a home run that you cheered for so loudly you could barely speak the next day, the boy who made you feel vulnerable for the first time when you kneeled for someone else as if he was God and he later kissed you as if you were an angel, as if all those Sundays you spent at church with your mother were all in vain because he was the original sin that you could not rid yourself of. One line taken, crossed, for every thought of him. One line taken, crossed, for every image of him in your head. The euphoria and heartache enveloping your chest did little to tear you from your frenzy, and only when they turned into a weight heavier than the one you were trying to cast aside did it finally hit you.

“Oh, fuck.”

The devil was staring back at you in the mirror. Your hands felt clammy as they gripped the counter so hard that your knuckles turned white. Your heart beat violently against your ribcage that you were sure it was about to break. You found that it was getting harder to breathe with each sharp inhale that burned your nostrils. Instead of running away, it was as if you were being chased. As if God had enough of your bullshit and told you ‘Don’t you fucking run away’ as the room closed in around you. Everything blurred, darkened, as you grew numb and heavy. Your grip on the counter loosened before your hands finally fell on your sides. Gone was the euphoria that made your world feel at least a little worthwhile, replaced by the realization that something very wrong was going on with you. You swayed and lost your balance in one movement—damn your high-heeled feet, damn the black hole in your heart, damn all the gods and angels that ever existed that never heard your prayers—then you fell onto your knees, knocking your head on the edge of the counter. The only warmth you felt then was the blood trickling down your forehead as you collapsed sideways onto the floor.

Several minutes passed as you teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. During those minutes, you recalled not being able to breathe properly, if at all, as you instinctively yet weakly willed yourself to at least lie down on your side. The noise that escaped the back of your throat was barely audible, and it was something akin to someone being choked to death. You thought that that was what was actually happening, that it was for real this time. Everything was muffled, but you could make out a loud bang against the wall and a figure rushing to your side and shaking your body a little too violently for your liking in your half-conscious state. Warmer light bathed the room once the overhead light was turned on, and you heard what you could only recognize as the voices of people panicking and yelling at each other.

God granted you one last moment of clarity, in which you saw Ken’s face, stricken with horror, before you let yourself fall deeper into oblivion.

Ken Sato got benched for the first time.

Not only did the Giants lose their second match against the Swallows, Ken was also very nearly suspended for the bench-clearing brawl that he had supposedly started. In his first game against the Swallows, the umpire had intervened in the quarrel between Ken and the opposing catcher, and he managed to hit a home run that boosted the team’s morale. But then he just had to meet her during that stupid celebration; their encounter had left him distraught for literal fucking days. Before he knew it, the sun had already risen on his game day. He had to drink two cups of coffee just to kickstart his body into motion. While he could keep that goddamn catcher’s brickbats in the first match, Ken could barely keep himself together when the catcher provoked him in the second match—he tried, really, to hold the lingering effects of the few cans of beer he had the other night, to perform well despite his lack of sleep and barely healed shoulder, to empty his mind from the thoughts of her while he was on the field. He remembered slapping the catcher’s mask off his face and the impact of a clenched fist against his left cheekbone. Everything that happened afterward was a blur to him, other than the fact that Coach Shimura benched and reprimanded him and that he went past the speed limit when he rode his bike back home after the game. That night, the ice bath he had sunk himself into did little to calm his nerves.

The bruises on Ken’s face ceased to swell just two days before his next game. When he found that he could fit his helmet comfortably again without having to deal with how sore the left side of his face was, he cruised across the Rainbow Bridge and relished the rush he felt as he swerved past the traffic in Minato, the hum of his bike engine reverberating through his body. For a moment, the sight of the Tokyo Tower in the distance distracted him from his reality. He thought of Shibuya as the destination of his night ride, but then he recalled his encounter with her at that one nightclub and frustration bubbled up in his chest once again like heartburn. So he simply cruised through the streets of Roppongi, aimlessly taking turns until he arrived at an intersection and narrowly missed a car running a red light from his right.

“Hey–!”

“Ken, are you alright?”

The sound of metal clashing and glass shattering just a few feet ahead of him made Ken instinctively swerve away from the crash. He could barely register what was happening as he brought his bike to a stop near the sidewalk. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as his heartbeat pulsed in his ears and pounded in his chest. With labored breaths and trembling hands, Ken took off his helmet and turned to look at the scene. His eyes widened in shock as he processed the sight of two cars crumpled against each other at the intersection, smoke billowing up from one of the cars’ hoods and the ring of their alarms echoing through the street.

A loud wail that shrilled through his ears pulled him out of his trance. If the scene hadn’t already distressed him, then the sight of a child that some of the pedestrians pulled out from the passenger seat of the impacted car was downright heartbreaking. She was no more than five years old, her pristine white dress stained with blood—Ken wasn’t sure if it was the child’s or someone else’s. He could only imagine what she had seen in the driver’s seat for her to keep trying to get back into the car and shrieking at the top of her lungs. But when they pulled out the driver from the car, he understood.

Ken felt as if his heart had been ripped out from his chest when he saw a face so familiar being laid down on the sidewalk across from him. He was sure he strained his vocal chords when he called out her name so loud it might have rivaled the child’s earsplitting cries.

He had seen this before. He had felt this before—sometime in college, at some godforsaken frat party that made him absolutely abhor parties. (Even if they were some of the only things that helped him cope with the loneliness he felt after she left.) He remembered seeing her lying on the bathroom floor, motionless; there were trails of white on her nostrils, drool and lipstick smudged on the corners of her mouth, blood trickling down from her forehead to the stained white linoleum. But now, instead of slowly kneeling beside her, he ran as fast as he could to the other side of the road and practically shoved away the people that were between him and her. There was no way she was dying right in front of him again. He refused to believe it, at least until he reached out to hold her and realized that she was as pale as she had been that night. His breath labored and his hands—no, his whole body trembled as he frantically glanced over at her closed eyes, the trickling crimson on her face, the slowly drying red on the white of her shirt. Time didn’t slow down this time; it felt as if everything in the world, his world, had completely stilled when he brushed her hair out of her face. Her. It was her. It was just like that night.

This was real. This wasn’t a fever dream.

This was fucking real.

Ken had met you again in the middle of freshman year in college. The two of you reconnected, albeit with a sense of detachment that often made his skin crawl. The jock he had seen you with was actually your boyfriend of a month—one you had supposedly dumped just two days after Ken had met you again. A few days after your breakup, Ken saw you hunched over on a bench in front of the convenience store near his dorm. Your face was hidden under the hood of your jacket while you ate cup noodles and drank a can of beer; he noticed how the bags under your eyes had become more prominent and how your lips were a little more chapped compared to when you were in high school. He bought a can of beer of his own before awkwardly sitting next to you, asking about your life, and you lit up a cigarette, apologizing for cutting him off after graduation. He didn’t know which he hated more: the fact that he could forgive you in the blink of an eye or how easy it was to fall back into the dynamic you used to have—playful banter, laughter that shook your bodies, and longing stares that neither of you spoke about. His heart fluttered when you held out your little finger, and he hooked it with his own.

“Friends forever, bro.”

You were glad you didn’t fall back into some of your old habits—the ones that involved either him under you or you under him. (He was your old habit.) You reconnected with his mother, too, but you never visited again, because you feared the comfort of his home would remind you too much of the past and how your home could never be as warm as his. For a while, it truly felt like you were just friends without all the skeletons in your closets. You would spend some of your weekday nights studying with Ken at the library before riding your bikes across town to that old diner you used to frequent with your mother before she stopped coming home early and he took her place. Other nights, you would roll up some joints with Harley in your dorm room while talking about whatever was on your mind; yet whenever she asked you about Ken, he almost always arrived in front of your door as if on cue, and you never got to tell her that you could never love anyone the way you loved him. (You had a feeling she knew.) The evenings you cherished the most, however, were the ones you spent hanging out at the park with the two of them, smoking pot while doing your assignments and watching the sunset together.

Freshman year ended with a core memory of you pushing Ken into the lake before he pulled you in with him. Harley laughed until she couldn’t breathe, one hand holding a half-smoked joint and the other recording the two of you with her phone.

Three months into sophomore year, your father came for a month-long visit as he usually did every year, and you didn’t return home on the weekends as you usually did whenever he came. When you were still in high school, you would have to either stay and listen to their screaming matches, both the hostile and obscene, or lie to your parents that you had some group work or extracurricular project so you could go to one of those awful house parties; fuck one of the guys you met at said party—that was, if Ken wasn’t there, because you would definitely pull him to the nearest empty room for a quickie if he was there; and sleep over at one of your friends’ houses, talking about anything and everything except you would stay quiet when they told stories of their fathers showing up at their rehearsals and their mothers baking homemade cakes for their birthdays. You never told anyone what was happening. Not even Ken, let alone his mother. You were just happy to be out of that house. Now that you were in college, your reasons were at least closer to the truth. Assignments. Group projects. Final exams. Student Council stuff. Preparations for career exhibitions and campus festivals. Debate practice for another state championship—you won three titles throughout college, yet your father would only acknowledge with an almost disinterested hum whenever you told him. (You didn’t play softball competitively anymore. Your parents made you drop the sport.)

You hated how you fell back into your old habits whenever your father visited—you hadn’t indulged in them last year since he didn’t visit, and you quietly thanked God because there was no way you were going to spend your most vulnerable moments with that insufferable jock. This time, though, you found yourself smoking at least a pack of cigarettes a day and looking for someone to kneel for.

Of course, you didn’t even let yourself think of pulling Ken down with you. As much as you would rather have him, you cared for him enough to not put him through what you had put him through in high school. But Ken knew you. Perhaps it was his fear of losing you again. Perhaps it was out of his own selfishness to keep you all to himself even if you weren’t his. He was the one who fell back into old habits for you. Whenever you called him to ask where he was on the weekends, he would drop whatever he was doing at that moment and come to you. Sometimes, the two of you would go on a night ride—on his bike because he didn’t trust you to drive, given your state of mind—and he would fuck you in the dark alleyway next to that old diner after eating two large burger meals together. At times like this, you didn’t even need to smoke or drink afterward because you would find yourself drunk merely from the pleasure and adrenaline rush. Other times, when his roommate got the hint and made himself scarce, Ken would take you on his bed, and you wouldn’t have any other choice but to be as quiet as possible. Then, even if you were the one who fell asleep in his room, he would always be the one leaving before you woke up in the morning, and you would never wait until he returned. 

One day, while you were watching the sunset with Ken and your roommate, you received a call informing you that your parents had been in a car accident and were killed on impact. This wasn’t the first time you broke down. But it was the first time Ken had ever seen you collapse in on yourself like a planet turning into a black hole.

“They’ll be buried in Japan,” you uttered flatly. “I called my uncle. He said he will be picking them up next week, but he won’t be staying long.”

Ken frowned. “Are you going–”

“No.”

If you had to suffer, you wanted to suffer here, where all the worst memories of your family resided. (Even if it meant staining the happiest days of your life with him.) Japan was home to your childhood and the innocence you had lost a long time ago, and there was no way you would taint it with your deep, irremediable sorrow. You were never going back there. You were never going back home.

(Have you ever had one?)

Ken tried to be there when you mourned. But you had shut him and even Harley out after your uncle picked up your parents’ ashes. You spent three days glued to your bed, only getting up to eat something and brush your teeth when your roommate practically dragged you to. Ken would bring the food his mother made, even bringing her to the dorms at some point, but you would only eat five spoonfuls at most and leave the rest for your roommate. You couldn’t look his mother in the eye, even after she pulled you into her embrace, and you let her leave without so much as saying goodbye. The one time you broke down again, Harley called Ken for help because you told her you just couldn’t even will yourself to get up. When he saw you curled up on your unmade bed, reeking as if you hadn’t showered for more than a couple days, he thought that you were the only person that could break his heart in a million different ways. He remembered carrying you to his mother’s car and making you stay at his place until you feel better. He remembered slowly feeding you the gruel his mother made for you as you limply leaned against his side on his bed. He remembered washing you in the tub when his mother wasn’t home, scrubbing your back as your tears fell into the bathwater and your cries echoed in the bathroom.

His mother only reluctantly let you go back to your dorm a week later. By then, you already felt a little more like yourself, yet Ken still insisted on helping you. He would bring his mother’s food for you and walk you to your classes whenever he could, even if his classes were on the other side of the campus. He would buy some things you offhandedly said you needed to stock in your dorm and wait for you to finish showering, standing idly outside the communal showers area, no matter how much time you took. He would soothe you in ways he only knew how—with hushed praises, hands entangled with yours, kissing away the tears that fell either out of pleasure or grief—and left a glass of water, something to eat, and morning-after pills for when you woke up. To him, this was how he could love you without loving you. To you, this was a reminder that you would never be deserving of his warmth.

Two months passed. Everything seemed to return to normal—as normal as it could be, Ken thought, because there was something off about you after you spent your winter break in Japan. Upon your return, you started coming to those frat parties again, but you would come back more skittish each time. Perhaps you were just drinking, Harley said, but that was enough reason for Ken to start coming to the same parties you were invited to. He noticed how color had slowly faded from your cheeks as they hollowed bit by bit; how the dark circles around your eyes became more noticeable, even with all the makeup you wore; how you grew thinner every month, eating only once a day, becoming frail underneath your rapture. He should have known that the way you casually wiped off your nosebleed while smoking at the park was a dead giveaway; yet, somehow, realization only dawned on him when you rejected his warmth for the first time in the years that you had burned him in yours. Brokenhearted was an understatement. He lost you again—not to the bittersweetness of unspoken love, but to the malignity of worldly subservience.

One of his biggest, if not the biggest, regrets in life was not stopping you right then and there.

Summer break—everyone and their mothers held a party. Ken remembered that night awfully well that it became the stuff of his nightmares. He spent half the night looking for you; he didn’t even need to talk to you, he just needed to know you were there. Some of his friends noticed how distracted he was, and when they brought it up, he waved them off, saying he had just seen a familiar face before joining their conversation. He hoped they didn’t notice how bitter his laugh sounded when they teasingly asked if he was looking for you. Usually, it wouldn’t be this hard to find you. Whenever there was a party, you would be at the center of it. Your enthusiasm whenever you came to one of these frat parties contrasted with your more mellowed out self in those dimly lit house parties in high school. Yet, as the clock neared two in the morning and he still couldn’t find you, he reminded himself of how there had been something off about your high spirits.

“Ken?”

Upon hearing a familiar voice, Ken blinked rapidly and realized that he had been in a stupor. Instead of one of his friends, it was Harley who had called out his name, and he was surprised to see her there. He noticed that she hadn’t been coming to the same parties anymore and remembered you mentioning it was probably because she finally had a girlfriend. He brushed off the thought when he saw concern etched on her face, but before he could even open his mouth to ask, she beat him to it.

“Have you seen her?”

“No…?” Ken frowned. “No, why?”

Harley clicked her tongue. “I swear, she’s–” She took a sharp inhale of breath before continuing. “Can you help me find her?”

“Well, yeah, but–” Ken’s frown deepened when he took notice of how Harley kept looking around the room restlessly. “Is something going on with her?”

“Yes!” She snapped, and judging by the look on her face afterward, she probably didn’t mean to. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips before she continued. “Yes, and you gotta help me find her before she does anything stupid.”

“Okay, okay,” Ken said, raising both hands, gesturing to Harley to calm down. It did little to pacify her, as she continued to look around the room restlessly. He subconsciously followed gaze as he asked, “Where was she the last time you saw her?”

“She was right here, I swear–” Harley cut herself off when she recognized someone in the crowd before repeatedly tapping on their shoulder. “Hey, did you see a girl in a black dress here before?”

She uttered your name afterward, and the person’s face lit up in recognition. “Oh, her?” They turned slightly, extending a forefinger to point in a direction. “Yeah, I think I saw her going into the bathroom over there.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Ken was pretty sure he bolted toward the bathroom at record speed without so much as saying ‘thank you’ to the person who gave him and Harley the heads-up. They must have looked like madmen shoving people aside left and right, and had he not had a literal life-or-death situation at hand, he would have gotten himself into a fight with how hard he shoved some people and how indifferent he was in the face of their indignation. When they finally arrived in front of the bathroom, the door was slightly ajar, and the sight of a pool of black on the floor made his breath hitch.

“Oh, no.”

He swung the door open so hard that it hit the wall with a loud bang, stunning the crowd near the bathroom. Harley immediately dropped onto her knees next to you with a loud thud. “Oh, no, no, no, no–hey, hey, wake up!”

Everything that happened afterward was a blur to him. Your roommate yelled and gestured wildly at Ken to turn on the lamp, which he did after barely registering her words. He froze when he saw you lying on the floor, motionless, pale as a ghost that he thought you might as well have turned into one. Time slowed down as more people flooded the scene, yelling and screaming at each other in panic, and everything was just too much. He tuned them out as he slowly kneeled and reached out to brush your hair out of your face, the blood from your forehead staining the tips of his fingers. His disbelief turned into a sickening realization that made the contents of his stomach rise up his throat. It was you. It was really you.

Ken couldn’t think straight as he lifted you in his arms and carried you out of the bathroom before Harley could even get another word in. How could he? The blood on his fingers felt warm, yet you were as cold as a fucking corpse. He could barely feel the rise and fall of your shoulders as you breathed. All of his rage and heartache, including the resentment he had for you, fueled him as he yelled at people to get the fuck out of the way! and carelessly shoved anyone who didn’t. When he finally got outside, he realized you didn’t even feel warm against the chill of the midnight wind. Fortunately, the ambulance arrived just as he was about to run and carry you to the nearest hospital himself. The paramedics tried to stop him from getting in the ambulance, only relenting when he almost punched one of them. He didn’t remember getting to the hospital or how he ended up spending the night at your bedside—just the overwhelming fear that he could have lost you for good.

That night, it was his first time smoking a cigarette out of his own will.

“You can’t keep doing this shit.”

“You don’t fucking get it.”

“I don’t need to fucking get it when I can see that you’re fucking up yourself!”

You couldn’t even reply to that.

“Did you even know how scared I was? How scared Ken was? God, I don’t care if you’re a total bitch, just don’t do this shit to yourself!”

“I had it under control–”

“Under control? You fucking overdosed. That’s not under control, that’s out of fucking control!”

This time, you snapped. “Well, yelling at me isn’t going to fucking fix anything!”

Ken stood outside your hospital room, leaning against the wall next to the door. He sighed as soon as the screaming match started. This wasn’t the first time you and Harley fought with raised voices and unrestrained spite since she found out about your addiction, straining both your throats and friendship after each fight. Still, neither of you had ever escalated things, so he simply listened from where he stood, a heavy weight resting on his chest as the two of you exchanged words he knew you would regret down the line. Her last words to you, however, would probably haunt you for the rest of your life.

“You know what? If you don’t want me to stop you from killing yourself, fine. Go kill yourself if you want.”

Even Ken staggered upon hearing the words that left her lips.

“Harley–!” He heard you call for your roommate, whose heels clicked on the floor and echoed closer to the door. As she opened the door, he heard you yell, “Fuck you!”

He gave a sideways glance toward Harley as she got out of the room. She visibly jumped when she noticed his presence but quickly composed herself and closed the door behind her. A deep, exasperated sigh left her lips as she hung her head. “Sorry.”

He waved off her apology in reassurance. “You okay?”

A shake of her head, then silence. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t awkward either—it was the first time he wordlessly understood Harley when she looked up at him tiredly because ‘Why won’t you let anyone help you?’ and he could only slacken his frown because ‘I want to know why, too.’ She glanced at the floor beneath her heels, pondering for a few moments before finally speaking her mind.

“Can you look after her?”

To that, he offered her a small, sad smile.

“Yeah, I will.”

That was the last time Ken—and you—ever saw Harley. She moved off-campus, blocked your number and all your social media accounts, and never even spared you so much as a glance whenever you passed by. You also didn’t bother to approach her, guilt gnawing at you like maggots eating rotten flesh. By the time you started your senior year, you never saw her on campus. Ken was the only witness to your absolution.

(You wondered if he was God himself, with how forgiving he was.)

Four months into junior year, you finally came back to your house. One of your aunts was kind enough to help organize your mother’s belongings after the funeral and pay for cleaning services throughout the year your house was empty. You found yourself standing in the middle of the living room, hollow. You hadn’t been here for a year. Everything stayed the same. Everything—except your mother’s heels were no longer displayed on the shoe rack in the foyer, her favorite episode of Love Island wasn’t playing on the widescreen TV you could see from upstairs, and her liquor cabinet was void of her favorite bottles of Pinot noir. Everything, except your mother’s nonchalant ‘Welcome back, how was school?’ didn’t greet you when you came in, her dulcet voice no longer spoke of your achievements as she introduced you to your new neighbors, and her drunken laughter wasn’t echoing in the living room as she offered another drink to yet another younger man whose face you didn’t bother to remember. Everything stayed the same. Everything except you.

You would have grabbed a kitchen knife and killed yourself if the doorbell hadn’t rung.

Disoriented from your own thoughts, you willed yourself to stagger toward the door and open it. Ken stood there, one hand running through his unruly hair and the other holding his helmet. His eyes softened as he studied your features, while you offered him a confused look.

“Why are you here?”

He shrugged. “So you won’t be alone.”

There must be some divine punishment for how you had molded him into this—a young man who only wanted the slightest bit of love you could give, but you never did. You wanted to reach out, feel his warmth in your arms, and say ‘Thank you for never leaving me alone.’ You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs and strain your throat and your neck muscles, either saying ‘I can do this myself’ or ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ You wanted to look him in the eye and say ‘I love you,’ with every word echoing throughout the world to let him know that he was your world. But you settled with an apprehensive stare that you didn’t know he could look through.

“I’m fine–”

“No, you’re not,” he said with a firmness you hadn’t expected. He saw how you were taken aback and let his jaw unclench, his gaze soften, his voice lower. “We promised, right?”

Then he held out his little finger and you were sixteen again, breaking each other’s hearts for the first time.

“Friends forever.”

Ken looked at you with your father’s long-lost fondness and your mother’s forgotten tenderness. You wanted to hook your little finger around his and offer him the slightest hint of a smile you could muster, so you did. You wanted to take a deep breath, press your head against his chest, and hear—feel—his heartbeat, so you did. He held you closer, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo in your hair, his free hand soothingly rubbing your back. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his torso as you pressed yourself closer to him, relishing in his warmth while burning him in yours once again.

(You didn’t tell him the way he said it sounded more like a proposal than a promise.)

“You don’t have to stay.” But I want you to.

He let out a contemplative hum that reverberated through both his body and yours. You found the slight vibration comforting.

“But I want to.” You don’t even have to ask me.

That day, you started packing up with his help. You showed him the albums of your childhood, told him the stories behind each photograph, and spoke fondly of your father for the first time in years. The next day, he checked and washed your bike and your mother’s car—which you sold later on in the afternoon, helped you pack all the medals and trophies you had won since middle school, and dragged you outside to mess around with the sprinkler system one last time. On the last day, he carried all the boxes and stacked them downstairs so the movers could easily move them, you cooked your mother’s mac and cheese recipe and he held you as you cried while eating, and the two of you took out your old star projector and turned it on in the living room, where both of you talked yourselves to sleep. Those three days were the first time in years that your touches didn’t lead to anything more.

You moved out to a studio apartment near downtown, sent the rest of your mother’s belongings back to her family in Japan, and rented a storage space for the things you couldn’t fit in your apartment. Ken would come over almost every day and sleep over every weekend, spending your shared free time playing video games, catch ball, or poker. (Strip poker, sometimes.) Two months later, he practically moved in, what with how many of his clothes were in your wardrobe and how his toothbrush was always next to yours in the bathroom. Six months later, the two of you practically became parents to a stray tabby cat named Mochi, whose favorite thing to do was to nap nearly all day and only seemed to stay awake when you and Ken decided to shove your tongues in each other’s mouths and your hands in each other’s pants.

A year later, you gave him your sobriety coin.

The harsh overhead fluorescent lights glared at him as he stared down the empty forms laid down on the reception desk in front of him. Instead of filling them out, his mind wandered to his bloodstained jacket, now sealed in a bag somewhere in the hospital. One of the nurses had said something about preventing contamination, but he could barely register her words with how the faint smell of iron still lingered in his nose even after he washed off the blood from his hands. His eyes then flickered to them; the red of your blood now replaced by the redness of his own skin after he had vigorously scrubbed it off, leaving small scratches on his palms. Then his mind wandered to you. You and the crimson painting your face. You and the white staining your nose. You, smiling whenever you saw his face in the crowd. You, laughing at every one of his stupid jokes. You, lying down on the bathroom floor with dazed eyes looking straight at him and an unspoken apology he could hear over the music before you passed out. You, lying down on the sidewalk with the same look in your eyes and a fear he couldn’t quite place before you went limp and closed your eyes as he tried to stop the blood flowing from your torso.

(His bike wobbled when he caught a glimpse of his bloodstained hands while speeding off to the hospital.)

A dull ache returned to his bruised cheekbone, pulling him out of his train of thought, and he hissed at the slight pricking he felt when he brought up his hand to touch it. The papers in front of him captured his attention once again. He forced his brain to work as he deciphered the rows of kanji written on them. It was easy, at first. Your name. Birthday. Blood type. Medical history. He thought it wasn’t his place to disclose your old habits. (Even if he was one of them.) But then he realized he didn’t even know how to properly spell your smoking and addiction history in Japanese, and his frown deepened when he read the address, emergency contact, and insurance details columns.

“Wait, uh,” he said, flipping through the papers, his eyes darting between the columns before he handed one of the forms to the nurse behind the desk. “I don’t know if I could fill some of these.”

“Oh,” the nurse exclaimed softly, glancing over the paper in her hand. “Do you know anyone we could contact on her behalf? Her relatives, perhaps?”

Ken couldn’t come up with an answer. Your parents and his mother had already passed. He knew nothing about your extended family, and from the way you spoke or avoided speaking about them, he figured that you wouldn’t want him to call them even if you were on your deathbed. He did think of his father and the possibility that you had met him after you came to Japan, but the resentment that simmered in his chest made him tighten his grip around the pen in his hand as he shook off the thought. He wasn’t going to call his father. He would never.

“Uh, no,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re not on good terms,” he continued. “I don’t have their contacts, and I don’t know if they’d even come if you called.”

“I see,” the nurse said, nodding as she handed back the paper in her hand to him. “Then please just fill out these forms as best as you can, sir. If you need any help, please let me know.”

He nodded and muttered a ‘thank you’ before making quick work of filling out the forms, writing down what he knew about you. On the other hand, he left your daughter’s forms mostly, if not completely, empty. Your daughter. A flash of indignation burned for a moment in his chest before disappearing just as quickly as it came. No older than five years old, he recalled. He wondered if you had her after you left Los Angeles. He wondered if you had called him to meet at that old diner to tell him. He wondered if, had he not been drunk and you actually told him, there would at least be a reason for him to be a part of your world—your daughter. His daughter. Ken swore his heart tightened, threatening to shrivel, at the thought of you raising a child alone in a country where you didn’t have anyone else.

(What if you were alone all this time?)

“Would you like to see your daughter? She’s asleep right now, but she should be waking up anytime soon.”

Ken barely registered the nurse’s words, but when he did, they almost gave him whiplash as he snapped his head to look at her. “Huh?”

The nurse herself seemed to have asked him the question without properly looking at him, thus not seeing the bewildered look on his face, preoccupied with whatever was on her desk. “Would you like to see–” She cut herself off when she finally looked up at him, her own expression slowly turning into one of mortification. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I assumed–”

His hand waved off her rushed apology, reassuring her that he didn’t take offense to the question. “Yeah, yeah, no, i-it’s alright,” he stuttered. “She’s–she’s not my daughter, but…” His words trailed off to give way to a momentary silence before he asked, “Can I see her?”

With an understanding nod and another apology, the nurse led Ken to the pediatric ward and into one of the rooms. An older nurse was already there, sitting by the bedside with a clipboard in her hands. She gave him a small smile as she got up from her seat to move to the corner of the room, muttering a ‘Please don’t mind me’ as she sat down. Perhaps she was just taking precautions, considering that he wasn’t listed as an immediate family member. He thanked her, turning his attention to the child sleeping on the bed, breath hitching when he realized something.

She looked so much like you. A carbon copy of you—the you he had seen in a photograph your father took on your fourth birthday, dressed in a pretty pink dress and a blue paper hat as you posed with the candled cake, a Duchenne smile on your face. (You said it was the happiest day of your life because it was the only time you remembered your father’s warmth.) The you he had seen in another picture in your childhood album, where you sat on your mother’s lap, laughing and playing the piano together. (You told him your mother stopped playing when you got into high school.) The you he had seen in a Polaroid shot your mother took when you were fifteen, a rare moment amidst your spiraling home life, where you were curled up on the couch, fast asleep in your party outfit with your old teddy bear in your arms. (You gave him that photograph; he kept it in his wallet to this day.)

Ken’s eyes widened, and he sat up straighter in his seat when her eyes slowly opened, revealing a pair of gray orbs strikingly similar to his own. Fear and confusion were etched on her face, but they melted away when her eyes gleamed with recognition upon seeing him—and all he saw was the 6-year-old boy who had just moved to Los Angeles and didn’t speak a word of English.

“Mr. Nana?”

“Huh?”

Her weak, slightly hoarse voice must have alerted the nurse in the corner of the room, because she was right by their side within seconds. The nurse asked her how she was feeling and checked her vitals, her own voice low and gentle so as to not scare her patient. Both the nurse and your daughter kept glancing at him every now and then, and after she fully regained consciousness, her eyes never left Ken’s.

“She keeps calling you ‘Mr. Nana,’” the nurse chuckled softly. “I think she’s referring to your jersey number, Mr. Sato.”

A small smile made its way onto Ken’s face. “Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Would you like to talk to him, sweetheart?”

Your daughter nodded bashfully, and the nurse helped her sit on the bed. He took it as a cue to move closer, gently dragging his chair to avoid the shrill sound of its metal legs against the floor. He let his shoulder slump a little so he could look at her at her eye level, though her gaze nervously flickered between him and the nurse standing by the other side of the bed.

“Hi,” Ken asked softly and awkwardly. “What’s your name?”

She blinked at him a couple times. “Emi.”

Emi. Emiko. His mother’s name.

“Emi?” He croaked out, and she nodded. A moment of silence passed between them before he took a deep breath and let his smile return to his face. “That’s a pretty name.”

“...Thank you,” Emi said shyly, glancing up at him before looking back at her fidgeting thumbs. “Mama said I’m named after someone pretty.”

(You really were the only person who could break his heart in a million different ways.)

He let out an amused snort. “Is that so?”

She nodded again; the next time she opened her mouth to speak, her surfacing excitement reminded him of whenever you talked about the topics you learned at debate practice or the things you just couldn’t discuss with anyone else but him.

“Mama also said that you’re the best baseball player in the world. Is that true?”

The greatest living player, you once said. “Yeah,” he chuckled softly. “Yeah, that’s right.”

If he hadn’t known better, he wouldn’t have thought that Emi had just been in a car crash a few hours ago. The little girl nearly bounced with how giddy she was, eyes widening and lips parting in wonder. His own smile widened at the sight and when he asked, “Do you like baseball too?”

“Yes!” Emi answered enthusiastically. “Mama showed me that- that when you play, you can hit the ball reeeally far!”

Ken let out a chuckle, warmth spreading in his chest when the thought of you singing his praises crossed his mind. “I can show you how to hit the ball really far too,” he said, trailing off to ponder on something before continuing. “When you get better, I’ll show you. How’s that sound?”

The proposition made Emi turn to look at the older nurse, seemingly for reassurance, and she simply nodded in Ken’s direction in response. Emi’s eyes gleamed in delight, a small smile on her face, and he couldn’t help but notice just how much she resembled you when she nodded bashfully.

(Maybe, just maybe, you’re finally home.)

taglist: @mochminnie

[akkivee]

hello vee.

@/twogallonhats on twitter made this iceberg, and now i am subjecting you to this. Explain to the best of your knowledge, good luck.

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh okay sure

idk why rhyme anima is listed tbh it’s just a zany anime version of hypmic but that very well may be the reason lol like it gave us a man by the name of tom whisper weathercock lol

there’s always a prolific push for your fav to win the drb lol. iirc during the championship round in the 1st drb there was a fan?? fans??? who gave money to some guy with a following to post a video of him asking everyone to vote for mtc lol. jp fans for the second got together and made eng/kor/ch instructions on how to vote in the vr battles it’s a time can’t wait for that to kick off next year 😬

arb is technically not canon and therefore ooc lol

idk what hypmic tictok sounds mean. i can tell you of a few times hypmic was trending on tiktok tho lol

idk if they were even a soundcloud rapper, but some soundcloud rapper fell in love with hypmic and decided to make ichiro his oc/persona and put himself on a team with jyushi and samatoki and they were california division lol

back in 2018???? hypmic posted a christmas video except it was just champagne gold and base hifumi.png in a santa hat slid across the screen truly graphic design is hypmic’s passion lol

i mean there was a brief time there were rp accounts on twt so ig that’s what it

kimura loves black people so much and wants to be black so bad he felt the need to bl@ckface for one of his album drops. fandom asked he take down the posts, he didn’t, fans called him out on it, he blocked them

around the time when there was rumblings that gbr was exiting uhhhhh the eu i think, a dice cosplayer had a video of themselves popping mentos in a coke bottle go viral. someone in british politics used it as a metaphor for whatever stance they had on brexit lol

lol i’m lumping hypstage and hypnama together since i don’t think there’s a real reason they’re listed other than occasionally being points of discussion

hifumi was the original tbh creature

asmr tubers vibe with hypmic characters being their yandere bfs

idk if it’s more than memeing on hitoya but that hitoya card in the pic was clowned on so hard LOL

i couldn’t tell you a specific instance of it but hypmic jank includes frequent misspellings lol

lol i also don’t know if there’s actual controversy behind oridivis besides them getting thanos snapped

*rio voice* curry friday and the mtc seiyuu used to celebrate it lol

there was a collab with some instant curry company (probably called curry meshi lol) and they had the leaders rap a song for it. the songs’ are fun and what’s even funnier is that the song has the leaders sharing this curry and kuukou technically didn’t eat the curry bc it was all gone by the time the cup reached him (and jakurai ate most of it LOL)

i have no fcking clue what weenor busujima is lol

the fact hyprice is a thing is a damn good reason to be here lol. ogs know a hypmic series producer made the joke in 2018 during a hypnama that spawned the concept years later lmao

there was a typo on kuukou’s introductory bio that said he was 68cm LOL

akuma no hana is indeed a song about sex idk what else to tell ya lol

throwback to the hypmic bathtubs they had a live for crazy ass hypmic merch moments lol

the hangout streams are located in this building called mixalive. instead tagging that building’s twt for one of their events, hypnosis flava iirc, they mistakenly tagged a porn twt lol

there was an art trend a few years ago where artists drew their bde faves (and even real people got in on the trend) balancing a shampoo bottle on their big 🍆. ichiro was unfortunately the face of the trend

stage hitoya went viral for that pic used in the iceberg and i had to see randos calling him a two face ass character ONLY HYPMICS ARE ALLOWED TO BULLY HITOYA DAMN YOU

the seiyuu are always getting up to shit backstage lmao tradition is ishiya-san and amasaki-san prowling up on the mtc seiyuu menacingly lmao

if there’s drama or anything of relevance outside of yes stream discords exist, ion know about it lol

a few songs are inspired by/interpolate from other songs. this a normal thing in the music industry (let’s get physical by olivia newton john and physical by dua lipa comes to mind) but hypmic caught a lot of flack for ‘stealing’ from black artists. shinogi dead pools is kendrick lamar’s drank swimming pools bar for bar lol but again, it’s very normal lol the whole kendrick vs drake rap battle that happened this year literally was them using each other’s sound to diss them

some european(?) indie film had an actor wearing ichiro’s jacket

there was a brief trend in jp where they made snow sculptures of their characters as means of attractions and hypmic jumped in on it. it produced the ugliest kuukou known to man he was so unflatteringly scrunckly i loved him LOL

????? bat seiyuu family???? i’m sure what i have in mind is not what they have in mind lol but i mean yeah it’s a running joke that the bat seiyuu consider each other family lol shoutout to sakakihara-san randomly calling hayama-san his ‘onii-chan’ and both hayama-san and sakakihara-san bullying tf outta takeuchi-san by calling him ‘papa’ lol

ariana grande is based about samatoki and there’s proof lol

hypmic vs crsm rap battle was REAL and fumiya wanted to EAT THEM

kamio-san has taken to slapping kuroda-san’s ass and kuroda-san has taken to trying to murder him for it 😌

quite recently lol mtr’s album art was leaked ahead of the hangout stream in a post meant to advertise the fan meeting lol

british dice was a theory i didn’t pay attention to bc i kinda thought just the concept was dumb *wheeze* i think it had something to do with a mistranslation about dice’s father

the rest of that tier i have no fcking clue about lol

in a camera transition during the 9th live, someone’s desktop background was on screen instead of the yknow, livestreaming concert lmao

they got some ddb members to make choreography to move your body til you die!!! i tried i didn’t think it was too bad but the pace of the dance needed to be slowed down eventually lol

if this isn’t poking fun at sensei saying men should automatically know how to rap idk what that is lol

if there’s a trip the mtc seiyuu have taken that stands out from the others, i don’t know about it lol

the hypmic cafe that’s going on rn have these stickers??? standees??? for sale and someone stole all of samatoki’s LOL

[fictionalmenxyn]

꧁𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠꧂

Pairing: frat!rafe x sorority!reader

Face claim: Sophia Birlem

Warning: drinking

Summary: a party that leaves them thinking. Is this more than a simple football player and coaches daughter?

(Kai is your brother, older by a year and your last name for this maybe series depends if u guys like it. Your last name is Maddens.)

Reader has souther accent/they all do…

(Been into country recently so I am referencing a song in this, so if you don’t like country, think of another song :))

(Also a little author’s note/life update, idk if you’ll read this, but I got into college! Can’t even believe it tbh. It’s nuts! Cause originally I wanted to do sixth form (I’m British btw). But my school couldn’t do it this year. So I went to apply for college and today I officially became a student!! :D)

꧁𖥕𖥕𖥕꧂

It was one of the first frat parties of the summer. Weather was warm and booze kept on flowing.

You were with your friends at the frat house Rafe, Topper, Kelce and Kai. You were grabbing drinks with your friends. Pouring yourself a Malibu and coke into your red solo cup. You grab the sharpie and wrote ‘y/n/n’ . You put the sharpie down, then sipping your drink, you head to the living space.

You and your friends walked over to the makeshift dance floor of the living space. The couches had been pushed back and the coffee table out of the way, making room to dance.

You and your friends danced like there was no tomorrow. And that’s what you lived about you and your friends, you weren’t ashamed to have a good time, unlike most girls in your classes.

The football boys were all playing beer pong. Rafe was sat with Kelce as they both waited their turn to play. Rafe glanced around the place, then he was you. God you looked so good tonight, you did anyways, but tonight felt different. Maybe it’s because you aren’t in jeans or your cheer or soccer clothes. But he didn’t mind what you wore, it was you that he liked.

He sipped his beer and watched you dance with your girlfriend’s care free. He liked that about you. You’ve both hung out multiple times. I mean he’s your brother’s best friend ALSO one of your dad’s star players. He’s talked to you many times, but tonight seemed different.

He smiles a little as he watches you flip your hair side to side as you swing your hips and laugh with your friends. Many guys had their eyes on you tonight, including Rafe.

Kelce broke his thoughts “dude, quit eyeing up Y/n all night, man” “shut it, Kelce.” Kai smirked “dude we know you like my sister, admit it, besides pretty sure she likes ya back… but you didn’t hear shit from me, yeah??”

Rafe smirked.

He glances to you one last time, before taking his turn in beer pong.

Five minutes ago… (your pov)

You laughed with your friends, then Brooklyn tapped your shoulder. She said “hey, Rafe is lookin’ at you again, girl.” You smirked “oh really?” She laughed and nodded. “Give him a show, girly!!” You both laughed as you playfully flipped your hair side to side and swing your hips to the beat. Brooklyn encouraged you even more. So you lightly smack your thighs as you keep your hands there as you sway your hips.

You look over your shoulder to see Rafe now playing beer pong, stealing glances from you every so often. “Girl, he’s so into you, it’s so obvious now…” you shrug her comment off. Why would he be interested in you? He has girls left right and centre… yeah you’re popular and naturally pretty. But girls go it him, isn’t that what he likes? Right…?

After some time, you walk over to the drinks table to grab your third drink. You walk over to the big wooden table that you know has been repaired so many times that you can’t count on your hands anymore. You were about to grab the Malibu bottle when you hear your name. “Y/n!”

You look over your shoulder and smile “Hey Rafe, great party tonight” he grins as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets. “Thanks, glad you came…” you nodded “glad I did, how’s Kai? He’s not wasted yet is he??” He laughs “no, not yet anyways, what about you? How many have you had?” You replied “this will be my third. Been to busy dancing that getting more drinks.”

He chuckled “yeah I saw, you look good tonight.” You laugh and put your hand up, you said lightheartedly “please, spare me your reused white bitch pick up lines.” He laughs. He liked that about you, your humour and the fact you didn’t fall easy. It gets boring to him if you fall easy, that’s why he didn’t have feeling for the hook ups he would have.

He held up the Malibu bottle “here, lemme put you one, as I’m a good host.” You sarcastically laugh “good one, Cameron, you’d be pouring one for everyone if you were a good host.” He laughed back “who says I wanna be a good host to everyone??” “Touché, Cameron.”

He poured the coke, then handed you the solo cup “try that, princess.” You take a sip and hold your thumbs up. He smirked “good?” You nodded “yep, thanks.”

He looked over to the boys for a moment, he saw them move their hands in a usher motion as a silent ‘stay with her’. He playfully rolled his eyes then turns back to you. “Wanna dance?” You smirked “I thought you’d never ask, Cameron.” You stuck your hand out and guide him over to where you were minutes ago…

You held his hand with one of your hands as the other held your drink. You stuck your arm up in the air, while his didn’t pass the top of his head; due to height difference. You smile, tilting your head back as you dance to the rhythm. He smiled down at you. He could get used to this odd feeling he had deep down.

You hear a country song come on, you gasp when you knew what it was. ‘Dirt on my boots’ by Jon Pardi, started to blast through the speakers. You were surprised to hear a country song, but you were happy. You loved this song, Kai knew, so Rafe knew. Maybe he might’ve been in control of the speakers and added this song, just for you…

You sway your hips as you sing out, in your best thick southern accent “give me half an hour, for a shave and shower and I’ll be outside of your house!”

You started to do your own sort of line dancing when you sang your heart out “might have a lil’ dirt on my boots! But I’m takin’ you uptown tonight! Might have a lil’ mud on my wheels! But they’re gonna shine with you up inside!” Thank god you had your black cowboy boots on tonight. Matched your black dress perfectly.

The boys all watched you and Rafe together. Kai smirked, he knew his best friend was falling for his sister. And honestly, he wasn’t mad. Yeah sureee, best friend and sister, some may say is bad. But Kai could definitely see you both as a couple; no doubt about it.

Rafe watched you in awe as you kept line dancing to the chorus “might have a lil’ dirt in my boots!” He chuckled at your carefree attitude. God, he loved it… he loved you.

You smirked as you looked to Rafe. You took off his snapback, pulling it on your head. He didn’t know what to do with himself. It may be a baseball cap, but it was his. And you were in it.

You both continue to dance as the song died down. You smiled “bet you didn’t expect that?!” He laughed “definitely didn’t, princess.”

You both headed over to the drinks table as Rafe wanted to grab another beer. You look around to see your friends are either with their boyfriend or a possible friend or even hook up. You looked back to Rafe “you don’t mind if I stick with you and the guys?” He shook his head “we won’t mind, c’mon” he stuck his hand out, hoping you’d grab his hand.

You intertwined your hands, he could get use to this.

He guides you both through the parts of crowds. Until you got to one of the random couches in the ‘family’ room. Which the frat house turned into a chill sports room to watch football or any other sports they were interested in.

You hug your brother, Kai joked “he been behaving??” You laugh “of course.” He smirked then let you go. Rafe patted the spot on the couch next to him. Then Kai subtly nudged Topper to sit in that spot. You playfully roll your eyes at your brother’s actions, he wasn’t subtly, at all. You were very close to Kai, so he knew you well and you knew him well.

Kai wasn’t really protective, in a certain way. He was if he didn’t know the people you hung out with. But he knew you could handle yourself and carry your own. So he never tried to interfere with your drama, unless he needed. So the ‘thing’ between Rafe and yourself. He knew it was your choice and he’d let you do whatever. But Kai has already gave everyone in the frat house the ‘if you ever get with my sister and break her heart, I’ll break your face’ talk.

You see Topper had got comfy in your, well was, spot. Rafe patted his thigh “come on, you know I don’t bite.” You laugh and shake your head at his comment. You walk over and sit on his lap. He kept a hand on your hip. Not knowing how far you’d let him put his hands on you. So he kept the simple, hand in hip. Subtly way for guys to back off you, also simple ways for Rafe to have you close.

You chatted with most of the boys, Rafe just listened. Your voice was honey to him. And it was perfect that you talked a lot. Not in a rude way, but you lived to socialise with people you knew well. Like the other day. You came over the frat house to drop off something for Kai. Then ended up having a hour and half conversation with Topper about a new movie you both had seen. Or another time where you were sat on the field with the football team. After a training you were talking with them. You loved to talk and you were good at getting people to talk back; even if they were shy. You were a very confident yet comforting person to be with and talk to. You were good at that, which Rafe loved and appreciated.

Before you knew it, it was already half one in the morning. You told your friends you’d meet them out front by one thirty. So you had to go. You hugged the guys and bid your farewells.

As you headed out the house, you met up with your friends. Two of your friends, boyfriends were coming back to your sorority house. So you girls weren’t walking home on your own.

One of the guys said “hey, Y/n? Whose hat is that??” You touched the top of your head. Your tipsy self gasped and covered your mouth for a moment. Your friends all laughed “whose is it??”

“Oh my god, it’s Rafe’s hat, I forgot to give it back.” You laugh.

“Hmm maybe you’ll have to go give it back… oh! Maybe he didn’t tell you on purpose!”

Correct.

“I’ll have to go back tomorrow…”

“Oh yeah you are, we’ll kick you over there otherwise!”

You and your friends all laugh together.

What a great night. And what a great day to come. Hopefully Rafe won’t be too made that you stole his hat… maybe he’s not even mad at all.

Correct.

꧁𖥕𖥕𖥕꧂

Shall I make this a series??? Plz let me know either through ask box or messages, plz and thx, have a good day/night all!! 🫶🫶

[devilmademewriteit]

Gods & Monsters

pairing: Soldier Boy/afab!fem!reader

summary: delivering coffees to Vought’s crisis management team brings you face to face with Soldier Boy—who has a different job in mind for you.

warnings: pure, filthy smut (blowjob, fem penetration, slight predator/prey; slight orgasm denial) so 18+ only content; Soldier Boy b/c tbh he’s his own warning; fem afab reader; mention of reader having long hair (hair pulling); drug mention (coke in detail); title kink (sir); pet names (doll-face, sweetheart, doll); dubcon (coercion, imbalance of power); use of slut degradingly; choking; (light) slapping; spitting.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites aka bestie

word count: 3.3k

this is my first time writing for The Boys!! would love to hear feedback & requests are always allowed :)

—

Even before finding yourself at the mercy of a power-drunk supe, you’d had yourself a pretty fucked up day.

After spending your morning hunched over your desk at Vought trying, in vain, to piece together a script for the new upcoming Crimson Countess film (with a team of useless douchebags hooked on uppers) you had all but quit your job.

Then, of course, the afternoon came with its own set of troubles. Your supervisor had hurried over, wild-eyed and raving, to break the news of a PR scandal—you guessed one of the twins, it was always one of the twins—which called for all hands on deck; including yours, which were delegated to the indispensable task of retrieving coffees for the crisis management team upstairs. If you weren’t flat broke and more of a risk-taker, you’d never engage with anything supe-related ever again—but you were, and you weren’t, so you find yourself in the later hours of the evening delivering lattes to your higher ups on floors of the tower you’d never heard of before.

The elevator doors open and you come face to face with the poster-boy of the company. Your heart leaps as you recognize his face; it settles when you realize he’d never recognize yours. After all, you’d only met briefly once before: just last week, you’d finally spent time on set for one of Payback’s shoots. Assistant duties only, of course, but it had been thrilling to watch the supe and his team, nonetheless.

Needless to say, seeing him up close, now, is a completely different experience. No mask, no makeup—just his chiseled, gorgeous face and entitlement simmering in his green eyes.

“Good, you’re here. I was gonna go looking for you,” Soldier Boy says, unfazed by your paralyzing shock. Amused, he adds, “And you brought the coffee, too.”

You stand in the elevator, unmoving. Then, ever so slowly, you hand him the tray of full, steaming cups.

He laughs, wrinkles next to his eyes forming as he takes the tray. Your mistake seems obvious once the image of the company’s most expensive asset holding a tray of five cent coffees is on display before you.

He calls someone over from down the hall, and a wiry young man comes scampering over. “Take these to the assholes down the hall,” Soldier Boy orders. “And tell them not to fuckin bother me tonight.”

The young man nods fervently and speed-walks, tray in hand, back in the direction he’d rushed over from.

The elevator dings and the metal doors begin to close, but a large palm slaps them back in place. You watch as Soldier Boy peels his hand back, leaving indents in the steel.

“Where have they been hiding you?” He asks, leaning against the metal frame. His eyes flash with amusement as he scans your body up and down, making you wish that you’d worn a nicer skirt or ironed your shirt just a bit more carefully this morning.

You swallow, your throat suddenly tight. “I work in the creative department. Writing,” you say, determined to regain some composure.

“You the one that writes those fuckin’ anti-drug ads?” He asks, ever-so-nonchalantly.

“No,” you answer, trying not to meet his imposing stare head-on. ”I write the movies, the television scripts, that kinda thing.”

“Yeah, you don’t look like a complete prude,” he jokes. ”Though I’m sure I could teach you a few things,” the supe adds with a wink.

He looks at you expectantly, something unidentifiable in the way he takes you in.

You don’t respond.

“Really? Nothing? Thought you worked in the creative department,” he taunts.

You clear your throat. “I do, sir,” you respond, your voice faltering with fake confidence. “And I really should be getting back,” you quickly add, reaching for the button that would take you back down to your floor.

A massive hand blocks your own, and you look up at the supe, frustrated.

He whistles softly. “Whoo, ‘sir…’ I sure like hearing you say that.”

Adrenaline courses through your entire body as he takes a small, controlled step towards you. Your mind races, trying to come up with some sort of escape plan, but it goes blank the moment you glance at that pouty bottom lip or notice the rugged curve of his jaw.

“Well, today’s your lucky day, doll,” the stranger says, his voice suddenly low and quiet, “‘cause we need you up here.”

“For what?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

Something about the glint in his eye makes you want to run down the hall as fast as possible—to get away from this madman. He reminds you of a wild animal; you sense something ferocious and tense coiled up inside, begging to come loose.

And yet, something about the grit in his voice and the shape of his shoulders makes you want to play his game, to close the distance between the two of you.

See where it takes you.

He smiles and steps into the elevator, easing his way behind you and placing his palm against the small of your back, urging you forward.

“Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he grumbles into your ear. “You’ll love it.”

You look up at him, unsure of what to do and intimidated by his overwhelming presence, his demanding words. Like prey caught in a trap, every instinct screams at you to get away.

You don’t move.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxes, twisting a strand of your hair. There’s an edge to his voice you’d only ever heard between cuts, when the cameras weren’t rolling. “Wouldn’t want to upset an American hero, would you?”

You give in, allowing yourself to be guided out of the elevator and down the hall by his palm’s weight against your spine. He doesn’t even look at you; he only steers you forward into an enormous suite, lavishly decorated with all sorts of expensive fabrics, paintings, and furniture. It’s nicer than anything you’ve ever seen, yet Soldier Boy saunters in like it’s no more impressive than a dingy motel room.

The first thing you notice is a heap of white powder out in the open on a massive wooden table. The supe walks over to it and does a line through a rolled up twenty, jerking his head back and shaking his head.

“Want any?” He asks, turning his gaze back to you.

“No, thanks,” you respond, wary. “I like to be sober on the job,” you add, not wanting to sound judgemental.

He shrugs.

“What, exactly, did you want from me?” You ask, cringing at the naivety of the question. What he wants hangs thick in the room, it was heavy in his eyes from the moment you’d first met them.

He closes the distance between you and flashes a taunting smile.

“You don’t like coke? I got benzos, oxy, weed… really anything a girl could want.” He plays absentmindedly with the fabric of your skirt, his eyes drinking in every inch of your body.

“All I want is for you to tell me what you want.”

“You sure have a way with words, doll-face,” his right hand finds its way to the front of your throat, stroking the skin there, gently. Every part of your body responds to the touch and unwelcome arousal clouds your thoughts as you try to keep yourself together.

He ducks down, his lips lightly brushing skin of your ear.

“I want to watch you take my cock in every way you can, sweetheart.”

Your body responds before your mind can process his words; suddenly, you’re having trouble standing upright as heat spreads across your core.

“I know you’ll be so good for me,” he adds, fiddling with the collar of your shirt.

“Can I say no?” You ask, cursing how small your voice sounds. Despite your efforts, you’re sure he can hear your reluctant desire dripping off your every word.

He looses a low chuckle. “‘Course you can,” a pause as he places his palm against your cheek, “but you shouldn’t,” he finishes, flatly. “Besides,” Soldier Boy continues, his voice husky and deep, “all I’m asking is for you to get on your knees and put that pretty little mouth to good use.”

You don’t know what makes you do it. Perhaps it feels inevitable; after all, you happen to be alone, cornered by the most powerful man in the world. Or maybe, just maybe, some twisted part of you wants to be at the mercy of this man.

Almost as if in automatic response, you feel yourself sinking to the ground, holding his stare like a tether to reality—a lifeline. He smirks with satisfaction, and, celebrating his win, unhooks his buckle for you to pull the length of him out. Your eyes widen, astonished by the sheer size and girth of him. He notices, of course, and gives you a lazy grin.

Asshole.

Begrudgingly, you accept that you want him. Still, you struggle to admit to yourself that this desire is quickly becoming much more than that.

Some starved part of you is desperate to satisfy this stranger in any way you can.

“Take all of it,” he orders, nodding down towards you. You obey, tasting the salt of his pre-cum and feeling him push down to the back of your throat.

“That’s fucking right, sweetheart,” Soldier Boy groans as you slide down the length of his cock, over and over. “That’s what this mouth was made for.”

He tugs at your hair, taking a fistful of it and forcing your eyes up to meet his. He thrusts forwards, pushing deeper and deeper and deeper—you give him everything you have. His intensity only builds and you find yourself choking, spit gathering in the corners of your lips as he fucks your mouth.

“Fuck yeah, doll,” he groans. “You fuckin’ love that.”

You melt into his encouraging gaze, your eyelids heavy, your panties soaked completely through.

You nod in agreement and he loosens his hold on your hair. You pull off of him, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting the two of you in pure need.

“Don’t you stop,” the supe warns, using one hand to guide his cock back into your mouth, the other pushing at the back of your head.

You go slow, now, blinking the well-earned tears from your eyes, savouring the feel of him against your lips, your tongue, the roof of your mouth. You put both hands to work and watch him remove the top of his suit, near swooning at the sight of his bare torso.

“You want me to fuck that pussy of yours?” He asks, making your clit throb in response.

Breathless, you utter a quick “yes,” before taking him back between your lips.

“Fuckin’ course you do,” he responds lazily, placing a hand on your cheek, running his thumb down your face, tracing the bone as he smiles.

“Then tell me you’re a slut who loves sucking cock,” he says gently, his torturous hand behind your head always guiding you to take more and more of him, keeping you desperate for air. “Isn’t that true?” He continues, arrogance soaking each and every syllable. “Don’t you fucking love having my dick in your mouth?”

You nod, dazed with lust, his low and gravelly voice undoing you in every way.

“Say it,” he commands, his voice severe—degrading.

You slide off of his length, continuing to please him with the use of your hands.

It comes out as a plea. “I’m a slut who loves sucking cock,” you tell him, earnestly, meeting the challenge in his eyes head-on.

His length twitches in your hand and you know you’ve done a good job.

Soldier Boy laughs. “Get up, sweetheart,” he orders, “bedroom’s on the left.”

You obey, lifting yourself onto shaking legs. Your kneecaps burn from the friction.

You round into a room with a huge bed, unmade silver silk sheets and a thin duvet cast upon it like something out of a movie. The moon’s glow shines through a massive window, illuminating the surrounding luxury. You hear a loud sniff followed by a sigh, then footsteps approaching your direction.

It’s impossible to take it all in. Barely five seconds pass before Soldier Boy is behind you, unbuttoning your blouse.

“You got a favourite way to take it?” He asks, ridding you of your shirt. “With tits like this,” he groans into your neck, roughly squeezing your breasts and running a calloused finger over each nipple, “I could watch you bounce.”

You shiver at his touch, aching for more. The feel of the supe behind your back is nothing short of maddening; his hardness pressing against you fills your head with thoughts so sinful they’d make the devil blush.

“I want to watch,” you decide, surprised at the strength of your own volition. “I want to see you fucking me.”

You wind up on your back at the edge of the mattress with Soldier Boy between your legs. Desire simmers into your very bones, threatening to undo you before even being touched.

He bunches up your skirt and slides a thumb down the middle of your panties. “Fuckin’ soaked,” he whispers to himself with a smile, shaking his head. He pulls them off roughly and sets himself up at your entrance, running his tip along your swollen clit one, two, three times.

“Stay up on your elbows and don’t look away—got it, sweetheart?” The stranger orders. You respond with a fervent nod. As he slides himself between your folds, you let out a soft gasp, watching his cock disappear inside you. He groans, then flashes you an arrogant smirk.

“Fucking desperate for it,” he says. “Look how good your pussy takes it.”

Placing his hands on your upper thighs, he sets a rhythm, slow and hard; all you can do is stare, open-mouthed, at the sight of his cock slamming in and out of you. You meet his eyes for a moment—his full of mockery and satisfaction, yours likely full of wild abandon.

“You like seeing me ruin you?”

Struggling to form words, you merely gasp out a desperate “yeah” and it sounds more like a question. You try to stay propped up on your elbows as the brutality of his thrusts intensifies—he fucks you harder and faster with every movement.

“Ohhh, fuck, yeah you do,” he answers, throwing his head back, a winner’s smile spreading across his face.

It feels so good you can hardly string together a cohesive thought. You reach out for something to grab onto and your fingers find his forearm, the indestructible muscles underneath tensing as you struggle to stay up. Soldier boy smiles down at your dazed expression, placing his hands on either side of your head as he leans forward.

“Open that mouth just a little wider for me, sweetheart,” he says softly, contrasting the roughness of his thrusts.

You obey, and placing his thumb on your chin, he spits in your mouth, his saliva coating your tongue.

“Swallow, baby,” he says, and so you do, moaning as his spit slides down your throat.

He ducks his head down. “Fuck that’s so hot,” he groans, finding your clit and drawing lazy circles on your pulsing, swollen bud.

“You’re a fuckin’ superstar, sweetheart, the way this pussy takes cock.”

The stimulation overwhelms you entirely. “I-I can’t hold on,” you gasp out, feeling a familiar warmth spreading from where his thumb plays with your pulsing bud.

He wraps a hand around your throat, forcing you to look deep inside his heavy-lidded eyes, his dilated pupils.

“Tell me how much of a slut you are for this cock and I’ll let you come,” he orders with a mocking smile.

You can feel yourself going, seeing stars from the feel of his thighs slamming into your ass, his length reaching deep inside you, and the hand wrapped around your throat.

The man certainly loved making you talk in moments where words were impossible to form.

Soldier Boy laughs. “What, fuckin’ cock-drunk already?” His hand momentarily leaves your throat to collide with your cheek, waking you out of your stupor, before wrapping around your jaw. His grip is controlled—it inflicts no pain but allows for no negotiation, either.

“Tell me you love it.”

“I love it,” you moan, barely above a whisper. All you can focus on is holding back your climax as his fingers continue to work at the apex between your thighs.

“Scream it,” he orders, slamming himself inside you. The violent sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, fills your ears.

“Please-“ you beg, the word coated in desperation.

“Fuckin’ scream it,” he demands, unbending.

He leans in deep, his cock grazing the sweet spot at your core.

Warmth and lust erupt from inside you.

Words become easy, now. “I love it, I love it, oh my god I love your cock,” you half-gasp, half-cry as your orgasm blossoms through your body. You tremble underneath him and he laughs, continuing to fuck you through the waves of bliss.

“Just a desperate fuckin’ whore,” he taunts, running his hands along your sides, your breasts, before reaching your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He pulls out quickly, leaving you panting, shaking, dazed, empty.

“On your knees one more time for me, doll,” he says with surprising gentleness, pulling you by the arm off the edge of the bed. “I wanna see you taste my fuckin’ load,” the supe says with a smile, again using a large hand to guide his length into your open mouth.

You take him in slowly, registering your own acidic taste on his cock. There’s a low groan from him, and then he’s holding both sides of your head steady and thrusting into the back of your throat.

“Fuck. Yeah.” He says, throwing his head back. You keep your eyes up, locked on him. When he meets your gaze, he groans, “god, you look a fucking mess.” He grins down at you, “I almost feel bad for getting you up here.”

You freeze and look up at him, his length still halfway down your throat.

He scoffs and smiles. “You really think they’d get someone from your floor to bring fucking coffees up here?” He palms your cheek, shaking his head. “I knew from the moment I saw you at the shoot last week—your little fucking clipboard and that short ass skirt…” he trails off, stroking your cheek as you stare up into his daring eyes.

“I knew I had to see you like this.”

His words send shivers down your spine. You know you should feel used, tricked, or stupid, but all you feel is grateful, special, at his having noticed you. That desperate desire to please him simmers fiercely in your blood.

Slowly, you begin moving again, running your tongue down the length of his cock before circling the tip, tauntingly, slowly, adoringly. He shakes his head and grins: a god between your lips.

“Good girl.”

You grab his hips to steady yourself, trying your best to stay still and take his whole length without choking, lightheaded from the lack of air.

“Fuuuuuuck.” You feel his cock twitch as a stream of warmth slips down your throat, salty and thick. He relaxes his grip and slowly pulls his length out from your mouth. “Look at me and swallow, baby,” Soldier boy whispers firmly, holding your cheek in his hand.

You close your mouth and swallow, trying to steady your breath as the taste of him lingers in your mouth. He smiles and wipes a thick finger along your lips.

“‘Could keep you here, you know,” he says softly, holding your face up to meet his drunken look. “Tie you up, fuck you till you forget who you are… you’d like that, wouldn’t you, doll?” He asks, his voice low, dark, and gentle—you ignore how sinister it sounds, leaning into his hand and closing your eyes.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble, turning into his palm and smiling.

Soldier Boy’s soft chuckle fills the room, and he leans down to take your face in both his calloused, firm hands.

“You’re a fucking star, sweetheart,” he says. “You’re my fucking star, right?”

You gaze into his darkened eyes, wondering how in the world you came to be in this position.

It didn’t matter.

You were here now, and you wanted more. Needed more.

“Right.”

Your answer is met by a look of utter male satisfaction, Soldier Boy’s eyes filling again with animalistic hunger.

You’d be his for as long as he’d have you.

[bbyurnogoodforme]

Some of my safe foods/meals just for myself to keep track of!

Popcorn! Air popped without any butter or salt is around 30 cals per cup! unseasoned popcorn just tastes better than popcorn with butter imo <3

Sugar free gum bc duh! I really like the watermelon flavored gums cuz they taste soso good and they fill my sweet tooth!

These low cal cookies! 50 cals each, love baking these and pairing them with black coffee <3

Cauliflower rice! 27 cals per cup, and super filling! I dont usually eat it by itself, I like to mix it with some protein or veggies!

Rice cakes bc you know the drill, 35 cals each yum yum, I usually pair plain rice cakes with greek yogurt and a few of these stevia-sweetened dark chocolate chips!

Diet Arizona Green Tea! Tbh just any diet drinks, but this ones a personal fan fav! 0 cals, as all drinks should be <3

Shirataki noodles! Tons of fiber, only 5 cals, and filling! Make sure to look up a good way to prep them! I usually boil and stir fry them before eating them!

Boiled eggs! 78 cals each, but still super good for you <3

Teas, teas, and more teas! Theres a tea for everything from metabolism speeding to sleep aid, drink some tea!

Greek Yogurt! This isn't a revelation I've figured out by myself ofc but still! 100 cals per cup, and super healthy! Plus its a great substitute in a lot of cooking!!!!

Canaloupe! 19 calories for a WHOLE wedge! A whole medium sized canaloupe is 180 cals!

Pickles! 7 cals each and suuuuper yummy imo <3 cucumbers are also a major safe food of mine I have them almost every day for a snack!

Soup!!!!! Tomato soup has around 80-100 cals for a whole bowl and its so yummy imo!!!!

Casabella peppers! (yall know those little peppers at in-n-out?) 10 cals each, literally any peppers are my favs, but my friends love to go to in-n-out together with me and I always love getting a diet coke and some casabellas to munch on <3

Chicken! Just in general! 120 for a whole chicken breast is the best thing ever <3

Almond milk! I've always been lactose sensitive so I've never genuinely had regular milk, plus almond milk is 30 cals per cup and full of calcium which is super important for hair and nails!

Miso Soup! My dad's made this stuff for me since I was a wee little kid, its just one of my favorite foods, period! When i found out it was only 50 cals per cup I was absolutely THRILLED

Healthy Choice power bowl microwaved meals. Oh my goodness absolute godsend! 170 for a whole DINNER!!!! Super filling, high protein, literally just put it in the microwave and bam omgggg its so nice to have these when I need them <3

Strawberries, Watermelon, blueberries! Oh my! <3

Low cal versions of my favorite meals! I've been experimenting with a bunch of low calorie recipes of different stuff and they've all been great! If you like cooking, it can be a great way to keep busy and keep with your goals! My favs so far are low cal pancakes, low cal tortilla wraps, low cal margarita pizza, etc!

I'll add more as I discover more! Stay safe <3

[lacesoflove]

The Way Things Go ₊✧⋆ Hamzah x Reader

WC: 1.6K

Warnings: pure unbridled angst, mentions of substance abuse, implied body dysmorphia, suggestive (?) + bad writing and inconsistent tense use

Notes: y/n is written with a black reader in mind (i can't remember if it comes up or not), also hamzah and her barely even interact in this tbh. Highly reccomend listening to Hag by Nussy Andrews to elevate the reading experience

YOUR LIFE HAD ITS WAYS OF SPITING YOU.  ⋆˚✿˖°

You couldn’t entirely fault the universe or God (if you still believed in one anyway), even if you tried your hardest to. Whilst the traps had been set like a predetermined force of nature, you had allowed yourself to fall into them like the hapless fool you had kept proving yourself to be.  

And once again, even as you fought against yourself and your fates, you found yourself in another entanglement, this time taking the form of a crowded house party in downtown Toronto with all those people and all their Pinterest-chic outfits and all the loud obnoxious 2010s top 100 hits. You were one replay of Hotel Room Service away from killing yourself, and with the depression blooming in your body, you weren’t quite sure how serious you were with that notion.  

In a dull attempt to soothe the irritation, you took a final swig from the red cup nursing your vodka Red Bull. It had quickly deteriorated in taste, going from ‘I’m going to have the best evening of my life!’ to mulling over every life choice you had ever made, with one of said choices being across the room.  

His body leaned over hers, and even through his thick mop of curls (the same curls you had remembered tenderly running your hands through in the morning, as the blinds filtered the sun through, casting a warm glow against his honey-browned skin), you could see the puppy dog gaze he held for her as his hands ran up and down against her slim back. She should have been you, and this wasn’t supposed to be the new normal. And suddenly, all at once, you had a void where you should have had a heart.  

You placed the disappointingly empty cup on top of the sound system (you had remembered him mentioning he wanted to get one; at the time he didn’t have the funds to— you guessed he did now) and decided that the new all-consuming task of the evening would be locating your friend Aisha. Truthfully speaking, you knew where she was—fucking some podcast bro, names of her former exes spilling out from her mouth in place of his—the sad part was that the dude was probably too coked out to notice. It didn’t really matter that you knew that if you walked to the guest bathroom to the right of the front door, you’d find her in a position that went against the very religious ideals that your Catholic girl’s high school had imparted on both of you; what mattered was that it would distract you, maybe even better than the vodka did.  

Unfortunately, getting to Aisha meant going past him, and going past him was the new equivalent of death. You’d much rather live, so you decided to head to the kitchen.  

It was dim and empty, besides one boy in the corner, his face illuminated by his phone screen. You ignored him and headed to the six-pack of drinks on the counter. You opened a can and downed it fully. It tasted like summers forever ago and peaches. You decided to go for another one.  

“Woah—” the boy from across the kitchen exclaimed. Suddenly, you realized how sad you must have looked, armed with one and a half empty cans of alcohol and a face riddled with anxiety.  

“Sorry, I didn't mean to look like an alcoholic,” you said, with a nervous chuckle, setting the cans down.  

“Nah, it’s chill,” he said. He cocked his head, and his eyebrows knit together—you were familiar to him in a way he wasn’t entirely sure how. You could say the same.  

“What’s your name?” he asked; it was a bit pointed but not exactly mean.  

“Y/N,” you responded, and you saw him still looking at you in confusion. The bells remained unrung. “My nickname is Dovie or Dove, though.”  

As if exclaiming bingo, his brown eyes widened as if he could suddenly place you to someone, and you were hoping it was not him.  

He snapped and pointed his fingers at you before asking the ill-fated question, “Do you know Hamzah?”  

In an idyllic world where you were the heroine, free with your own tongue, you would have slyly remarked how you wished you didn’t know him—unfortunately, you were not. What you were instead was a girl permeated by suffering and immense heartbreak—so instead, you settled your response with, “Yeah, I do—well did, anyway,” followed up with a quick “do you?”  

“Well yeah, I’m Martin; his friend. Me and him did YouTube together,” he replied.  

Suddenly, you could place the boy’s face onto the YouTube thumbnails that would occasionally pop up on your YouTube feed, which you’d often have to ‘press not interested’ on. Aisha always pestered you to block the channel, but you could never bring yourself to do it.  

You were unsure what to say, really; part of you wanted to pry and ask him everything about what Hamzah thought of you, said about you; instead, you settled on asking about Aisha.  

“Um, so anyway, have you seen a blonde chick?” In totally seamless (at least that’s what you told yourself) fashion, you managed to get the conversation away from him.  

“Unfortunately not,” Martin said with a head shake. “The only blonde here I know is my girlfriend, Mandy.”  

You noticed how a small smile crept up when he said the word girlfriend. It was cute in a way that reminded you of how sick you were with your loneliness. You wondered if your loneliness radiated off of you, like a contagion.  

“Ah, well, I’m sure I’ll find her,” you whispered under your breath.  

Through the open archway of the kitchen, you could see him from the other end of the living room, smiling and chuckling with the same girl from earlier. His hands inched up her legs, her smooth, buttery legs. Legs that you never had and weren’t yours. You supposed this was the part of the evening where you finally decided to go collect Aisha and you’d both go home together, and she’d quarrel with you about how you should’ve “gotten your man back,” and you would’ve retorted with some lie about how you’d moved on. But the universe always found a way to ruin you in a new way, and Aisha sent you a text about how she had gone home safely. You didn’t even bother to open the message in full, only reading the first few parts of it on your notification screen.  

Hey bb <3 going w a guy! Text me when you get back and how your…  

When you stared up from your phone, Martin was staring at you, concerned. “Everything okay?”  

“Yeah, no, my friend just went home—with some douchebag, I’m sure. I should leave too.”  

“Do you need someone to walk you back home or at least out of the building?” Martin asked, his voice laced with concern.  

“I can manage; I’m a big girl, after all.” That elicited a nervous but gentle chuckle from both of you. You gave him a small wave of goodbye before you set to leave, but you were disrupted by his voice again.  

“Hey, um—Y/N?” he asked.  

“Yeah,” you responded.  

“He’s sorry,” he said.  

“What?” You turned around, confused.  

“He’s sorry,” he repeated.  

“All he ever tells me about you is that he’s sorry,” Martin explained.  

You weren’t exactly sure what to do with that information, but it felt like there was a lump in your throat, and as long as you were in this—no, his—apartment, you would suffocate in your own misery. All you could do was nod before leaving the kitchen.  

As you left, you passed through the crowded living room. Sometime during your being in the kitchen, the living room had become somewhat of a small-scale mosh pit. You bumped into multiple bodies on your way out; it didn’t really bother you—you just wanted out—until you bumped into him. His brown eyes locked with yours.  

And in the following moments, you realised two fundamentally devastating truths at once.  

You were still in love with him, and seeing his face this close might make you fall in love all over again. And secondly, he hated you with every fibre of his being. You saw this in the way his eyes crinkled with disgust, the way in which his smile faltered ever so slightly, and in the way he distanced himself. The last part you weren’t actually sure of; the girl he was with earlier seemed to have taken him away. In that case, he wasn’t protesting, and either way, he didn’t seem to want to get any closer to you.  

As he disappeared as quickly as he bumped into you, you took that as your final cue to leave.  

You made it to the street and hailed a taxi. It smelled rich and perfumed with the faint hint of food. Part of you thought of what you were going to eat when you got home; another part of you ruminate over the girl’s legs, how Hamzah was so enamoured with them. How thin they were. You decided to get to bed hungry—it’s not like you were that hungry, right?  

You opened iMessages and shot a text to Aisha.  

Text me in the morning; also, next time maybe don’t invite me to my ex’s place for a party, then leave me at said party.  

You frowned. Too hostile. You added a couple heart emoticons at the end before shutting your phone and dropping it into your brown leather bag and letting your head fall against the window, the vibrations of the car allowing you to lull into a light sleep. Author's Note:

hope u guys enjoyed this <3 this was actually a scrapped intro to a whole series i had in mind but i don't think this was that good but i also know that hamzah fics are kinda getting less and less so this is my contribution to the drought 🫡

[beatsboy]

7.28.24 / day 35 of romanticizing my life until i love myself again

it’s almost 2am, i woke up about an hour ago from a 5 hour “nap” after going to a queer day market to support my friend selling their art, and it was really cute and i was honestly super social as i have not had that much social interaction lately (getting used to living alone and having to actively go out and seek social interaction has changed my capacity when i do have it so much, like crazy not feeling drained every time i leave the house because i’ve already been like 5 people’s father/therapist/cleaner/etc before getting to the place i’m going to be supportive/present for someone else) but god damn it was so f u c k i n g hot and tbh i’m very proud of myself for making it as long as i did i only made it thanks to the ice cream vender who put my ice pack necklace (shoutout to my mom who has these for menopause and told me about them) in her cooler so it could get cold again and the lemonade vender who gave me a giant cup of ice to hold against various parts of my body to stay cool af and i got to talk about the music video, and future music videos, the more we talk about this stuff, the more motivated i feel to work on music i want to get to the part where i get to be the thing i’ve been building mostly in my brain for so long

originally, we were going for summer release, and then everything got all fucked up with my roommate situation and moving but i think it was meant to happen this way; this project is better suited for the fall, regardless, and clearly brat has taken over this summer in terms of music, on all levels, especially in the hyperpop scene there are still brat parties going on in la, smaller artists are still reaping the benefits of this album (though not getting much credit, as per usual) love seeing the dare dj a petal supply remix of a brat song and getting all the credit, it’s fine we can continue letting cis white dudes get the credit for queer artists, it’s fine i was literally at a brat market today, where everyone had brat merchandise it’s hard for any other music to break through the brat noise in pop/hyperpop right now, not to mention, boypop is kind of fucking freaky, so i do think sept/oct release would be good for the theme

i rewatch the assembly of the first minute or so of footage and literally cannot believe that that is me these are the movements i practice in the shower, in the corner, in my room, when no one’s looking, movements, expressions, i rarely actually see and the thing is, when i do see, i often shrink from them when i tried to practice performing like this in front of a mirror, i always lost it, the authenticity of it, the commitment, giving fully into the performance, the character, the self that’s the only way, in my opinion, to perform, because any level of restraint pulls you back to reality, that i am just a human, an insecure boy, going through puberty for the second time in his life of 27 years, afraid that he hasn’t done enough in his short time on this earth and wishes he’d taken a life-altering journey to a faraway planet where pop music was the harbinger of liberation instead of a stint in rehab and a coke addiction

anyway, market was fun, although so so hot, and after not going out all weekend, especially after thinking i was going to go to the rave on friday night and not, i really needed some socialization, with friends, and new people, and really needed some real time spent out of my apartment i got a really cute trucker hat that says “gay son” that i’m obsessed with and a really beautiful zine made by a trans guy about his gender journey (originally to raise money for his top surgery, which he had evidently already had, as he was standing there, fearlessly, with his shirt off) i honestly didn’t want to spend another $10 (i literally still have to make my rent in the next 3 days but telling myself i got this) but i think i just feel this intense awe when i see other trans guys post op shirtless, so free in a way i cannot imagine being so, naturally, i was blinded and overcome with this feeling, so i paid the $10 for the zine, and of course i do not regret it at all another vender had a kitten cafe with two 2 week old kittens inside (pictured) because they were too young to be left alone and while i was worried about them and the heat, they were quite cute

after being at the market for over 4 hours, af and i came back to my place, where i made us greek wraps with ground turkey and homemade tzatziki and cucumbers after we walked to h mart to get fresh tortillas i showed them the latest version of “boypop” which is so close i can taste the final mix (and am a bit mad i didn’t work on it today, but it’s fine, i was exhausted) they noticed the automation, the changes i’ve been making, i feel like i’ve actually been moving forward in my work this past week instead of just hyperfixating and going in circles, which is a danger i face in the finishing phase it’s hard to let go of a project, to let it be done i still listen to “king” and think of different harmonies i could record now with my current voice and i can sing whatever i want live, but the recording is done, the mix is done, there are no more changes to be made

i think, in the same way that i love people for their potential, and not always for who they are right now, i see a song as it’s potential, which is why i can imagine so much more than what is actually in front of me, and translate that symphony in my head into the daw, and i also why it’s so hard to let go, to stop, to step away from the infinity of changes and evolutions each project could still face sometimes it feels like i could just work on something forever and as i learn new things it will keep getting better and better, but at some point, i just have to let go

when i was a kid, my dad told me that an artist’s first album is always the best because it’s the cumulation of only their best works at the time, but then they just have to keep creating and they slowly get worse and worse i don’t know why i let this stick with me, more insidious influence from my father on a career i hadn’t even chosen when i knew him, it was just some dumb musing from a middle-aged man making himself feel smart by making a comment about maroon fucking 5

his birthday was 2 weeks ago i wonder if it makes him sad, on his birthday, at the age of 66, knowing he’s grown to be the kind of man who would offer back his relationship to his child, who has grown to hate him more than he hates himself, at a price, who has grown to be a man who can put a price tag on anything, even his love and support knowing he is one of the only people left in this planet, soon including even TSA agents and the DMV, to call me that name to wonder if i will ever come back, if i will ever call, if i will ever reach out, if i will ever show up and say i’m sorry dad you were right all along i got off the path and i sold my body and i want to go back to my normal life with a check for $5000, crying, and return to his control (i won’t) he tells my brother that it’s on me, ball’s in my court, if i want to come back that’s all i have to do, say sorry and pay the fine my terms have always been more simple, which i have communicated let’s talk, with a therapist present you two (parents) schedule (since they have crazy schedules) and i will be flexible (even though i too have crazy schedule) “he said he’s willing” my mother claimed, but it never came to fruition, of course not i blocked his number at first, i had to he wouldn’t stop calling, threatening me, telling me i’d made my mother sick with my behavior (becoming financially independent after realizing i was being financially/emotionally abused) i responded to his emails for a while, but they got worse, so i stopped then, his dad died, and i unblocked him just to call and give my condolences i left him unblocked after that. he could have called any time he wanted, but he didn’t i would know if he’d even tried

i wonder if my dad, too, ever sat alone in his first solo apartment journaling about his thoughts and reflecting on the ways his actions impacted other people mostly i hope not, because i don’t want to know if he did good things before he went bad, i want his fate to feel impossible for me to come to i already know that he read the tao te ching and the four agreements, things i’ve read as a young adult, that have brought me peace, that have taught me ways to move through the world, that don’t make sense when i think of him, and it makes me uneasy i don’t want to envision him being a morally good person and suddenly turning it makes me fear that i could still face the turn, when i want to believe that i have avoided it, that i am not capable of becoming a man like That

but, in truth, we are all capable of becoming like that, of selling out to some idea worse than what we believe in because it’s easy, because what we’re doing now is hard, because the rat race is tiring on the ground because our bodies are tired because maybe our fathers were right and the world’s a hard place and maybe i won’t because i know he wasn’t right, he never was, he was a professional bully who practiced on his wife and children but it is in every decision we make, daily, hourly, minute by minute, that determines who we are, and in ever decision, we can make the turn, we can cave and be cruel, we can give in and take the easy route, knowing that each of those decisions pulls us closer to That which we fear becoming the evil you fear lies as much in buying all your furniture on amazon as it does saying something cruel to someone who doesn’t deserve it just because you’ve had a stressful morning as much as the goodness you chase lives in being friendly to the coffee employee who’s taking forever on your drink when you’re late because it’s not their fault and their morning is just as important as yours as much as it lives in buying from local artists every decision determines how you move through the world, connecting each step and choice like a river, that is where you find where you’ll end up, which ocean you end up submerged in, which fish you will find yourself swimming into the dark night with and i crave free, calm waters for when i my end

[procalpal]

19 September 2024 | Thursday

Start: 5:50AM | CW: 52.3

Breakfast (7:00AM)

Banana (120g) pancakes with protein powder (15g), a teaspoon of cinnamon and an egg.

Mandarins (58g) and blueberries (110g)

Cal: 353 | Protein: 21g

Thoughts: Luckily I had work from home, so I didn't have to wake up so early and didn't need to have my food prepared for the day. I went to the gym before breakfast. I feel a little disappointed, but not sure where it came from, I woke up without having lost any weight from the previous day even though I haven't eaten over 1200 c@ls. It had really been on my mind throughout the day, which really sucked.

Break (10:00AM)

Chocolate caramel protein bar

Cal: 202 | Protein: 19.2g

Thoughts: I keep thinking about food, but luckily, I'm not too hungry. The thoughts keep going through my mind though, but thank god I have work. I'm just worried, that because I only have a short shift, after I finish I won't have anything to keep my thoughts away from food. I really feel like binging and watching people eat lots of food isn't helping.

Snack (1:40PM)

Smoothie with frozen mandarins (110g) with light soy milk (25ml) and ice.

Cal: 70 | Protein: 1.8g

Snack (2:10PM)

Cucumber (65g) and carrot (90g) sticks

Cal: 46 | Protein: 1.2g

Thoughts: Not having lunch today because my thoughts about my we!ght has really weighed down on me. I can't stop thinking about it. I just have these low cal snacks and tbh, it has helped keep the hunger down a bit. I took a nap as well after I watched more mukbang videos, and I kept thinking of food constantly.

Dinner (5:50PM)

Tuna (65g) and egg pancake fried in sunflower oil (3ml)

Vegetable soup with frozen winter vegetable mix (100g), purple onion (30g), chicken stock cube and some garlic and chillies.

Cal: 191 | Protein: 21.9g

Thoughts: Overall a satisfying dinner, despite it being extremely low in calories.

Snacks (throughtout the day)

Three cups of tea with light soy milk (20ml) and honey (5g)

A coke zero (600ml)

Cal: 91 | Protein: 3.1g

Total Cal: 953 (Goal 1200)

Total Protein: 68g

Thoughts: Today was extremely difficult to go through as I didn't have a full day's of work to keep my mind off the fact that I didn't lose any weight and that I kept thinking about food. I was able to keep my consumption to lower than even average days so I'm hoping this is just water weight and will be gone by tomorrow. I had a coke zero and I usually don't actually drink sodas, to be honest, I stopped drinking them years ago but I drank my first one in a while a month ago and now I just have it every now and again when cravings get bad.

Sleep: 8:30PM

[without-it]

fasting day 3/7

i stg time goes so slowly when ur fasting. im bored out of my MINDDD.

im honestly barely hungry. ill have moments where my stomach growls and is like "hey bro its been days can i get some fucking food pls" but within 5 mins that feeling just goes away again? this is the best ive ever felt in a fast honestly. im starting to actually believe ill make it till monday :3

didnt go for a walk today, but did deep clean my apartment for several hours and mr google says at my weight that would have been around 500 cals burnt so! im fine w that tbh

intake today: 1.1 cals from one coke zero, two cups of green tea, 1 liter of water mit electrolytes, and all the usual vitamins (see day 1 for the list)

tmro when i wake up ill be past the halfway point. you might notice the end time has changed a bit. remembered if im doing a fast this long i really dont wanna break it with whatever food my parents want to eat (monday nights i visit them for dinner), so ill be breaking my fast that morning instead w something light. not trying to deal w some refeeding syndrome shit !

will do another weight check-in tmro morn bc it was way too stressful not weighing myself daily. see yall tmro <3333

[gameclam]

Ohh Barmey and Freeminds favorite drinks/coffee orders and stuff?

Barmey's favorite drinks;

-Likes basically any beer but tbh his favorites are always the cheapest ones you can find

-As for normal alcohol he likes Whiskey but not that much. He thinks red wine is bad. he will drink it but he will complain abt it the entire time

-He doesn't drink that much coffee but when he does it's whatever is lying around + sugar + any creamer but his Top Fave mix is Whatever coffee freemind has in his apartment + 5 spoonfuls of sugar + fruity pebbles creamer.

-As for soda he likes mtn dew/coke/cream soda/rootbeer but he thinks pepsi sucks and he hates dr pepper. He can drink diet sodas but doesn't always go for them.

-Despite seeming like he would he doesn't enjoy energy drinks that much

-He loves hot cocoa of any kind usually store bought however Freemind prides himself on making the best hot chocolate you've ever seen so by default that's Barmey's favorite bc it's special for him

-Barmey isn't very picky when it comes to juice or water or anything but he does love a gatorade sometimes or bug juice (but they changed their ingredients so he's got a bit of grudge) and surprisingly he's kind of better at drinking water than you'd think

-creates the worst drinks youve ever seen out of pure boredom. Sometimes they're good sometimes they're very very bad. Up to you to decide what these could be

Freemind's favorite drinks;

-Favorite alcohol is Bourbon but he likes basically all alcohol- he drinks beer but doesn't love it. just drinks it if it's available as the only drink in the area.

-Claims to drink the normal amount of water he needs (lie he will become dehydrated before he has a cup of water. Kind of on accident though) however cannot shake the animalistic feeling of wanting to take a sip out of the sink. CAN shake the animalistic feeling of wanting to drink out of random bodies of water but. he still feels that urge

-He will drink any coffee you give to him including black coffee HOWEVER his favorite coffee's is secretly the most complicated things you could get at a coffee place. He's got 100 shots of espresso whip cream caramel chocolate vanilla strawberry flavored x 10 the sweetest coffee you've ever seen with a price tag of 40$'s bc there's so much shit in it and the cup is bigger than his entire head. but he pretends that's not true bc he's got masculinity issues

-Had a phase in college where he drank only alcohol and monster energy drinks for a solid 3 months. He doesn't even get caffeine effects so there's no reason for him to be drinking them but He can still drink energy drinks and sometimes he same drinks them for months dangerously.

-Soda wise he doesn't really have any strong feelings abt soda. His favorite is Fanta Pineapple soda though. He can drink basically every soda u hand to him EXCEPT for Diet bc he hates the aftertaste. He enjoys most fruit flavored sodas though.

-Will drink Gatorade or powerade or whatever but doesn't necessarily LOVE them. Same thing with most juice

-Smoothies/Milkshakes are also some of his favorite drinks it makes him nostalgic bc his mom makes a lot of alcoholic smoothies and he loves making them his favorite flavor of shake is banana most of the time. he doesn't drink them that often but he does like them

-He prefers strawberry milk to chocolate milk but can drink either. Sometimes he uses hershey's caramel syrup in his milk as well. Can't drink milk straight from the bottle anymore bc one time in college he was dared to drink a whole gallon of milk and he threw up so bad that it makes him sick now.

[rascalcurious]

Fun & Games

Tagged by @starfishlikestoread​

Your name?

mimi

Your star sign?

scorpio (yeah yeah i’m one of the sussy signs)

Last thing you listened to?

doomsday by mf doom (rest in peace) ft pebbles the invisible girl. i’ve been enjoying mf doom’s music a lot recently

What are you wearing?

mismatching button up shirt and pj pants  💀

How tall are you?

5′8

Piercings?

i have my ears pierced once. i’m not sure if i’ll get more piercings because when i did get them done it went pretty badly :| i had to take neon pink medication every day for like a month... which then turned neon orange ???

Tattoos?

nope, hoping to get some soon though

Glasses?

yep

Last drink?

coke. i just spilled it on my laptop though ;(, hopefully it will be ok  💀

Last thing you ate?

reeses peanut butter cups

Pets?

i have a dog called charlie, he is a 12 year old cocker spaniel (although we suspect he isn’t full cocker spaniel) and he is the most photogenic dog of all time

1st pic is a puppy one, 2nd one is recent. 

Do you have a crush on anyone?

i’m aromantic so nope hehe

Fave fictional characters?

1: tank grunt, 2: noah (total drama), 3: double d (ed edd n eddy), 4: dib membrane, 5: vidsie /j

A movie you think everyone should watch?

i don’t really watch a lot of movies (more of a tv show person) but a movie i would recommend to everyone is mean girls (kind of an obvious choice but it’s a classic for a reason). i can’t think of anything else to say tbh, the movie speaks for itself (very convincing way to recommend a movie to someone... well done mimi ;D)

A book you think everyone should read?

i have not read a single book in years  😳 so i’m gonna recommend some sims fanfiction instead hehe.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28794828/chapters/70615494

i haven’t read much sims 2 fic in a while but the one i remember being my favourite is “stuck with you, i’d rather take my chances” by Rayoislife on archive of our own. it was never finished but i really enjoyed the 2 chapters that were published. the fic is about tank grunt and johnny smith being stuck in a cabin together on a school trip. i’m generally not a big tank/johnny fan but i really loved this fic.

I tag: anyone who wants to do this game, the people i normally tag never do them  💀 (love you black mesa gang  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ )  

[sreegs]

Do you know much about ciders? I'm somewhat new to drinking and I find I much prefer them to beer (all the beers I try just feel really bitter to me?)

Haven't really tried many spirits or cocktails either tbh. I live near a pretty nice store so sourcing isn't an issue so much as paying for the stuff. Anything simple and relatively cheap you might recommend to an amateur drink mixer? Maybe on the sweeter end like fruity/minty?

I tried to get into ciders, I honestly can't say I learned much but I do like to drink them seasonally. I don't know good national brands off the top of my head because cider never caught on here in America during the beer resurgence. I know that cider is much more popular in the UK for example, so if you're there and not here, then you have more options.

I do like a local cider though. Since I live in NYC I'm in apple country. Farmers markets have them and there's cideries not too far outside the city (if anyone here is an NYC resident, go check out Penning's near Warwick).

Cider is usually graded along the dry/sweet axis much like wine. There can also be sour ciders as well. This heavily depends on the type of apple and the aging and oxidation that occurs. Additionally it's not unusual to have ciders with added honey that are weird cider/mead hybrids. Those will also be sweet.

Sweet ciders are straightforward: they'll have a profile closer to non-alcoholic cider. Bright and fruity. Dry ciders are called as such because they're, well, not sweet. It's the absence of sweetness. They're not bitter, they may also be described as "tangy" but not always. Really dry ciders make your mouth feel dry after sipping. I've enjoyed ciders up and down the sweet/dry axis, can't say I have a favorite.

Sour ciders are similar to sour beers. They range from "that's a little funky" to "is this komboucha?". I find sours are a love-it-or-hate-it kind of thing so if you find one and you're unsure, buy the smallest amount possible.

Fun fact: cider was once the most popular alcohol in western Europe and more coveted than champagne. Colonial Americans were drinking cider when they weren't stealing land from the natives and committing genocide. Cider and rum, mostly. And beer. Please note this was not cider's fault.

Simple, sweet, fruity, minty. A couple options depending on what you consider easy. I'll give you a couple "proper" recipes as well as the easy way to make them. Oh actually, three. Let's start with the really simple one. Fernet and cola. Don't cringe, it's great. Start with 1 oz of fernet to 8 oz of cola (or 1.5oz to 12 oz if you're using a whole can of coke). serve with lots of ice and a lemon slice. If you like it, increase the Fernet. A proper pour is 5 oz of fernet with a enough cola added to top off the glass. Use bottled cane sugar cola if you can get it. Oh, and make sure it's Fernet Branca. Don't be tempted by Branca Menta, you'll be over-minted.

Try a Mojito. The making of a mojito requires muddling but it needs to be done with finesse as to not pulverize the leaves. Muddle 3-5 mint leaves at the bottom of a shaker with 1/2 oz of simple syrup. Add 2 oz of white rum and 3/4 oz of lime juice. Pour in the ice, shake gently, serve on the rocks topped with club soda/seltzer and a fresh mint sprig.

If you're new to muddling, don't muddle this drink. Muddling too hard will break the leaves make the drink bitter. Grab a sprig or two of mint leaves in one hand and slap the leaves against your other wrist a few times. This will bruise the leaves and express the oils enough without having to muddle. Pluck the leaves and toss them in the shaker with the simple syrup and the rest of the ingredients. Make the same way as above.

Now, if it's the middle of the summer and you just want a drink that's practically whiskey mint snow cone, make a Mint Julep. This is best made in an "old fashioned" style glass (wide, squat glass that holds 8-12 oz) if you don't have the traditional metal cups. Same techniques for the mint as above for the start except you're muddling the mint alone (or doing the wrist slap + pluck the leaves trick). Bruised/muddled mint in the bottom of the glass. Cover with lots of crushed or pebble ice, like a snowcone basically. Pour in 2 ounces of bourbon. Pour over, slowly, one ounce of simple syrup. Let it sit for a minute, garnish with more mint, drink with a straw, stirring as needed.

If you don't have crushed ice, take regular ice cubes and crush them in a clean cotton cloth with something heavy. If you don't even want to bother, just stir for 30 seconds before serving. The trick is, since the crushed ice has more surface area, it melts faster than whole cubes and helps meld the flavors together. This is definitely the hardest of the three drinks to make and it's the most that's "best if done right". But a little elbow grease is enough to make this a great drink.

[mizzmellos]

I’m crying why does that onesie look like something Matt would buy his kid if he ever ended up having one 😭😭😭

Anon we're on the same wavelength I just showed my wife the picture and she also said the exact same thing LOL <- she was like Mello would really hate that though wouldn't he. And I was like yes. It would go in the fire LMFAO. tbh it's sooo hard for me to imagine them ever having a kid because Mello definitely dislikes "little brats" (his words) and prefers to operate on his own schedule. If that baby was crying he'd be like alright im smothering this thing i need my beauty rest. Matt doesn't dislike children per say but doesn't understand them/is strangely afraid of hurting them (<- by this i mean like he would refuse to hold a baby for fear of dropping it). I just literally can't imagine this scenario like it's static. But if they did like use a surrogate or something (<-this seems bizarre to say. that in and of itself is bizarre considering the other wild statements that I make on here. Anyway.) They would definitely do that thing where you mix your jizz together so you don't know whose baby it's gonna be. And then Mello would secretly dump that cup and make sure it was his cuz he wants it to be pretty 😭 also the drip that baby would have would be so unreal. Like before my mom had me, she was dating this big time coke dealer and she bought all my older cousins (then babies) designer shoes and outfits even though they would grow out of them a month later 😭

Now I'm just thinking abt it and like Mello would get home and Matt gave the kid a haircut and it looks so so so bad and Mello is so furious he's speechless. <- has to be better about being angry. Also it'd be funny to me if they had a daughter so Mello can learn how to not be so misogynistic. Also Mello is definitely the strict overbearing mean parent and Matt is the chill one that will let you sneak a beer (obvious).

[f4t4n405x2]

mm, I found another tip for myself, when I eat cashews throughout the day I tend to eat less, even tho they have alot of calories they’re still healthy for you

also I’m gonna try to start a daily food log:

so here’s today

I had black coffee for breakfast (0 cals ofc)

baked potatoe with sour cream like 1/4 tablespoon of shredded cheese and some bacon bits that were waaaayyy too salty (cals around 236-240)

a salad that had lettuce shredded carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, and some croutons and like a tablespoon of cottage cheese (75-80 cals)

then I had a slice of chocolate pie (that was a mistake) and a some type of brownie with nuts in it (200-300 cals) I had half of a cup of sweet tea (I’d say around 400-500 cals)

there’s these coconut crisp rolls that are sooo good 150 cals for 10.. I think I had like 12 or 13 of them (around 200 cals)

I usually burn around 500-700 cals per day I’ve burned 300 so far

about a palm full of cashews (idk how many cals tbh)

again I’ve been in binge 3d recovery so I’m starting to go back to r3stricting

so I could’ve skipped dinner but I caved in and had a spicy mccrisped with some fries and a diet coke (a whopping 1,028 cals)

I burned 217 more cals so allthogether 517 cals burnt which I need to burn more but I’ll restrict tomorrow and burn more tomorrow cause I’m tired

[choijjongho]

santa, daddy - jyh | m

❄ summary - yunho wants the best gift for christmas--you.

❄ pairing - jeong yunho x reader

❄ tags - sugar daddy (sort of, you’ll see), strangers to lovers, stripper AU, rich boy au, fluff, smut, zero angst, they’ve never been unhappy in their lives tbh, all gas no brakes in the fluff department

❄ word count - 5.9k

❄ warnings - unprotected sex, oral sex: f, fingering, dirty talk, Santa role-play (im sorry...), creampie, use of princess a lot lol, body worship, sweet soft yunho, mentions of alcohol

❄ a/n - hi all! welcome back to my second fic. excited to write for yunho my bias wrecker 🥰 i hope you enjoy this tooth rotting fluff! feel free to interact, im always here to chat! thanks to my besties @uhmingi @hongism for the collab and bein my besties!

12 days of christmas collab mlist!

Rationally, Yunho knew it was foolish to fall in love with a stripper. He knew it was likely a big waste of time and more likely to end in embarrassment and heartache than in anything resembling a relationship. 

Did that stop the man?

No. Of course not. 

Jeong Yunho was not a man deterred by logic. 

What Yunho wanted, he got. And if he didn’t get it immediately, he pursued relentlessly until he did. 

This behavior was the reason behind his success as a businessman, and it would surely be the reason for finding you warming his heart and home every day and his cock every night. 

Yunho was persistent and charming to a fault. He always ensured he got what he craved. 

And he craved you. 

He still remembers the night he met you. San and Mingi had convinced him to go to the local strip club in ‘celebration’ of his top dollar merger, a deal that racked up nearly $20 million in profit. It was a reason for celebration, but it could have easily been over drinks at their favorite bar. Yunho suspected that the men were simply looking for a reason to drag him to a titty bar. San was always on Yunho’s ass about getting some action, for once. 

At first, the idea of getting action from a stripper seemed off putting. He didn’t disrespect the women or the profession, no they genuinely served as essential a purpose in the community as any job, he just didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of exploiting some woman who was paid to grind up on him who perhaps had no real desire to. Yunho preferred scenarios where the women he enticed were drawn to him because of him and his looks and personality, not for fear of not getting paid or punishment from selfish bar owners. Yunho had met enough “entrepreneurs” of the strip club scene who were really just abusive assholes, exploiting the women for their hard earned money and giving them meager percentages in return. 

But, Yunho had relented and allowed himself to be driven towards the neon club. He intended to tip well to any woman he interacted with, set on ensuring their livelihood for at least another night. 

He remembered how bored he had been at the club. The women were beautiful, definitely. San and Mingi hardly blinked the whole night, afraid to miss out on a single millisecond of action.  Yunho had just laughed at them and sipped away at his third rum and coke. 

The music had suddenly switched to something a little slower. The lights turned to only red, a neon glow cast on the stage and pole. The crowd was silent in anticipation. 

That was when Yunho saw you. 

You entered the stage on all fours, crawling along the floor slowly in time to the music.  Yunho felt his heart stop completely.  You were gorgeous, diamond encrusted bra cupping perfectly shaped breasts, black thong sliding up your core and along your ass.  Your hair fell in your face, messy with no finesse. Your makeup was lighter, simple with pink blush and wide doe eyes. You looked fucked out. Yunho wanted more. 

You crawled to the pole, allowing every patron in the bar a long glance at your lithe body, before you lifted up and began your routine. Yunho had gone the entire night without even a hint of arousal, while now he felt himself harden with every inch you moved. Yunho wanted to jump onto that stage and take you right there, right in front of every man and woman in the crowd. He wanted to be the reason for the pleasurable look on your features. 

Yunho had never felt so strongly about someone before. And he needed more. 

He attempted to meet you after your performance, to get your name or any information about you. He was turned away by security at the door backstage and Yunho was back to square one. 

San and Mingi were somewhat helpful. San provided him with your stage name, Princess, and Mingi informed him you were one of the club's top performers. You were a natural actress, able to put on a show night after night, as if you had been born to crawl on all fours on the shiny stage. 

Yunho returned every single night since then. Desperate for another glimpse of you, a chance to ask you your name, your real name. As much as he wanted to fuck you until you couldn’t speak your language anymore, he also wanted to court you and take you on a date. He was desperate. 

That’s where Yunho found himself the week before Christmas, buried in his fifth drink of the night, eyes boring into yours as you slid up and down the pole so deliciously it made his cock hurt. 

Only, this night was different. Yunho had found out that tonight you were auctioning off a private dance. The money would be going to a charity of your choosing, one to help children who didn’t have the means to have a warm and safe Christmas. Yunho loved a selfless woman. And he was determined to win. 

He emptied an eye-opening amount of money from his account, and drove straight to the club from work. This was his chance. 

You ended your dance by licking the pole, long stripe up the length. Yunho nearly came in his pants, then scolded himself. How would he make it through a private dance if this had him creaming like a teenager?

An announcer moved to the stage, a rather ugly and burly man, who began the auction at $100.  It quickly became a madhouse of hands. Yunho felt sick at the attention for you, that wasn’t him and him alone. The price skyrocketed quickly to over $10,000. It began to slow, and a man wearing a tacky cowboy hat was eager to continue raising the price.  The man looked to be nearly 50 years old, haggard and likely stinking of smoke from every pore. 

Yunho raised his hand quickly and blurted, “$75,000.” He smiled at the way your eyebrows raised in surprise. 

Cowboy hat was quick to rally back. “$80,000.”

Pathetic. 

Yunho smiled again. “$100,000.”

Murmurs in the crowd made Yunho feel even more confident.  

“$125,000.”

Yunho sighed. Old man cowboy was surely asking for it tonight, wasn’t he?

Time to pull out the big guns, he supposed. 

“$300,000.”

Gasps were now audible, including one that fell from your own gorgeous, pouty lips. 

Cowboy hat was silent for a moment, then replied. “$500,000.”

Yunho clenched his fist. God, the old man didn’t know when to stop. 

He let a few beats pass. The announcer began, “We’ve got $500,000 going once, going twi-...”

“$2 million.”

You nearly fell to the floor. Yunho smirked. 

Cowboy man signaled his surrender. Yunho had him by the balls now. 

Through his stunned surprise, the announcer continued. “$2 million, going once, going twice, SOLD to the gentleman in the suit!” 

Yunho’s heart soared. Finally. Fucking finally. He was going to have you to himself. 

You smiled at him, winking. He hoped that wasn’t just for show. 

“Meet your prize at the private door in 10 minutes for your private hour-long dance.”

Christ, an hour of you grinding up on him would surely be the death of him. But he found it hard to really give a fuck about it. You were so close to him, the fire of his loins. He would learn all about you, court you, love you, fuck you. You would be his. 

Yunho sat on the plastic leather couch and loosened his tie. He knew he would need the relief. His heart was thumping in his chest and his cock was throbbing, and you hadn’t even stepped foot in the room. 

He steadied himself with a few calming breaths and closed his eyes to get a hold of himself before he jizzed in his Calvin Klein underwear. 

The sound of a door opening and gently closing tore him from his meditation. 

There you were, in all your perfect and delicious glory. You wore a simple red, satin robe. It tied around your waist, accentuating your gorgeous frame. Yunho licked his lips in anticipation. 

“Well, if it isn’t Santa himself,” you purred. Yunho felt shivers run down his spine. 

“In the flesh,” he teased quietly, trying not to undress you with his eyes. “You can just call me Yunho, though, my darling.” 

You arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Can I, now?” 

Yunho nodded and watched silently as you stalked towards him. You were barefoot, and Yunho found that sexier than any pair of heels he’d ever seen. You looked comfortable and relaxed. Loose curls, your signature minimal makeup, and the robe. God, he wanted to devour you whole. 

“So, what made you want to donate $2 million dollars to the Children’s Aid Society?” You asked, settling down on the couch next to him. 

“It’s a great cause, but I won’t be silly and say that’s why I put up so much, as important as helping those in need is.”

“So, you threw down 2 million dollars… for a dance with me?” You were curious. You weren’t self-depreciating, you seemed to know your worth. You just weren’t suspecting anyone to come close to that number tonight. 

“I wouldn’t act so surprised. I intended to spend more, but it seems I got a bargain tonight.”  Yunho’s smile was electric, charming. 

Your laugh was gorgeous, just as all of you. “I’m glad you got yourself a deal then, Yunho.”

Yunho nearly erupted at the sound of his name leaving your lips. You scooted closer to him, fingers dancing along his thigh. 

“Why did you choose that charity?” Yunho asked curiously, while trying to fight that deep moan at the feeling of your hands on his leg. 

“I love children. This time of year is so hard to watch those without means have no holiday. I always give back–I’ve been an avid supporter of the cause.” 

Yunho swallowed hard. “That’s very noble of you.” 

You smiled at him, a true smile. “Thank you, Yunho. I appreciate it.”

“What’s your name?” He asked, fingers resting on top of your hand on his thigh. “Your real name.”

You smirked and squeezed his hand, and told him your name. His heart felt like it could burst in joy. 

“I like that name,” Yunho smiled. “I like you.” 

“I’ve seen you here before,” you admitted. “You’re quite the regular. But you’re quiet and never get rowdy like the others.” 

“Not my style,” he admitted. “I come here to watch you. You’re talented.”

You blushed, unable to hide it from the handsome man. 

“Shall I give you the talent you paid for?” 

Yunho rubbed at your hand. 

“Would it be shameful to say I’d rather you relax and enjoy yourself? You don’t have to dance for me.” 

You gawked at him. 

“You paid $2 million dollars for a dance you don’t even want?”  

Yunho was quick to assuage. “No! It’s not that I don’t want you. Quite the contrary, actually. I just want you to enjoy yourself tonight. You’ve earned it. I want to get to know you.” 

You bit your lip. This had never happened before. Most men were quick to jump at any chance of you in their lap, grinding on their erections. 

“Or I could leave, and you can tell your boss you made me cum in my pants 5 minutes in and I left in embarrassment. You get the rest of the night free.”

You were suspicious now. “What’s in it for you?” 

Yunho shrugged. “Knowing my money went to a worthy cause?” 

This was certainly strange. You didn’t know how to react. The idea of not dancing for an hour straight sounded like bliss, but you were still unsure of his motives. Yunho seemed to notice. 

“I’m sorry I just-,” he sighed. “I want to take you on a date. Paying for the dance was the only way I could think of to get you alone to ask you. Your bodyguards are quite the rule followers.”

“You spent $2 million to get me alone, to ask me on a date? You don’t even wanna see my tits or anything?”  

Yunho smirked. “Oh of course I do, but I’d rather see them at a more natural time, not here in a smoky bar.” 

“I’ll go,” you blurted. “On a date.”  

You couldn’t help yourself. The man was gorgeous and hadn’t even attempted a single move on you at your most vulnerable, nearly naked under the thin robe. He even kept his eyes on yours all night, never lingering on your body. 

“Really?” He was excited, like a puppy. 

You nodded. “Dinner. Drinks. That’s it.” You agreed. “No funny business.”

“Never!” Yunho held his palms up, as if proving his innocence. “Friday?” 

You nodded.  “Friday. Christmas Eve. Pick me up here at 4.” You stood up and leaned over to kiss the man on the cheek. It turned red where your lips were. “And I’m definitely telling my boss you came in your pants.” 

Yunho grinned at you. “Make sure you tell him I cried, too.” 

“Deal.” 

And you turned, and left. 

Yunho had never felt better in his life. 

If Yunho thought you looked beautiful in your stage outfits, curves accentuated, he was completely blindsided by how good you looked in jeans, a coat and a sweater. 

He watched as you walked towards him on Friday, exiting the dark club and walking towards his sleek sports car.

“Wow,” you breathed as you looked at him. He wanted to go all out, to impress you. He wore his tightest jeans, ones that accentuated his hard earned muscles from calf to thigh and his enormous height.

“I should be the one saying that,” he murmured as you approached. He reached for your hand, kissing it gently and innocently. “I’m honored you could join me tonight.”

“Anything for you, Santa,” you smirked. “Shall we?”

Yunho, ever the gentleman, rushed to open the shiny metal door for you to slide in. Once he was sure you were secure, he ran back to the otherside to drive. He was nervous. He wanted nothing more than to impress you.

The car started with a roar, the engine showing off in its own attempt to amaze you.

“You always pick up your dates in your most extravagant cars?” You asked with a teasing smile.

Yunho winked as he peeled out of the driveway, making you squeal and giggle in excitement. 

“Just the amazing ones who donate all their earnings to charity.”

“You… you rented out Lotte World for our first date? I thought I said dinner and drinks!” You asked, eyes widening and chest tight.

Yunho simply shrugged as he stood at the entrance with you, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“I know the CEO. And I didn’t necessarily rent it out for ourselves. Apparently they’re using the park for exclusive celebrity guests too, so we won’t be alone. We can have dinner inside?”

Your eyes widened even further, jaw dropping.

“EXCLUSIVE CELEBRITY GUESTS? Like ACTORS?” 

Yunho couldn’t help but chuckle and wrap you up in a hug.

“Promise you won’t ditch our date if you see Lee Minho,” he teased.

You grumbled into his chest, still dazed at the information presented to you before pulling away and smiling sweetly.

“No promises.”

The park was thoroughly empty. Every so often, you’d see bulky bodyguards and gawk to find out who was being catered to throughout the park. Yunho would gossip with you, using his height to lift you up and see if you could spot a glimpse of someone famous.

Yunho was the perfect date. Not just because he could obviously afford to rent an entire national theme park out for a first date, but because he was everything you wanted in a man. He was kind, funny, sensitive, caring. He wanted you to have a good time for no ulterior motive than your happiness. He listened to your stories of all your friends at work and from school, and laughed as you regaled him with tales of your best friend Yeosang and his love-hate relationship with the girl he was seeing. He fed you bites of his funnel cake and held your hand in his to keep it warm as you wandered through the empty park. He pointed out lights and scenery the park used to build a winter wonderland and the warmth in your heart radiated through your entire body.

Yunho didn’t care that you were a dancer. He didn’t care about your sordid history, didn’t pry or ask. He respected you, your career of choice, and simply wanted to be with you. It was almost too good to be true.

After a few laps of ice skating (where Yunho fell on his ass more than he actually managed to stay up), he saddled up to you with two steaming mugs of cocoa.

“This has been incredible, Yunho,” you smiled as you accepted your own mug from his hands. “I’ve never had a first date be so… easy.”

Yunho smiled into his mug.

“I was thinking the same thing. This has really been so fun.”

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up as he lowered his mug and inched his face closer.

“You were worth every single penny,” he murmured. “I’d spend it all again just for five minutes of your attention and time.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, feeling thoroughly charmed by Yunho’s words. He didn’t see you as only a sex object. He liked you for you. While he may have been initially drawn in by your sex appeal, he stayed because of you. 

“You’re starting to sound like a sugar daddy,” you breathed, feeling his lips inch closer and closer to your own.

He smirked, a soft puff of air escaping his lips in a laugh. You could nearly taste him, how the chocolate of his drink would taste on your own lips.

“I think I like being called Santa daddy more.”

Before you could respond, Yunho closed the distance and pressed his warm, chocolatey lips to yours. It felt like magic, like everything you’ve ever dreamed from a first kiss. Soft, light, no intention of turning it into something raunchy or sexual. Simply an exchange, an acknowledgement of the feelings blooming in both of your chests. 

It felt like home. It felt like everything surrounding you clicked into place the second Yunho kissed you, dropping his cocoa to the ground uncaringly as he cupped your face in his hands. Time stopped, and you hated how cliche it all was, and hated how much you loved finally finding your fairy tale.

Yunho pulled away with you still chasing after his lips, making him chuckle.

“Hold on, there’s still more to this date, and I could spend the rest of my life kissing you and I don’t want to be distracted.”

His words buried deep into your heart, making a home for them inside you. He could spend the rest of his life… it was simply a dream come true.

Yunho slipped your hand back into his and pulled you away from the ice rink area.

“Where are we going?” You asked, wanting nothing more than to find a warm bench or space to continue making out with the man of your dreams.

He looked back, a knowing smile on his face. “Just you wait.”

Soon, the gorgeous and looming princess castle came into view. It was completely decked for the season with lights, fake glittering snow, holly and tinsel, gorgeous decorated trees flanking the outside. 

“Oh my god,” you sighed. “It’s so pretty.”

Yunho smiled and appreciated the view with you, then turned back.

“A princess deserves her castle.”

Yunho continued tugging you in, taking you towards the normally off-limits front entrance.

“Yunho, we can’t go in there,” you protested, unwilling to get in trouble on your first date.

He disregarded, and pulled you up to the very front door, before releasing your hand and digging through his tight jean pocket.

Spinning around to face you, Yunho smiled as he held up a golden skeleton key.

“I may have pulled some strings,” he blushed. “The view from the princess suite is unparalleled. I knew it's something that not many people get to see and I wanted you to have the chance for yourself.”

Holy fucking shit.

Yunho really pulled out all the stops for you on this date, wanting nothing more than to ensure you had the best time of your life. Your heart beat three times too fast, in overtime, and you found yourself throwing your body at him to plaster wet kisses all over his face.

“How are you real?” You asked between pecks to his cheeks and lips. “You’re not real, you’re a figment of my imagination and I’ll wake up tomorrow in my cold bed and not with the most handsome, perfect man I’ve ever met in my life.”

Yunho simply laughed, hugging you tight to his body and returning your sweet kisses.

“Stop distracting me, princess,” he spoke as he finally pulled you away. “Your suite awaits.”

The door swung open to an elaborately decorated hallway and gorgeous spiral staircase. Yunho allowed you to walk first, holding onto your hand behind you and smiling as he watched your every ooh and aah on every step up towards the suite. You were more beautiful than anything this castle could attempt to try, more precious and deserving of the finer things in life than anyone he’s ever encountered. Spoiling you, he thinks, will become his ultimate goal to see that gorgeous, megawatt smile on your face. So pure, so easy to love, and so authentic. He was obsessed.

At the top of the staircase, a golden door waited. You peered back at him, unsure of yourself and how to proceed. He simply smiled and tucked the golden key into your hands.

“Go ahead, princess.”

With one gulp of excitement, you stuck the key into the whole and twisted, smiling at the click of the lock and pushed the door open.

“Oh my god,” you nearly whimpered as you stepped inside, Yunho close behind you.

The room was unlike any room you’ve ever seen before. It was like you stepped into a Cinderella story. Creamy silk fabrics, golden walls, gleaming jewels and diamonds, a large four-poster bed covered in the most expensive bedding you’ve ever seen in your life. A huge window was just beyond you, and you stepped towards it mindlessly.

When you opened the luxe curtains, you gasped out loud. Yunho was right, the view was spectacular. All of Seoul glittered beyond your view. You could see the lights of the Namsan tower, blinking and protecting the city. Just below, bustles of famous crowds worked their way through the park. Your heart soared. You’ve never seen anything like it and you were sure you’d never see something so incredible again in your life.

“Do you like it?” He whispered into your ear. When had he gotten so close? You didn’t mind, you relished in the warmth of him behind you.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” you sighed. Yunho pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, hands sliding down to rest on your hips.

“Perfect. A beautiful room for an equally beautiful girl.”

You gulped, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. Why was he being so kind? Why was he pulling out all the stops?

You turned in his grasp, now facing him and peering into his eyes.

“Why me?” You asked. “Why some stripper from a shitty club? Why not some equally expensive girl from your life?”

It all felt like too much, all at once. You loved it, loved everything about the day, but it scared you. Was Yunho simply woo-ing you to sleep with you, to get something out of you?

He smiled, a beautiful and authentic smile that spoke more than just desire and lust. It spoke of passion, respect, and genuine joy.

“You’re not just some dancer,” he spoke as he cupped a hand to your cheek, thumb rubbing at the soft skin. “You’re the most beautiful, thoughtful, compassionate woman I’ve ever met. I brought you because I wanted to see you smile. I wanted you to see what I can give you. I’m not much, and you’re the whole world. It would be my honor to make you light up like this every day.”

“Yunho…” you whispered, eyes glassy with emotion.

“Let me give you everything you deserve.”

With the press of your lips to his, you surrendered. 

“Merry Christmas, Santa.”

[ one year later ]

“I can’t believe you rented out the castle AGAIN!” You gasped as Yunho tugged you along the familiar steps to the princess suite.

“You think I’m gonna let my princess sleep anywhere but her castle for Christmas Eve?”

“Yunho, please,” you sighed.

It had been a year since your first date, a beautiful and incredible year with Yunho as your boyfriend and partner. A year full of love, excitement, new adventures, and so much passion. He was everything you’d ever dreamed of. Yunho didn’t mind that you still wanted to dance, still wanted to provide for yourself in your own way. Sometimes he would even attend the club again, like old times, and you’d roleplay as strangers longing for each other.

On the anniversary of your first date, Yunho brought you back to where it all happened. He spun you around the ice rink, kissed you under the mistletoe, won you stuffed animals in the carnival games and screamed his lungs out with you on the roller coasters.

Now, at the end of the night, Yunho was tugging you up the steps of the circular staircase, into the gorgeous and gleaming room you remembered so well.

“Oh!” You gasped.

The room hadn’t changed much. Some updated linens and furniture. But now there was a crackling fire in the fireplace, a gorgeous tree trimmed with gleaming golden ornaments and lights with wrapped gifts below, and a catered meal at a fine dining table next to the window with the view. A suitcase that looked eerily like your own sat tucked in a corner next to another.

“Yunho?”

He smiled and pulled you into his arms, lifting you up and spinning you around.

“I rented this for a week. It’s all ours. We can spend Christmas Eve and New Years here–where it started... where we started.”

That was Yunho, always so romantic and thoughtful. He cherished his alone time with you in the midst of his own busy schedule, and always made it a priority to continue to woo you even after you were solidly his.

“Santa has been so good to me this year,” you smirked, recalling the nickname you gave him after he dropped 2 million dollars just for a chance to talk to you.

Yunho pressed soft kisses to your neck and carried you to the soft, plush bed where he dropped you as gently as he could.

“Santa’s got a few more treats in his sack,” he grinned.

You stuck out your tongue in fake disgust. “Ewww, Yun, don’t say sack.”

He laughed, lips pressed against your skin as he layered kisses on every inch he could reach. His hands, his large beautiful hands, rubbed and tugged at your clothing, desperate to make you anxious and pliant for him.

“Yunnieeee,” you sighed, feeling the fiery burn in your care roar to life. “Stop teasing.”

Yunho pulled away in faux thought, tapping his chin lightly. “I don’t know. Have you been a good girl this year? Do I need to check my list to make sure you made the nice list?”

You pouted, missing his lips and hands on your body now heated with desire.

“I’m literally always good,” you sighed. “Can Santa give me his big North Pole now?”

Yunho broke character to laugh, dropping back down to kiss at your lips and giggle with you at your joke.

Easily, his hands tugged off your top and he laved kisses and licks at your skin while he pried apart your bra with finesse. 

“You’re right, princess,” he smiled as he finally pulled your breasts free from captivity. “You’ve been such a good girl for Santa.”

You opened your mouth to reply but lost all capability of speaking as Yunho wrapped his lips around a pert nipple, sucking it and nibbling on it gently. He used his free hands to tug at the button of your jeans, mouth still firmly attached to your breast.

“Fuck,” you whined. “Please, Yunho, more.”

He grunted, displeased with your impatience, and popped his mouth off your breast.

“Good girls don’t tell Santa what to do, right?”

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly agreed.

“Can good girls encourage Santa to go faster before they ruin their panties?”

Yunho’s smile turned devilish, hands working even faster on the jeans. He tugged them down without struggle, using his impressive strength to get you stripped down to just your lace underwear in seconds.

“Santa is easily persuaded, it seems,” you smirked.

Yunho didn’t respond, instead he simply kissed down your stomach until he reached your soaked core, licking a fat stripe up the fabric and effectively wiping the smirk off your face as you groaned in pleasure.

“So mouthy,” he whispered, tugging gently at the panties to pull them to the side. “Santa better bring you a gag next time.”

His tongue dove in deep, licking up into your drenched channel and swirling to your swollen and needy clit. Your body was overwhelmed with pleasure, soft gasps and moans leaving your mouth instead of any bratty remarks. Yunho always had a way of shutting you up with his tongue in your pussy.

“God,” he groaned as he suckled your clit into his mouth. “Tastes so good, baby, you’re always so fucking good for me.”

Your core clenched around nothing, feeling the vibrations of Yunho’s tongue and words on you, making your body shake and throb. 

“Please, fuck me,” you begged. It was almost shameless how easy it was for Yunho to reduce you to a begging, squirming mess. “Need you.”

“Ask properly,” he grinned as he inserted two fingers into your cunt. “You know how, princess. Use your words.”

Arching your back, you whined at the intrusion and the delightful stretch his big fingers provided. 

“P-please! I need you, Yunnie!”

He tsked, scissoring his fingers wide and kitten licking at your clit.

“My name isn’t Yunho,” he reminded you. “Come on, angel, I know you want to come on my cock. Won’t you be a good girl and address me properly?”

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, but your overwhelming desire to get railed by your boyfriend overtook any lingering anxiousness.

“Santa, please give me your cock,” you nearly cried, tears welling up from the sheer pleasure of Yunho’s fingers. You needed more, desperately, and could feel your body anxious for Yunho’s impressively large length.

“That’s my good girl,” he smiled as he kissed your clit farewell and pulled his fingers out from within you. He shushed your whines at being empty with a gentle kiss to your lips. “Always asking so sweetly to be filled with cock.”

Yunho rubbed the tip of his cock at your leaking and desperate entrance and you pleaded with him to give it to you. 

“I love hearing you beg for me, princess,” he sighs. “Makes me want to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

Yunho again rendered you speechless by plunging deep within you, his thick length spearing you open and filling you so well you didn’t know where he began and you ended.

“Holy fuck,” you whined. Yunho stayed still, allowing you to adjust to his size as he watched you intently, watched your body loosen and open up for him like the delicate flower he thought you to be,

“You feel so fucking good, princess,” he spoke as he kissed you deeply, tongue plunging into your mouth. You could still taste yourself on his lips, making you whimper for more. “You always take such good care of Santa’s cock.”

As if on cue, Yunho slowly pulled his length out, inch by inch, watching the way it came out covered in your slick, before plowing back in and setting a slow, but brutal pace.

Gasps of pleasure and need escaped you, and you bounced with each push forward from your lover. Yunho was always so thorough, so deep. You pressed your hand to your stomach and whined as you could feel the defined imprint of his thick cock deep inside you.

“Mm, fuck, look at you Princess, all fucked out,” he moaned as he picked up the pace. He was enamored with the way your body bounced and jolted with each thrust, the way your perky tits would jiggle and entice him to wrap his lips around them.

You were already dangerously close, thanks to Yunho’s skilled tongue and fingers taking you closer and closer, and now being filled by him and surrounded by him was sending you quickly closer to the edge.

“Yunho, I’m–,” you cried. “Please, so fucking close!”

Yunho grunted in reply, eager to see you fall apart, eager to feel you clench around his length. He hissed in desperation, already so quickly coming to his own end. Something about you, everything about you, had Yunho always so desperate to finish.

“Fuck, good girl, Princess. Come for me, baby. Let me see you come on my cock.”

His words were always such a ripple effect for you. His voice, his hands grasping at your hips, his cock stuffed so deep inside you, the love he wears for you on his sleeve so evident in the way he holds you. It always sends you spiraling and this time is no exception.

Grasping at his biceps, you cried and arched your back, feeling the string in your stomach tighten further and further, coiling hotly inside you as he chased after both of your climaxes. Yunho, Yunho, Yunho. He’s all you could think about, all you wanted to think about. Time stopped with Yunho, buried deep inside you. 

His encouragement continued, coaxing you closer to your end until one final thrust inside sent you reeling over the edge. You’re sure you screamed, but the blood rushing in your ears was all you could hear, and all you could feel was the sweet pulses of your climax clench around his length.

Yunho cried with you, watched with dazed and opened eyes as you slipped off the edge towards your bliss. It felt so fucking good, the way your channel milked him and begged for him to reach his own end. 

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he breathed as he quickened his thrusts, relishing in the tight and wet squeeze of your core. “So fucking good for me. Where do you want me to come, princess?”

It was hard to catch your breath, hard to think about anything other than the way your lover felt inside you, on top of you.

“I-inside, please! Come inside me, Yun!”

Yunho didn’t have the heart to correct you, no longer caring for the silly roleplay he established, but instead pounded into you faster, faster. You egged him on, tightening your core and clenching with each thrust in, making him babble incoherently as he finally tumbled into his own blissful orgasm.

It was like magic, feeling Yunho’s warmth spread inside you and holding him close as he slowed his thrusts and rested on top of you to catch his breath. His length stayed firmly lodged within your walls, making you feel warm and safe.

“Merry Christmas, princess,” he smiled as he finally lifted his tired and sweaty head to kiss you sweetly. 

“Merry Christmas to you, Santa.”