#grams of protein or something like that

[durn3h]

Thinking about taking the cottage cheese pill

[salingers]

october's end.

dbf!joel miller x f!reader summary: a filthy halloween night with your dad's best friend, joel miller. [you get him to briefly wear a ghostface mask]. [enjoy that! i did]. warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap. alcohol. au. begging. cream pie. dirty talk. dom!joel. fingering. jealous!joel. language. masked!joel. no outbreak. no use of 'y/n'. praising. smut. use of 'good girl'. use of 'slut'. unprotected piv. word count: [about] 3,800. a/n: hi! debut, written for @mermaidgirl30's halloween writing challenge. cover by me, divider by @saradika. @saradika-graphics.

Everything’s bigger in Texas, including Halloween. Your childhood neighborhood is locally televised each October’s end, due to every home’s enthusiastic participation. There’s an annual stoppage of traffic for the singular evening’s festivities, permitting only costumed bodies to roam the gated community’s residential roads. 

Branches draped in gauzy webs. Yards engulfed in artificial fog. A beloved holiday tradition, predating the tailend of the seventies, when Dad and Joel were elementary aged and wielding pillowcases of candies. Now, they’re fifty-somethings, bemoaning mutual back pain and cursing pesky lawn decorations.

“Here,” Joel gruffs, while individually sliding Dad two Reese’s pumpkins, from across the kitchen’s counter. “Protein break. ‘S four grams.”

Dad swipes them both up, before confirming that statement by thumbing one’s wrapper, “That ain’t bad.”

You’re quietly laughing at their supposed refueling, while stooping behind the fridge’s door and scanning the moistened shelves. There. A seasonal beer, from your favorite brewery in Austin. It’s comfortably predictable, returning home for Halloween; From Dad purchasing your favorite autumnal ales, to Joel Miller’s ruggedness.

You properly right yourself. Then, using your waist, nudge the appliance’s door shut, “Dad, where’s your bottle opener?”

Dad’s phone abruptly drones, reverberating against granite and interrupting your question; He grimaces at the caller’s illuminated identity.

You guess, “Ghostface?”

Dad laughs, before emphasizing, “Worse. My neediest client.” He abandons his barstool, continuing, “Actin’ like buildin’ up in Waco makes ‘er Joanna Gaines.” Dad apologetically nods toward you, “Joel. Will ‘ya?”

Joel’s scruffy chin tips upwards, directing you, “C’mere.”

Something’s brewing, once Dad vacates the vicinity. Your forced proximity to Joel is newly palpable; Tonight’s different. You’re obedient, in approaching him. Joel doesn’t stop staring. The bottle’s neck is being strangled, under your dominant hand. You can’t completely ward off an image of taking him into your palm.

Your minimal passage to his barstool seemed slow-motioned, almost. You’re not sure. Time’s just apparently lengthier, under Joel’s browned gaze.

 Joel grunts, fingering his carabiner of keys, attempting to sift out his bottle opener keychain, “You playin’ Michael Meyers, ‘gain? ‘Round one night, only?”

You amusedly scoff, “Keepin’ track?”

Joel shrugs, “Eight days, in eight years.”

You’re genuinely surprised that Joel’s noted your absence. Maybe, Dad revealed that specific number, correlating to your sparse appearances in Austin; Well, it could’ve been that Dad mentioned to Joel about how since your high school’s graduation, you’ve only managed to visit home yearly. That’s just basic math. Right?

You stammer, “Uh huh. ‘S my favorite holiday.”

Joel hums, before abruptly wrapping his calloused palm around the entirety of your hand and the beer bottle’s width, “Hm. ‘N that your favorite beer?”

You’re momentarily silent, muted by Joel’s warmth. A sizable hand, roughened from decades of hard labor. The tips of his delectably thick fingers begin tightening at your wrist, securing his hold as he’s standing himself up.

Even fully seated, Joel’s intimidating in size. Him standing toe-to-toe with you? That’s another story. His construction boots are weathered and worn; They would be comically large, in comparison to your measly-sized sneakers, but nothing’s funny about Joel Miller’s body mere inches from yours.

You reply by mustering an eager nod; And, whether that’s in response to Joel’s prior question pertaining your liking of the beer, or merely an approval of his nearness to you? You haven’t decided.

Joel rasps, “Anythin’ else?” He’s pulling your combined hands downward, to his waist. The carabiner’s remained attached to his belt’s loop, “That ‘ya favor?”

You’re struggling to think of something witty to retort. Because, the frayed seam of Joel’s zipper is right there. He’s deftly notching the bottle’s cap inside of the opener’s teeth; The beer crisply hisses, releasing any contained pressure.

Joel whispers, “What, darlin’? Bat got your tongue?”

You defeatedly laugh, “Somethin’ like that.”

He grins, carefully releasing you, “Taste it.”

You harshly gulp, “S–Sorry? Oh, right. T–The beer.” 

Joel agrees, “That’s right.” Then, darkly teases, “Y’know, that pretty mind ‘a yours is boundin’ for the gutter.”

He crosses his arms against his broad chest, the canvas fabric of his Carhartt jacket drawing taut. Joel’s now cocking his head, sending his gaze along the pathway from the glass vessel that you’re feebly holding, to the lower lip that you’re inadvertently biting; Daring you.

You’re feignedly bold, “Meet ‘ya there.”

You drink, even if it’s primarily to keep yourself from further stuttering. At first, it’s an adequate enough distraction; The alcohol’s frigid in temperature, soothing to the high-strung tendons of your throat, from the inside-out. Then, you’re curiously drawn to Joel’s own gulping throat, and that transient composure of yours is gone.

Joel’s devotedly watching you, his glare heady and sensual. His Adam’s apple jerks, moving atop the clenched muscles and corded veins of his neck. You’re somewhat tipping back, gathering your final mouthful, for now; You’ve drained three-fourths of it, by the time that you’ve halted your sipping.

Then, Joel’s thumb darts out, before smoothing against your glistening mouth. He drawls, “Got it lookin’ real good. Let’s see.”

You’re only narrowly audible, “Oh? Joel.” 

Joel’s tongue, deliciously large and scrubbed pink, strokes his finger. He groans, “Mm. Ain’t sure. Need ‘t sample it from the source.”

You inwardly whimper, “Yeah?”

You’re foolishly tempted to extend him the ambered bottle itself, because surely Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend, would identify that as the ‘source’. Not your parted, wanting lips. Like Joel’s read your hesitant mind, he reassuringly pins your hands behind your back, easily dismissing the beer; A singular hand of his own, dwarfing the pair of your wrists.

Joel’s ghosting your lips, “Yeah.”

For good measure, Joel lightly moans, sucking his dampened digit. Humming around the pumpkin spiced suds, lapping up any residual taste from his finger. Arms restrained, spine straightened; Your chest’s rising urgently.

Joel’s own chest, delicately hairy below his threadbare t-shirt, is an odd inch away. A desperate heat’s begun permeating your lower abdomen; Achingly unfurling, taking up residency in your cunt.

Of course, it’s then that Dad’s barrelling over, having withdrawn from his nearby office, “Sorry ‘bout that, kid. Get ‘er open?”

You’re coughing out, “Y–Yep.” Then, “Thanks, Joel.”

Dropping your wrists, Joel winks, “Oh. ‘M pleasure.”

Your incriminating closeness to Joel goes unrecognized by Dad; Seeing as, Joel’s wide shoulders completely obscure you from view.

Dad sighs, “Gee, there ain’t no escapin’ this shiplap.”

Joel immediately laughs, casually reclaiming his prior barstool. The jarring segue from Joel’s flirting with you, to his joking with Dad, is absolutely disorientating. You’re fidgeting, repeatedly and silently tapping your foot. You can’t do Joel here; You’ll settle for doing last-minute Halloween preparations.

You blurt, “Goin’ to start organizin’ the candy. ‘S all in the garage, Dad?”

Dad assuredly nods, “Sure is. ‘Cept these.” He chuckles, gathering the forgotten wrappers from his earlier ‘protein break’ with Joel.

You remind him, “Don’t forget to refill the fog tanks.”

Dad, who seemingly had forgotten, regretfully snaps his fingers, “What would I do without ‘ya?” He’s bragging to Joel, “Look at ‘er.”

Joel agreeably nods. Eyeing you, “Good girl.”

Because, Dad and Joel are career contractors, who are simultaneously life-long friends and next-door neighbors, it’s only right that they’ve done an elaborate, joint Halloween for three decades; Locally dubbed the ‘Construction Fright’.

A (questionably) age-appropriate spread of horror, featuring thrifted tools that bludgeon and dismember an assortment of plastic skeletons. Hard hats, faux-bloodied and stabbed with rusted nails. Construction tape, riddled in spiderwebs.

A half-dozen, battered wheelbarrows, brimming with chocolate candies; Three brown ones, carrying Hershey’s, Rolo, and Tootsie Roll. Three orange ones, containing every imaginable variant of Reese’s. 

 You’ve already been working for nearly an hour; Arranging the color-coordinated barrows of candy. You’re jamming the recycling bin’s lid shut, overtop the cardboard and plastic wrappings of king-sized bars, when the entry door’s opened.

Dad’s entering the garage, “Sun’s settin’ soon, kid. ‘Oughta get dressed.” He lazily squeezes you in an impromptu side-hug, “Thanks, for helpin’.”

You breathily sigh, “Mhm. Oh, I need ‘t light the Jack-O-Lanterns.”

Joel appears, insisting,  “Go on, darlin’. I’ll get ‘em sweatin’ for ‘ya.”

You’re thinking, ‘That’s ridiculously slutty of him to say’, when Joel continues, this time addressing Dad, “Hey. Phone’s ringin’ over ‘gain.”

Dad sighs, “Got ‘t be kiddin’ me.” Then, grumbles, “Sure hopin’ it’s Ghostface.” He grins, lightly pinching your elbow.

You giggle, “C’mon. She can’t be that bad.”

Dad shrugs, smiling before swiftly jogging up the garage’s concrete steps; When Dad’s fully retreated inside, and the door’s naturally swung shut, Joel doesn’t waste any time pinning your body against it.

Joel whispers, “Bet ‘ya find that this pussy’s wet ‘f me, when you’re undressin’ it.” His jeaned, muscular thigh’s nudging your legs ajar.

You airily groan, “P–Please. Fuckin’ kiss me.”

Joel grins, wedging his ample thigh’s sturdy surface against your beating cunt. He kisses you; Joel Miller fuckin’ kisses you. He’s grabbing your face, thumbing your cheekbones. His lengthy fingers, scraping your skull.

His tongue’s deeply delving, eagerly exploring your mouth’s every crevasse. You can’t breathe efficiently or think coherently. Everything’s Joel. His graying beard, raking your chin; A woodsy scent, like that of the hardware store’s lumber aisles, exuding from his clothing.

You’re moaning, “Ngh.” Then, ripping at the silvery hair that’s curling against the nape of his sun-freckled neck, “More.”

Joel’s grunting, “Fuck. Need ‘t stop.” He can’t stop, and sucks your bottom lip, once more. Then, “H–Hear ‘im? He’s gainin’ on us.”

Sure enough, Dad’s approaching. It’s damn-near impossible to quit rutting along Joel’s denimed, upper leg. You’re whining, “Need ‘ya.”

Joel’s panting, “T–Tonight, darlin’.” He arousingly whispers, “All night. When the porch light’s out, sneak over.” Then, darker and deeper, “Repeat it.”

You repeat, “Tonight. When the porch light’s out, sneak over.”

You’re admittedly distracted, during the evening’s trick-or-treating segment. You understand that nothing’s allowed to appear awry around Dad, but Joel’s playing casual too well. You shouldn’t overthink, but it’s torturous; That he’s apparently unaffected. Drinking with Dad and Tommy. Never really staring at you.

Joel’s (conveniently) costumed as himself every Halloween, but himself during working hours; A leathered tool belt, cinching his tender waist. A backwards Filson hat, tamping his unkempt curls. His dirtiest ‘white’ t-shirt; The neckline’s absurdly tattered and torn, an array of holes displaying his body’s coarse hair.

Midland’s country cover of ‘Wicked Game’ is emitting from neighboring speakers. You can’t resist likening the song’s drumming pattern to your own heart’s pulsating rhythm; Yearning for Joel’s attention. Then, Dad’s whistling for your attention.

Dad’s pointing, “Look, kid. Your ‘ol boyfriend, Nick. He’s fuckin’ Ghostface.” Dad humorously roars, standing, “See ‘im? H–Hold on.”

You’re avidly protesting, but Dad’s already approaching Nick, who’s not wearing, but holding his hooded mask; Fingers cupping the elongated, rubbery chin. There’s nothing inherently wrong about him; He (morally) should be your holiday hook-up, not your dad’s best friend. It’s too bad.

Joel snipes, “Dick?”

You tut, “It’s Nick.”

Joel’s feigning understanding, “Oh, Prick.”

You’re unsure what’s initiated this potent sexual tension, but it’s consumed your every thought this Halloween; While, Joel’s every word is loaded. His irritated sarcasm’s gunned your way. Any bickering’s uncommon, for the pair of you. You’re hoping that Tommy’s too busy proffering candy to notice.

Dad’s returned, towing Nick, “Weren’t we just talkin’ ‘bout him, kid? So funny.” Dad, and his dorky penchant for inside-jokes.

Nick cluelessly smiles, “Hi, you.”

You politely reply, “Hi, yourself.”

Nick’s extending his hand, summoning you from your designated seat, “Got ‘t see this costume.” Then, he’s declaring you, “Stunning.”

You’re incredulously laughing, “They’re bloodied overalls.”

Nick grins, persisting, “Love ‘em. Also, this apron’s awesome.” He’s thumbing your accessory’s front, tracing the logo, “Carhartt girl, huh?”

You’re aiming to get under Joel’s skin with, “Scream girl, too.” You inspect Nick’s black robe, feeling his arm’s draping sleeve.

Oh, Joel Miller’s jealous. He’s rolling his earthy-toned eyes; Aggressively peeling his beer’s damp label, while instigating Dad, “Hearin’ this?”

Dad’s indifferent, shrugging. He’s always approved of Nick for you; He’s Texan, and plays Minor League Baseball. That’ll do it.

Nick’s pleading, “Let’s please walk ‘round, sweep the neighborhood?”

Joel snarks, “Hell. Reckon he’s recruitin’ for Neighborhood Watch?”

Nick’s nervously smiling, having not heard Joel’s dig, but surely hearing Dad and Tommy’s abrupt snickering.

You kindly respond, “Let’s. Love seein’ the decorations.”

It’s nine-thirty. Your street’s grown habitually sparse; Toddlers, having resigned to stringent bedtimes. Teens, having retreated to erupting parties.

You decipher Joel’s looming silhouette; His rocking chair’s creaking, upon the dimmed porch’s planks. A gleaming tumbler of (presumably) whiskey is resting against his crossed leg, the glass winking at you.

Joel’s dragging his index finger’s edge against his groomed mustache, thumbing his angrily tightened jaw. He rasps, “Ain’t walk ‘ya home?” 

You’re ascending his porch’s tread, “Didn’t need that. Told ‘im so.” Then, untying your apron’s chaotic knot, “Uncross your leg, Joel.”

Joel’s pleasingly pliant; He warns, “That’s the only order that I’m takin’ tonight.” His lap’s deliciously spreading, “Get ‘t drawin’ the blinds.”

The anticipation’s wetting you. You’re immediately scampering along the porch’s perimeter, rolling down every privacy blind; Joel’s patiently swigging his auburn liquor. You whimper, “A–Anythin’ else?”

Joel’s rolling the wick of his adjacent kerosene lantern; Thrusting his opened lap, scrounging his Zippo lighter from an anterior pant pocket. His hand’s arousingly veined, while flicking the lighter’s flint wheel.

He belatedly replies, “Drop your apron. Undo your overalls.”

You’ve dropped the apron, and something’s spilling out from the largest pocket; Joel’s deeply exhaling, “Explain that.”

The lamp’s emitting faint light, fire illuminating his hardening expression. He’s so scarily sexy. You’re inching nearer, but Joel hoists his palm, stopping you.

You embarrassedly gulp, “N–Nick’s mask. Asked me ‘t hold it. He never wore it.”

Joel’s impatient, waving, “And?”

You’re tentatively unhooking your denimed straps, gently uttering, “W–Would ‘ya? Wear it?”

Joel’s mildly surprised, “Oh?” Deciding, “Bring it here. On your knees.”

You instantly kneel, before gathering up the discarded disguise using your teeth. You’re crawling to Joel, crossing the porch’s dully-lit surface. The bib upon your overalls undone; The garment’s buckling loops clinking.

Joel involuntarily moans, “Ngh. Dirty fuckin’ girl.” His index finger’s pumping from his balled up fist, signaling you.

Your pussy’s thumping, because of his commanding, curling digit. You’re itching to suck it. You need anything of Joel’s inside of you.

You’ve gradually reached Joel; You’re being caged in-between his lengthy legs. Joel forcibly pinches your face, removing the mask from your bite’s grasp. The item’s resultantly spat, against his abutted groin.

He’s astonished at the filthy sight, rustling, “How ‘bout that.” You’re resting on your haunches, while Joel praises, “Good girl.”

Joel’s abruptly leaning downward, before hungrily lifting your body’s entirety along his own. He’s immediately kissing you, sinking against the rocking chair’s curved spine; The porch’s cedar ground sighs, creakily duetting with Joel’s groans.

You’re practically siphoning the remnant whiskey from his tongue’s cushioned pad; Your mouth’s rabidly sucking, while your waist’s desperately grinding.

Joel’s bypassing your denimed, disoriented trousers; His palm’s greedily grasping your back’s arched column. His remaining arm, ladling your ass. Then, Joel’s effortlessly hauling your goosebumped figure upward; The rocking chair’s momentum being an assistant. The mask’s wedged in-between your upright bodies.

Joel breathes, “T–The lamp. Hang tight.” You’re licking Joel’s partially bearded throat; He’s briefly hunching, responsibly lowering the wick, consequently extinguishing the flame. Your quartet of limbs, wrapping his flexing torso.

You’re whispering, “You’re so big and strong, Joel.”

He amusedly sighs, “Yeah?” Promising, “Ain’t seen nothin’.”

Then, Joel’s roughly stamping your body against the front door’s exterior; His bulge swelling, pinning your pussy. The entry knob’s blindly twisted. Joel’s heavy-footed steps are reverberated, crunching his home’s metallic threshold.

First, Joel carelessly clears his entry way’s waist-heighted table. Juggling you, while his tanned arm’s sweeping everything off; A ceramic, coffee-stained mug of loose change’s completely shattered. Second, Joel harshly kicks his anterior door shut; There’s an impressive boot print, left behind.

Joel’s panting, “Tell me ‘t stop?”

You’re begging, “K–Keep goin’.”

He hums, “Hm. Need it, darlin’?” Joel’s hurriedly planting you upon the table’s cleared crest, kissing your nodding throat. Agreeing, “Yeah. You do.”

It’s dizzyingly hot; Joel gruffly ripping off your mussed overalls, easily tugging off your slip-on sneakers. He’s lobbing them across the room, away from the mess of coins and shards. You’re noticing the Ghostface mask, under his unmoving bicep.

Joel’s noticing you, “This what ‘ya want?” He’s hesitantly thumbing the mask’s gaping jaw. “Ain’t scared?”

You quietly say, “Like ‘t be scared.” You’re reaching upward, prying off his hat; His hair’s deliciously gray and tousled. “Here.”

Joel’s flinging his accessory away. Then, handing you the hooded, horror mask, “Go ‘head.” He warns, “Wearin’ it ‘till you’re comin’. Understand?”

You’re stroking his untidy hair, readying him, “Won’t be long.” You murmur, “S–Soppin’ for ‘ya.”

Joel’s grunting, “Fuck’s sake.” Kissing you, in-between threatening, “Filthy. ‘Oughta edge ‘ya. Talkin’ like that.”

He impatiently rings your wrists; You’re positioning the mask properly overhead. The draping fabric’s hitting Joel’s colossal shoulders. 

Your pulse’s hammering, “Oh.”

The mask’s milky-colored expression, surveying you. Stark, against the setting of Joel’s unlighted home. His index finger’s impulsively traveling your body; Dragging over your bottom lip’s dampened flesh. Then, carnally downard, riding your throat. Fingering your jugular’s delicate divet. Hooking your undershirt’s airy collar.

Joel’s taunting, “Heart’s racin’.”

You’re anguishly rutting against his console table’s lacquered top. You need to be touched. You beg, “J–Joel. Oh, Joel.”

Joel’s eerily tilting his head, “Pussy’s racin’ like that, too?” Whispering, “Ain’t it?”

You’re deliriously horny, “Yes.”

He’s humming, “Hm. Shirt’s got ‘t go, first.” His unoccupied hand’s rummaging his hind pocket, while, “Reckon that my knife’ll work?”

You’re pleading, “C–Cut it off.”

Then, Joel’s brandishing his utility knife. The blade’s expertly flicked outward. He urges, “Try ‘t hold still.”

Joel Miller’s carving your fucking shirt; His blade’s blunt edge skimming your sternum. He’s effortlessly halved it, forging an impromptu vest. He’s instantaneously shoving the garment overtop your rigid shoulders.

The knife’s frigid handle brushes your tapered nipple; Joel’s awaiting permission, hovering your underwear’s waistline. You’re nodding, kneading his large shoulders. His finger’s hitching the material, before his blade’s cutting it.

Snipping the remaining side, Joel grunts, “Cunt need stuffin’?” He’s pocketing your saturated underwear and his retracted knife, “I know it’s wet ‘nough to take two fingers.”

You’ve been fantasizing about Joel entering you all Halloween. And, finally; He does. He’s groaning, “S–Swallowin’ both of ‘em. ‘Jus like that?”

Your angling head’s hitting the paneled wall. You’re obscenely squelching around his battering digits. You belatedly respond, “JoelJoelJoelJoel.”

Joel’s roughened wrist’s repeatedly rubbing your beating clit. You’re clenching speechlessly around him, innately meeting every re-entry. Your spine’s warming; Your stomach’s taut.

Your arousal’s watering his driving hand; His palm’s pooling. Joel’s incessantly steady. Praising, “Comin’ up. Doin’ good.”

You’re gasping, “There. Oh, right there.”

The instant that you’re coming, Joel’s yanking off his hindering mask. His beard’s patchy and sweaty. He grins, “Man ‘a my word.”

Then, Joel’s amused mouth’s pounding upon your own; He’s desperately inhaling your breaking moans. Licking your teeth’s underside. 

You’re abundantly squirting, as Joel’s uncorking your cunt. Your spotting vision’s correcting leisurely. You’re languidly sighing; Breathing deeply.

He’s genuinely insane for drinking you from his cupped palm. Then, Joel’s mouthing his soggy fingers; Hitting knuckle. You’re blurting, “Need ‘t fuck.”

Joel’s arching his aging brow; Rasping, “Ask nicely.” Then, he’s towing your body overtop his broad shoulder. Spanking you, “Greedy fuckin’ girl.”

You’re nakedly suspended, Joel’s bicep rippling below your ass. He’s entering his living room; Carefully placing you across his cognac-colored sectional. You’re propping upon the chaise’s leathered cushions. You whine, “Please, Joel.”

Joel’s tutting, “Better’n that.” 

You supply, “Pretty please?”

He’s gradually moving nearer; His denim-clad shins, butting the couch’s edge. Joel’s unhurriedly thumbing his belt’s loop, painfully prolonging his removing it. You’re wetting and writhing against his furniture’s fabric.

Joel’s unimpressed, “C’mon.”

Shedding his accessory; Working his zipper. His acting arm’s so freckled, tanned, veined. Joel’s yanking his t-shirt overhead, before subsequently revealing an appetizing, softened tummy. His happy trail’s graying and wiry.

You’re begging, “Joel. Please.”

He’s winking, “Good ‘nough.”

Every sound’s tantalizing; Joel’s boots and pants, thumping across the carpet. His bare, bulky thigh’s abruptly rubbing against your naked pussy; Then, Joel’s mirroring your body’s horizontal position. Mounting you.

Your arousal’s drenching his underwear’s front; His length’s largely tenting the humid material, “Beggin’ like that. Fuckin’ slut.”

You’re involuntarily panting, when Joel’s finally and fully undressed. His cock’s deliciously girthy. The tip’s engorged, reddened and seeping; Erecting far beyond his belly’s button.

You’re whimpering, “PleasePleasePlease.”

Joel grins, “Cunt’s quiverin’. Feelin’ that?”

You desperately nod, “Need you ‘t feel it.”

Joel’s immediately pistoning his fleshy waist; His cock’s knocking your cervix’s wall. His rough thrusting’s fastly inching your bodies upward, until your head’s rearing the sofa’s supple tailend.

He whispers, “Warm ‘nough?”

You gasp, “C–Cock’s perfect.”

Joel’s inaudibly responding; Ramming your hand, palming your pelvis. You’re feeling his cock, below your abdomen’s exterior. He’s interlocking your fingers; His own swallowing yours; Pressing. You’re practically tracing his bulbous, twitching tip.

He’s praising, “Takin’ me well.”

Joel’s bottoming-out, pounding steadily; His bloated, weighty balls welting your taint. Your clit’s puffing, from his pubic bone’s rhythmic route. Dementedly fucking you. You’re moaning, “Ah. F–Fuck.”

He murmurs, “Cunt’s gulpin’ me.” Joel’s hooking your knee’s underside, before lugging it overtop his broad shoulder’s slope, “Needy fuckin’ hole.”

You’re stammering, “Ngh. M–Mm. RightThereRightThere.”

Then, Joel’s angling deeper, differently; Laying his body’s robust weight against your languid, vertical leg. Your foot’s achingly surpassing your head. His chest hair’s graying and saturated; Scraping you.

Your pussy’s overwhelmingly spasming. Joel’s messily tonguing your nipple’s peak; His mustache’s prickling the sensitive skin. You’re tugging at his hair’s curling strands, “J–Joel. Close.”

Joel’s echoing your prior words, “Meet ‘ya there.”

You’re shockingly surprised, that Joel’s remembered the momentary retort; Your faux-bold response and pumpkin spiced alcohol. That’s it. You’re blindly coming. His cock’s densely brimming your contracting hole; Hammering you.

Your pussy’s pornographically sloshing. Joel whimpers, “A–’Atta girl. Drenchin’ it.” Then, “Comin’ inside. ‘M snipped. Yeah?”

You’re immediately kissing him. Palming his beard’s rugged stubble. Sucking his tongue’s pink pores; Tasting your arousal’s heady flavoring.

His climaxing moan’s roaring down your throat; Cum rapidly spurting, coating your cunt. You’re rubbing his rolling eye’s crinkled grooves. His forehead’s tanned and wrinkled. Joel’s especially gorgeous, while cumming hard.

You’re pouring, when Joel’s unplugging you. He’s breathlessly cursing, “Fuckin’ hot.” Standing, “Gettin’ towels. Need anythin’ else? Water?”

You’re beginning to respond, when Joel’s unexpectedly bending; Kissing you. You smile, tapping your bottom lip, “What’s that for?”

Joel’s embarrassedly pointing, toward the nearby microwave’s blinking clock. He explains, “Ten thirty-one on October thirty-first. ‘Dunno. Good luck? Make ‘a wish or somethin’.”

You’re actually dumbfounded, “Oh? You’re absurdly cute.”

Joel frowns, “Ain’t allowed ‘t call me that. ‘Specially while leakin’ my seed.” He’s nakedly turning, preparing to walk, “Water?”

You’re pulling Joel’s hand, “Wait. Want ‘t hear your wish.”

He gulps, “That… You’ll be visitin’ home on Thanksgivin’.”

[act-nat-ural]

The training gym was quiet, save for the soft shuffle of weights being moved and the clink of metal on metal. Ushijima Wakatoshi, one of the top volleyball players in Japan, stood in his usual spot by the weights, focused and unbothered by the few people around. But today, his gaze kept drifting to the other side of the gym, where you sat, scribbling on your clipboard.

You were his team’s nutritionist, a dedicated professional who made sure each player was at their peak, fueled by carefully balanced diets and supplements. When you first joined the team, Ushijima saw you as just another staff member, albeit a knowledgeable one who knew her work. But as weeks turned into months, he found himself looking forward to your sessions, trying to pick up more conversations here and there. For a man who often kept to himself, that was something new.

“Ushijima,” your voice broke through his thoughts, and he quickly blinked, hoping his face didn’t betray the fact he’d been staring. You approached him, clipboard in hand, with that gentle smile you always wore.

“Your new meal plan,” you said, handing over the clipboard. He took it, careful not to brush your fingers, even though part of him almost wanted to. “I added more protein for recovery, but we’ll balance it out with lighter carbs on rest days to keep your energy consistent.”

He nodded, studying the paper in his hands. You were thorough, down to the gram. He admired that about you, the way you always seemed to care about every small detail.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice as steady as ever. Though he could command a volleyball court with his booming spikes, words like this made him feel less sure of himself. “You’re very…good at this.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his comment. “I’d hope so. I spent years in school to do exactly this.”

He found himself mirroring your smile, however faintly, and his heart raced at the way your eyes lit up. The usual seriousness in him softened whenever you were around, a fact he hadn’t yet worked out how to handle. He thought about what his teammates would say if they knew the Ushijima Wakatoshi was nervous around someone.

“Do you have a favorite food?” he asked suddenly, the question slipping out before he had a chance to think.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Me? Oh, um… probably curry. Why?”

“I wanted to know,” he answered simply. “It’s… good to know what my nutritionist likes to eat.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, a soft sound that made him feel a strange warmth. “Well, thanks, I suppose. Maybe one day, you’ll let me cook for you.”

He blinked. “You would cook for me?”

“Why not? I mean, I’m already telling you what to eat,” you teased, giving his shoulder a playful nudge. “Might as well let you taste the real thing.”

He looked down at you, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly. “I… would like that.”

It was a simple answer, yet it felt like the beginning of something much more. He watched as you smiled, returning to your notes with that same focus, and he silently resolved to make that day come sooner than later.

As you walked away, Ushijima couldn’t help but think, for once, he had something more exciting than volleyball waiting for him.

[hardly-an-escape]

I love the headcanon that Tommy is Italian and makes pasta from scratch and his nonna’s spaghetti sauce recipe etc etc — but I would also like to offer up for consideration:

Tommy is not a home chef. like, at all. he cooks at home, but it’s the most boring weighed out meal planned gym bro type of diet imaginable. all he pays attention to is how many grams of protein he's consuming. it's just unseasoned eggs and brown rice and bland salmon, day after day.

Buck is appalled. babe, he says, you know you can hit your macros and still eat food that, like, tastes good? please tell me you know that.

and yeah, obviously, Tommy knows that. theoretically. it's just that his life has become a series of well-worn grooves. and food is fuel and spending time and energy on things like flavor profiles seems like misplaced energy. (flavor is for cheat days and housing two dozen hot wings and a side of mozzarella sticks.) so he trundles along in the groove of what's easy and predictable, eating his boring baked chicken, until Evan Buckley comes along and, well... spices everything up.

because look, here's the thing. much has been made of Tommy's skills and competency, and I love that for all of us and especially for Buck. but I also really want Buck to have something that he, individually, brings to the table (so to speak). something that he can teach Tommy, something that lets him show off his competency and skills. and Buck's developing relationship with food and cooking has been such a recurring theme, and it's so deeply linked to his most important relationships to people, I would really love for that to be the thing that he gets to be the expert in.

also, it clearly means a lot to Tommy to be someone who teaches, given how often he seems to offer to teach – I would love to see him be someone who learns, too. there's really only one way to get good at something, after all! and what a delicious bit of role reversal it would be to have Buck teach Tommy via the love language of food...

[steelestallion]

💪Ryder Steele’s Muscle Gain Instruction Manual. 💪

A surface-level yet comprehensive beginner’s guide to working out/body building/gaining muscle written by a tboy with a degree in human physiology, with tboys in mind. Speed training, toning, and cardio/lung health training will not be explored.

(Part 1) Diet. Talking about food, their molecules and how the body responds.

An aspect of bodybuilding/exercizing that is just as important as the weights and workouts themselves. Generally, the more a human does, the more nutrition they need in every sense.

Protein is needed to survive as a human, 0.8 grams per kilogram of weight MINIMUM. (source) To gain muscle you need to consume more protein than that. 1 gram per pound of body is a good goal.

There are additional ingredients, Amino Acids, you can ingest to give your body more of what it needs to build muscle. The most common is creatine, and it can be found naturally in foods or bought alone. 14mg per pound is a good dose, (source) but you could do as low as you like.

Carbohydrates, fats, vitamins, minerals, and water are other things essential to keep you running, but aren’t the building block of muscle.

For vitamins, minerals, and water be sure to get the daily recommended dose. It’s worth considering a little more than recommend water, potassium, magnesium, and sodium in your diet for adequate muscle usage before and during working out. Also, a bit more calcium in general for muscle movement and the strength your bones must gain to support stronger muscles and weight loads.

For carbohydrates and fats, it’s important to have adequate levels of these. The body uses carbohydrates for energy first and mainly, then uses fats, then proteins. How much? Well it depends on how much you care about the image of your body, and what your goals are.

The Bulk is for people who want to gain muscle and mass a bit quicker. There is clean bulking and dirty bulking. Dirty bulking is eating a lot without much regard to amounts. Clean bulking is to gain muscle mass while keeping your body fat percentage at relatively the same level.

The Cut is for people who want to reduce their body fat percentage. Eating at a slight/moderate deficit to force the body to consume fat cells as energy. High protein is still consumed.

Before working out, you should consume something 30-40 minutes before starting. Preworkout, a caffeinated substance, or complex carbohydrates to give you the energy needed to begin and not crash.

After working out, you should consume a good portion of your daily proteins 30 minutes to four hours later.

(Part 2)Working out. Utilizing and ripping the telomeres of your muscles and forming neural pathways.

To build muscle, you need to utilize the muscles. To get bigger muscles, your body needs to move with more resistance than what it normally does. Weight acts as the resistance.

Warming up is an important first step to working out, as you need to prime your body’s systems and cells. Heart rate is the primary thing to warm up, because using muscles required your heart pump harder and faster. 5-10 minutes of warmup minimum of cardio is best. The intensity of this cardio is your choice. Dancing, fast walking, jogging/running, jump rope, cycling, etc. are good. Stretching is also a good precursor to the warmup as the warmup uses your muscles also. It’s a process, but its important to warm up properly to avoid tightness, cramps, or even things snapping.

The weightlifting a complicated and highly discussed thing. There are hundreds of motions across gym machines, tools, and muscles for you to chose from. Which ones you do depend on what is available, and the muscles you want to work. Write stuff down if you must. Here is an exercise dictionary.

Muscle names are good to know to decide which motions to do. Look at this diagram to learn, and build your own encyclopedia and routine.

Frequency of working out is important. If your body does not use muscles, they deteriorate. You can work certain muscles more frequently than others. Just keep adequate rest. You may see things like push/pull day, arm day. This is the type of motions and muscles focused. Dedicating a workout session/day to one muscle group helps keep track of avoiding overuse. See Rest for more. Once a week at minimum you should work a muscle group to keep it from deteriorating. Here’s an example: Sunday rest. Monday arms&core. Tuesday whole back. Wednesday rest. Thursday whole arms. Friday rest. Saturday whole legs.

Duration of working the muscle during a session/day impacts its growth. A rep is one time going through a motion. Sets is how many times you do a group of reps. 3x15 pushups is I’m doing 15 pushups. Rest. 15 more. Rest. 15 more. Three sets of fifteen. To build endourance, lower weight at higher reps. To build mass and strength, higher weight at lower reps.

Finally, the weight heaviness. You should slightly push your muscles to start, then base your weight patterns off of what is a good amount of strain for you. The more you challenge/strain yourself, the more it will hurt and build muscle mass. Also, the faster you increase the weight your muscles fight against, the higher the risk of injury. However, if you stick to a weight that is not challenging, your muscles will not grow. There must always be some element of challenge your muscles must always be chasing to keep up with. Thats what growing is. For example: I’ve been bicep curling single dumbbells of 10 pounds for months. 12 pounds is a comfortable challenge, and I can do 15 also but not the whole set. So, I may warm up with 1 set of 10lbs. Two sets of 12lbs, then finish with one set of 15 at lower reps. The number of reps per set could be 15,12,10,6. Decreasing reps while increasing weight to prep the body, but not injure too much.

(Part 3) Rest. Your body building new muscle, and preparing to work again.

In between sets of exercise, you need to rest your muscles for enough time for them to become reloaded with their energy, ATP. ~1 minute for heavily lifting. Ensure you’re breathing well also to give your blood oxygen. Deeper, healthy breaths during rest is good.

After training it’s recommended to give a muscle group ~48 hours of rest to rebuild the fibers. Rest means not training it, but of course if you need to use them, use them. Additionally, you can still be active and rest, doing a thing called active rest. Doing nothing at all, which has its benefits, is called passive rest.

Sleep is your body’s way of storing information and taking out the cerebral trash. During sleep your body produces growth hormone, your brain works to retain all of the information you and your body learned during the day, and generally refreshes itself. Napping can e beneficial also if it doesn't interfere with getting the minimum 8-10 hours depending on your age group.

Thank you for reading! If you have any questions, would like help creating workout plans, or would like a bit of praise or encouragement feel free to reach out. Also if there are any errors. Now go have fun!

[h5eavenly]

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

nine -the devil and angel are entangled. warnings: smut and a bit of angst.

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You’re having a bad day. It did not necessarily start that way. In fact, your morning started out as one of the best in quite a while, from waking up ten minutes earlier than your alarm to the pleasant quietness that had swirled around in your apartment settling that same pleasant emotion to swim through every nook and cranny of your being.

And so, you find yourself going on a coffee run before heading to the company, a charming smile adorns your face that gets you a free blueberry muffin. It all falls perfectly into the pleasurable warm buzz in your chest. like pieces of a puzzle flumping into place. Crumbs of joy that had managed to find its way into you, separating the collective graying clouds of heartbreak you’ve been lying on for a couple of days.

But oh, you were so wrong. You should have known these clouds are gonna be replaced with a burning fire instead. One that you became too familiar with. It sets your soul ablaze every time you come face to face with the devil’s facet, clad in designer brands and doused in a seemingly uncanny aptitude for getting on your nerves.

Jake Sim.

“What the fuck is this?” he almost spits, a grimace clinging to his handsome features and a glare saturated with the same fire that’s burning inside of you.

“Coffee?” you reply, drily. Your gaze flickers between his eyes and the cup of coffee you handed to him ten seconds ago.

“It tastes like absolute shit. What kind of milk is this?” your hand twitches against your chest, you fight against an otherworldly urge to just smack him across the head and maybe pull on his perfectly styled hair that somehow manages to add grams of beauty to his already perfectly sculpted face –

Okay. Taking a deep breath in, you manage to trap in your wild thoughts for a mere second as you clear your throat.

“Califia. Isn’t that what you like?”

“This is not Califia.” he declares. His head swivels towards you with a deepening glare that somehow has your insides tying into knots. His eyes shouldn’t affect you this much but the dusted colors of dark brown and a light black on his lids only add sharpness to them. It has you pathetically kneeling into desire.

From behind him Sunoo sighs, abandoning his work on jake’s face and his brushes to walk away from the growing heated argument he knows is bound to happen. He has been a witness to it close to a hundred times by now.

“Call me when you’re done.” He calls to the both of you with a yawn. It falls on deafening ears as you attempt, fragilely so to glare back at Jake.

“it’s what I asked them for I don’t know what to tell you Jake.” Even his name leaves a bitter taste on your tongue, melting into something darker that you ignore.

“Well clearly someone is lying here.”

“it’s not like I can make the coffee myself.”

“Then don’t bring me something I didn’t ask for.”

“I’m just trying to be nice.”

“that’s not working very well for you, isn’t it bunny?” his tight brows and tongue poking his cheek shouldn’t also affect you, but it does. Perhaps that’s why it annoyed you, the fact that he was just so attractive yet so annoying. Pulling you apart with confusion. It all bleeds into frustration that bubbles up in your blood, so you huff. Refusing to accept defeat.

“I’ll get you a different one.”

You try to reach for his cup that he has deemed worthless, placed it on top of the table across from him. His hand circles your wrist before you do. His fingers are cold against your pulse, sending shivers down your spine and a pitiful gasp bubble at the back of your throat. Coming up with immense force and almost spills your deviant cravings right at jake’s face. You bite on your lower lip just in time to kill your embarrassment.

“Just get me a protein bar instead. I’m not in the mood for coffee anymore.” The lack of emotions in his tone is antithetical to the masses dancing in his eyes. growing darker in color, splashed with undeniable desire. Making itself so evident when he glances down at your bitten lips.

You swallow around nothing. Your eyes prancing between his as if it’s ever possible for fire to be added upon more fire. Like it could consume you whole and turn you into ashes that simply lays at the feet of the nation’s sweetheart. Another countless victim to the glistening of him. You don’t know who you should start throwing the blanket of blame on first. Your ex-boyfriend who cheated on you and left you to deal with despair on your own? Or perhaps it was the perpetrator who started this little game of mouse and cat? Translating itself into endless staring contests between the two of you and you always end up losing somehow.

It only got somehow rapidly worse over the week. Jake will peek at you in the most random of times. Between the fluttering of his lashes as he’s getting his face done for whatever upcoming programme or in the between the crowds of nameless people and amid the loads of work, you’re being crushed under. His eyes would find you one way or another. A thin line on the verge of breaking stays between you two. It’s in the lingering of his stare when you’re stuck in the van in the middle of unmoving traffic. He rests his chin in the heart of his palm and a wandering curiosity laces his gaze with a dazzling intensity. They’re piercings and more than anything clear.

Capturing you in place with the overwhelming knowledge that he knows exactly what he wants. It almost has you melting against the leather of the car seats. Like a flower loitering amongst many, almost blending in with everything else and hoping to be lucky enough to get picked. It’s pathetic. You grow hateful at it so quickly it should be alarming. It meshes into you taking it as a challenge, daring yourself not to be the first to be weakened and look away.

A smirk disperses across Jake’s lips each time with no fail and you stumble on your cold façade, swaying and drenched in a feeble coated loneliness. Yet with a coarse heart you take and take until you snapped.

It happened two days ago.

After a long day of work you find yourself in the all-too familiar elevator of the company. An Aching body and a hazy mind. Jake has his head thrown back against the wall behind him, his Prada sunglasses covering his eyes while Jay is next to him scrolling through his phone mindlessly. You bask in this rare tranquility for a few seconds before it’s interrupted by a huge group of staff members. Invading the cramped space. With a sigh and deflating shoulders, you move to make space. Squishing yourself into a corner as you hug yourself in futile attempts to make yourself appear smaller than you already are.

You’re surprised when another smaller group joins in as well leaving little to no room to breathe. Jake is somehow pushed right next to you and into your space. His scent breaks its way through to you before you feel him against your back, his chest pressed against you, and he uses his palm to rest on the wall right next to your head that is refusing to face him. Instead thanking God and the heavens above at the lack of mirrors in this specific elevator.

The last thing you want right now is catch your own reflection or even worse – Jake’s reflection.

The sudden proximity has your heart picking speed as you haven’t been this close to Jake before, his expensive perfume almost chokes you when someone pushes him again. Causing him to press you further against the wall. You’re starting to feel suffocated. It only ever becomes worse when you grow hyperaware of his chest raising and falling against your back, his breath fans against your exposed neck and you shiver.

“You good, bunny?” Jake murmurs into the back of your head, his other arm coming up to splay his hand flat against the wall, successfully caging you in. his voice is low yet soft. Softer than any other time he had spoken to you before, tenderly causing tingles to linger at the top of your spine.

Jake had never spoken to you gently before if he’s not blunt and cold. He is teasing you with harmless insults and perhaps that’s why his tone has specifically broke you that day. It blazed a trail down your being, nestling in the middle of your stomach and travelling down right to your core.

When was the last time someone had spoken to you this softly?

You can’t come up with a good enough answer. Not to the question swimming around in your fizzy mind or the one Jake threw at you. you’re flickering, wobbling on this thin line between you and your eyes are following the trail of veins on his hands. They look so strong that your brain melts and turns into mush, the only thought arising on top of everything is that he could fuck you right now and you would definitely let him.

Maybe that’s why when your lips separate a phantom of a whimper escapes you, ringing in Jake’s ears when you start squirming, pushing your lower half back against him in the process. You aren’t sure if you’re trying to get away or closer to him.

“What are you doing?” He groans, pushing further into you to stop your constant movement. The sound sends another unwanted shudder through your body.

“I can’t breathe.” You hang your head, disgrace marring your cheeks in red at the way you catch yourself in a lie. The way your eyes have glazed over, and there’s a haze turning your mind into a jumbled mess. forcing you into the lust you have been denying the existence of for days now.

You can’t breathe.

And it’s not because of this cage you found yourself trapped in, it’s because of him.

“we’re almost there.” His voice is almost like a distance dangled comfort, offered by some pitying god that you refuse to take despite your sinful thoughts and so you grow quiet, equally terrified at acknowledging the fact you want him.

You feel like a stumbling mess all the way home, with wobbly legs and a quivering heart that somehow always manages to make itself your worst enemy. You don’t allow yourself the pleasure to scour the thoughts swirling in your mind for answers. Instead, you mellow out into the tingling electricity that had lingered on your back. As if his scent seared itself onto you, you end up touching yourself in the middle of your bed. myriad of visions invades your mind. They’re mostly of Jake’s hands and intensive stare. A glorious fire that takes you so high up and only when you’re down do you realize;

Oh, you’re so fucked.

“yn,” jake’s annoyed voice pulls you right back into the current situation you’re in. he arches a brow at you and you blink, breaking yourself out of a daze.

Daydreaming about your boss who happens to be in front of you right now is a different kind of fucked. One that you didn’t have in your bingo card for this year.

“Right. Protein bar I’m on it.” You free your wrist from his grip easily, he falls back into his seat with suspicion mixed with irritation that has him biting on his lower lip. A habit that you grew to hate so quickly. It has you straightening your back and moving away in a stiff manner. As if you’re an alien that just learned how to walk on human ground.

“You okay?” Jay asks you when you manage to faceplant right into his chest as soon as you’re out of the room, a breath of a chuckle escapes him at your expression.

You only give him an equally stiff thumbs up, a blush so deeply red spreads across your cheeks like an exposure to all the corrupted fantasies that found your brain and made it their home. It’s so ridiculous you don’t even welcome them so why are they taking over you as if you are a dried up branch flourishing back to life with none other than your desire for Jake Sim out of all people.

You will not allow it.

You catch yourself in another lie when afternoon rolls around. Passing by you with a blur drenched in misfortunate mishaps. It all begins with an inexplainable discussion you end up in with one of the staff members, you don’t recognize her so you think she must be new. She saw you next to Jake earlier that morning and apparently thought it was funny to joke about you and him fucking and perhaps it hit way too close to him. Perhaps because it is something you’ve been thinking about for nights upon nights but it had angered you so much. To the point where you decide to give her a piece of your mind when you run into her in the bathroom.

Despite the smell of actual shit surrounding you, your anger doesn’t subside. In fact, it only grows bigger when the girl rolls her eyes at you and walks away in the middle of you talking. You screamed, hitting your hand against the wall.

And that’s how you ended up with a broken nail. A bandage that has a fucking bunny on it of all animals wrapped around your pinky and a scowl not nearly as cute plastered on your face. You are startled when the door of the dressing room opens, your stare flits across Jake’s figure that dawdles past you followed by Sunghoon. You sink further into the couch you’re sitting on. Annoyance pulling at you when your silence is interrupted.

“Oh, hey yn.” Sunghoon greets, notices your figure that is being drowned by a graying disappointment. Almost as deep as the lines forming between your brows.

“Hey,” you return drily.

Your eyes linger on Jake, and he catches them from across the room. They cut into you deeply, it has you splitting open, breaking like shattered glass and your only wish as you go down is to cut him back.

The longer your staring stretches the more you feel your blood started to bubble with something akin to anger. Running through your veins and becoming one with every other negative emotion that has nestled in you throughout the day. It makes up all of you, turning you into a hungry void that wants to swallow everything in sight. It only grows when you feel like you’re the only one who’s getting burned by this fire growing vastly fast between you two.

Jake’s façade never breaks, doused with indifference and feigned coldness. It’s in the way his pruriency for you is ferocious. Taking up every sense of his being, he finds it in the notes of your scent, vanilla, and cinnamon like you’ve stumbled out of a bakery. Sugary sweet and he’s never been a fan of dessert, yet he grows a sweet tooth just for the taste of you.

It’s in the way you’re infuriatingly confident. Carrying yourself with a loudness he’s sure he despises yet you manage to walk away with pockets full of his attention. The shape of your body capturing growing ounces of his interest day by day. Perhaps he’s just sexually frustrated, he hasn’t fucked anyone since Chaewon. And so, when he glances one too many times at your legs and when he’s staring at your breasts too long to be deemed discreet. He lets himself because he’s just taken by his sweeping frustration.

Because truth is he finds you insufferable, overly stubborn with a spark of determination in your gaze, yet his want is uninhibited, crawling to you with licks of temptation and he pretends to be stronger than any of it. That the way you laugh so loudly is enough exasperation for his lust to abate. He pretends that you being so pretty doesn’t matter as much, that the innocence clinging to the edges of your smile like you haven’t been tainted by the evil of the world is only a rarity he finds in you.

It pulls him right into you and yet away from all his logical thinking. He finds himself being thrown back and forth in the overwhelmingly profound walls of his brain.

He’s never met someone who irritates him as much as you do so how is it that he craves you this bad?

Jake’s hiding is deep-rooted and so you remain unaware of it all.

“yn can you hand me Jake’s shirt? It’s on the rack behind you.” Sunghoon speaks, words cutting into the pregnant silence that had spread around the room. It hangs heavy that you don’t ever hear him.

Your mind stolen with the wandering of your eyes, dipping to Jake’s hand clad in rings. They’re nothing sort of enticing and yet you find yourself transfixed, unable to process anything that’s going around you and unable to look away from him.

It’s tremendously inequitable how he looks like he ambled out of a painting carefully coming to life by a starstruck lover. It’s aggravating how he’s a sculptor’s approximation of a person. You’re sure he’s been sipping on angels’ tears in his past life because there’s no way for him to be real otherwise and even when the angel is walking towards you with so much force in his steps, his wings dripping with glittering gold covers the floor and a couple of broken hearts cling to his lashes, you hold your breath. It’s in the faint scars adoring the palm of his hands.

It’s so absurd how could it be possible for something so tarnished to hold onto so much beauty? How is he so captivatingly attractive?

When Jake leans over you, his body mere centimeters and your face is almost buried in his chest. Your heart pulses against your ribs, eyes widening in surprise.

“Focus bunny,” he says with a stern look in his eyes, pulling back and the shirt Sunghoon had asked for in his arms.

You’re unable to come up with something to say. Your mind a blank when Jake takes his shirt off. His skin comes to view like whiplash to your face and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle.

It has your cheeks heating up, you fumble with the end of your rope.

One slip, all it took was one slip and you’ve fallen.

“Can you leave us alone?” Jake’s voice breaks into your clouds of thoughts and you swallow. Standing up and with too much of shakiness in your legs, you head for the door.

“Not you bunny. Sunghoon leave.” The latter looks between you two, taking note of the tension that seems to follow you two. It’s fatuous yet Sunghoon complies.

“What’s with you?” He stands before you, arching a brow at you and you linger by the door. Toying with the hem of your skirt and avoiding his gaze. The same one that is dancing across your figure appetitively.

“What?” You don’t mean to snap at him, but you do and his face hardens enough to chip enamel.

“Don’t start giving me attitude now.”

You sigh, a breath of exhaustion as you try to regain some pieces of sanity that the lines on his abdomen stole. Your eyes lolling everywhere but him.

“Sorry I’m just having a bad day.”

“you’ve been having a bad day for the last two weeks?” he asks sarcastically, followed by a scoff that tugs at your anger so easily. Yet you keep quiet.

“Get your shit together yn. you’re only making this harder for everyone else.” He adds bitterly, scrutinizing your futile attempts at avoiding his eyes. maybe because you know he’s right that anger finally sinks its teeth in you, and you don’t resist it. Locking eyes with him with a newfound raising flame.

“It’s not like you’re making it any fucking easier for me.”

“Don’t cuss at me.”

“I’m not cussing at you.”

He pauses, his gaze flickers for a mere moment that it’s enough to have you slipping yet again. As if you have been standing on slippery glass all along, barely hanging on by his avoidance and a simple darkening of a shade is enough to weaken you. eluding the depths of your desire to the surface. The wall of tension builds alarmingly fast, it’s in the way Jake’s eyes follow your lips.

“My job isn’t to make anything easier for you. so, if you feel like it’s too much you can leave.”

“I’m not leaving.” Your voice wavers slightly, mimicking the buckling of your knees.

“Then take it.” You wither away in silent indignation, so intense it feels seared on you and it only grows, peeking over the now mountain of tension. So leaden, it only intensifies when Jake’s takes slow steps towards you. A playful glint has taken its claim in his eyes, like he had won a contest you didn’t agree to be a part of. When he’s close enough he brings attention to your lips with his index finger.

“And take care of this mouth too yeah?” like splashes of wine your cheeks grow red in color and Jake’s lips tilt upwards in a troublesome smirk “behave bunny.” His words are meaningless, a passing empty thought he throws right at your face and when you sputter for a response. Swaying with shaking hands to gather your discomposure that he abandons as he walks past you.

It’s a blunder, one that will have you mourning your dignity right after and yet like a fool who stumbled upon a dazzling cup filled with sparkling poison you drink up. The devil and angel are entangled with sin when the words tumble out your lips;

“You take care of it then,” you turn to look at him and he looks back with the same vigor spilling from his eyes, like a river running down the route of lust.

“If you hate it this much then take care of it.”

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides, it stretches agonizingly slow that you almost feel an overly determined urge to melt onto the floor you’re standing on.

Your mind careens over your own words yet when Jake takes a tentative step towards you, his eyes search yours for crumbles – you hope are heavenly enough to have him breaking and you didn’t just offer yourself to refusal. You don’t evade it, instead you allow yourself a few seconds to savor the intoxicating tension.

No one has ever looked at you with this much want before and so you forget the ability to breath like tiny million sparkling stars are falling from the darkness of his eyes and right into in the lodge of your throat, so sharp and rigid and they’re bright, so bright it lights up your insides. Like lightness have found an abandoned cave –

And because Jake burns first, so frighteningly fast like melted candle wax. Your inside twist when his lips meet yours in desperation that emerges a gasp from you

- They fucking explode.

Your lips move against each other with famish, a thirst nestled so deep in both of you it can only be quenched by your kiss. His hand is on the curve of your jaw and yours form fists in the lines of his shirt. The pressure of his mouth upon yours renders your mind a foggy mess. So much so that when he moves you against the door, your back hitting it harshly you follow with no reluctance. Another pretty gasp escapes you at the impact and it gives his tongue access to your mouth.

A light moan falls from you, as the kiss deepens the bridges of your noses slide together and with a mind of their own his hands are like phantoms travelling over your body, palming your breasts over your shirt. your every sense becomes overwhelmed with his lips, his touch.

“Are you clean?” he pulls away briefly and you whine, eyes heavy lidded as they chase after his lips again. As if your cells need him to live as opposed to oxygen.

“What?”

“I’m going to fuck you so are you clean?”  you blink at him, the fog clearing up for a moment and you almost frown close enough to take offense if your underwear sticking to you with wetness isn’t growing annoying,

“I’m clean,” you murmur, almost doused in shame that you don’t get to linger in before he’s diving back into you. his lips finding yours with fervor and the air bleeds red with desire.

With his hands down your underwear, he lightly brushes to tease at the wetness. Lips quirking in something akin to egoistical pride. And your expression turns sour despite the incontrollable bucking of your hips against his unmoving fingers.

“How come you’re this wet already?” he’s imprinting the words upon your cheeks, leaning down to drop the same bruising kisses to the skin of your neck and collarbone, drawing a map of possible regrets.

“I’m horny and I haven’t been fucked in weeks what did you expect?” you sneer, and his chuckles vibrates against your neck.

When he goes back in to kiss you, you feel your cognitive facilities shut down. Your hands with a mind of their own travel across his body, in his hair like you’re running on a time ticking bomb, and you need to feel every inch of him before it explodes.

“Get on the couch.” He whispers against your lips.

“You don’t have enough stamina to do it standing up?” you tease, a playful quirk of your lips that has his eyes darkening. You’re not sure if it’s anger or lust.

“Unless you want me to leave you like this you better zip it.”

Once you’re on the couch, he clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, his hands work fast on freeing his cock from his slacks and your mouth is falling apart with an open silent whimper when he runs the head of his cock down your covered slit. You pant into his mouth, spit dripping down your chin and you arch into him with a new sense of need coloring your moans.

“Hurry,” you mumble against his lips, your embarrassment shows plainly on your face and Jake only smirks at you.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your skirt and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of fabric around you. he slides your panties down your legs just enough to have your pussy on display for him. Jake’s eyes are feral and heavy as it trails over your figure, so intensely deep it has you squirming in your place. An uncontrollable need crawls over you mixing in with your frustration.

“Are you gonna fuck me like you said you would or are you gonna keep staring at me?” you huff, feeling your patience thinning.

His lips quirk upwards in flickers close to mockery as he smooths his hands over your legs, tad too gentle for your liking but when he’s looking up at you it’s not close to tender but rather like you had fallen right into the devil’s lap.

Just like he had planned all along.

He slowly sinks into your wetness, chuckling at how quickly your mouth falls open with a silent moan. He grinds into you, his own eyes falling shut at how your walls lock his cock inside of you and you’re more than grateful for that. Not wanting to be witnessed with a stupefied look on your face.

You want to – try to keep quiet as if a challenge had presented itself to you and you remain nothing but a too stubborn of a flower, refusing to be picked especially not by Jake Sim of all people and so you bite down on your lower lip. You almost taste the sweetness of victory on your lips and then it’s pulled so brutally away from you when the head of his cock hits that gummy spot and you convulse. Head falling back with a strangled moan.

“F-fuck-“ you clench around him and your hand scrambles for purchase in his locks, the other digging into the couch, the throbbing pain of your pinky long forgotten.

He falls forwards with a soft laugh, so melodic and unexpected it has your stomach twisting into knots you aren’t sure are nerves or pleasure. He buries his face in your neck as he sloppily drives his hips deeper into you and his lips draw a lazy map of salvia rather than actual kisses on the skin of your neck. It leads him right to your lips; the eye contact you hate so much transpires again. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony, it’s absolutely sinful.

“You were so talkative earlier, what happened bunny?” he whispers on top of your mouth, close enough to behold the want in your eyes. you attempt to glare at him and yet it melts right with your dignity with the touch of his fingers on your jaw, stopping you from looking away as he fucks into you harder “are you gonna thank me for taking care of it?” open mouthed kisses dot across your jawbone before lining his lips over yours, your chin in his hold as he thrusts into you.

When he leans back, you’re growing delirious, barely gripping into your remaining sanity when he smirks at you “come on say it.” He mumbles half-heartedly and you shake your head with a whimper, it echoes throughout his mind and ignites a bigger fire within. Curling into an ungodly soundtrack of sweaty bodies and the hankering to break you.

“Say thank you Jake for giving me your cock,” he mocks, his voice like devilish thorns against your skin and you push at his shoulder with a grunt.

“F-fuck you.” He doesn’t falter at the wavering of your voice, so debilitated compared to the way you glare at him and yet it turns him on even more.

He starts to relentlessly fuck into you at a faster pace, the thrusts going from slow and deep to tight and pointed. It has your eyes rolling back into your head, mouth falling open with moans and whines- anything that could be good enough to indicate how he feels inside of you, how your cunt grips onto him in desperation for more, more, more.

You’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re struggling to breathe, struggling to control your sounds anymore. They spill over endlessly, and Jake knows they’ll be tattooed into his brain just like the first time he had heard music in his life. They will haunt him just like the clicks of a piano, so sweet, sugary sweet and addicting. He feels so good, inside of you, around you that tears start stinging in your eyes.

“Fuck- fuck Jake I’m coming oh- “you blabber.

“Shut the fuck up.” He presses his hand flat to your mouth, hushing you and pressing you further onto the couch and your eyes soften as you swallow, entranced by him. Your walls tighten around him and his tight grip falters but remains. His face is drenched in perspiration and so much want for you.

With the oxygen stolen from your lungs. Your breaths are quick and heaving and your body shakes in ecstasy as you feel your orgasm approaches quickly, building so intensely with the way his movements become jerky. Shooting your hand to your clit you work yourself up and further into the gates of iniquity. your whole body becomes taut, and you rock into your hands and chase after his cock. watching you melt under him is something Jake will be viciously proud of for a couple of days to come.

So much so that it’s almost an impossible challenge for him to pull out of you when his own high approaches dangerously overwhelming. With labored breaths, his eyes glued to your heaving figure. He spits on his hand and starts pumping his pulsating cock. His other hand scrambling for the tissues on the table and he sends himself over the edge. Your eyes are the only thing that he needs to fall.

As soon as the fog of lust clears up you feel a shift in the air. The gold and sparkles disappearing and washed away along with all the bent-up anger. Leaving behind nothing but a sliver of dullness and awkwardness that clings to your limbs. Jake moves from on top of you with a grimace. You watch him move to tidy himself up in almost blissful yet holding on by an ambiguous edge that tug at your heart painfully. When he looks at you, you don’t know why you almost feel like you want to disappear.

“Jay has been asking for you. Fix your hair before leaving I don’t want him knowing about this.”

Oh. Oh. It shouldn’t be a surprise to you that he doesn’t want anyone to know about this and you do realize how inappropriate all of this is and yet you still stumble into a bitter feeling. An old picture starts burning in your mind, the same one of you falling into desperate repetition of a prayer to someday be good enough to keep and not a sparkling piece of art that holds no actual value.

“I’m gonna leave first.” Jake speaks into your growing silence and the click of the door is the only indication of him leaving.

You don’t know how long you stay there on the couch. A couple of hundred emotions take over you, guilt, anger, regret, and shame. So much shame and all it took was one slip to throw you into the maze of agony so familiar yet so frigid and cold.

When you walk out of the room you run into Jay right away like a mockery of the devil you’re growing sick of playing with. There’s a knowing smirk spreading across his face as he studies you, one that you don’t get to see because you’re so busy looking anywhere else.

“You and Jake had a good talk? Sorted out the tension?”

“Yeah, all good.” You mumble almost inaudible as you push past him with a burning face.

Jake watches the interaction between you two with intense attention. His eyes betray him as they follow your figure almost religiously. and when Jay strolls to him with a shit-eating smile plastered across his face., Jake groans sinking down into his chair and hoping to somehow vanish.

“Don’t even fucking start,”

“I didn’t even say anything.” Jay retorts with a laugh.

“I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

Jake’s hiding is deep-rooted and so you remain unaware of it all.

Once you’re one step in your apartment the sounds of all the too familiar trio have your shoulders deflating even further if possible. Despite your immense love for them the need for a quiet night after the hectic day you had is bigger. You can kiss it goodbye now.

“Hey,” Niki greets you as soon as your figure is in the living room, the other two sitting next to him on the couch turn from the tv to you as well and you force a smile upon your face despites the aching in your body,

“Hey guys,”

“Heeseung is helping me get to plat.” Jungwon tells you, eyes brimming with joy. It has your chest enveloping with warmth. a breath of fresh air like you’ve been choking all day. On your thoughts and on lingering stares

“Slay.” You ruffle his hair as you pass by him and into the kitchen, gravitating towards a glass of wine that you’re sure your soul needs.

“Are you okay?” Niki asks, eyes dancing across your features. Your mind clutters full of the earlier events and you down your glass of wine in a moment.

“I’m perfect.” You reply, pouring yourself another glass and running away from the concern lacing Niki’s eyes “I’m gonna take a bath and call it a day. Don’t trash my apartment.” You call out to them as you start heading towards your room.

“Without me?” Heeseung says from behind you, you ignore him and the only thing you hear before closing your door is the impact of Niki’s hand hitting his head and a loud ‘Ouch’ following.

The darkness of your room welcomes you, in a rather unexpected coldness that has you wondering what home really is. It’s all so stupid, and yet you wonder why you feel like a hole had opened right under you. staring at your glass of wine you feel like the air, not free but hallow.

One slip was all it took.

→ taglist : @slutforsjy @wonwoos-wineparty @nxzz-skz @piripurora @vousty

@realrintaro @slut4hee @chartrucewhore @iveivory @hearteyesforseungsung

@jooniesbears-blog @hee4lifer @pretty-bluntz @babrieeee @mandoscyare

@stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @softieluvsyou @seunghancore @chaewonshoney

@chaeyunloveeee @beommii @fuxktaekook @antonsgirlfriend

@direxila @rockyhedgehog @nessas-archive @lukeys-giggle

@arikazu @pochamocharoll @chlodavids

[ninyard]

Thoughts about Kevin having an actual Ed and not doing all these rants about food for fun and giggles like some ppl think

OKAY. Okay. So this is just some kind of headcanon stuff based on canon that I’ve thought about for a while. Obligatory trigger warning for ED topics specifically related to ortho/fasting/general shitty relationship with food stuff.

So. I don’t think that Kevin is capable of admitting to himself, by himself, that he has an eating disorder. But I think there’s two sides to it - there’s his body image, and there’s his healthy eating. Their overlap is sizable, but blurry, in the sense that it’s not quite clear where one starts and the other ends.

I have this image in my head of two parallel situations; the first a situation where a young Kevin is sat on a couch with his mom by his side. It’s a lazy Sunday, the TV is playing old cartoons, and Kayleigh is sitting next to her young son, both of them curled up in pyjamas and awake too early to be sane. Kayleigh a book open to one side of her and a notebook on her lap, and she’s scribbling something down that a five or six year old Kevin couldn’t care less about. He’s a good kid, a quiet kid, and all he wants some mornings is just a bowl of cereal, his mom by his side, and his favourite tv show. So he gets all three; an old episode of Kayleigh’s favourite childhood animation, the two of them curled up beneath the same long blanket, and a big bowl of coco pops on his knees, or whatever the sugary, chocolatey American equivalent is. The spoon is a teaspoon, snug in between chubby little fingers, and there’s chocolate milk and cocoa puffs all over his little face, but he’s happy. He’s content, he’s comfortable. He’s a kid, being a kid, eating the cereal that his mom buys him without question, just because it’s his favourite.

Then there’s Kevin, not many years later, sitting at a cold kitchen table with Riko across from him and Tetsuji in between - their little bodies are too big for the chairs they’ve been sat in, but they’ve been pushed forward and boosted up until they’re uncomfortably sat over a gray looking plate. They aren’t allowed eat until they can identify the protein in their breakfast, until they can recount what macros are sat on their plates. It’s a cruel and unusual thing to ask of two nine year olds, but they’re used to it by now. Kevin doesn’t like eggs anymore. Every morning it’s the same. A balanced meal, with the same amount of calories as usual, at the same time every single day of the week. Routine is good for growing minds, the master had told them, and nothing should go into a growing body without knowing exactly what it is.

The problem starts in that, when he was younger, his diet wasn’t necessarily focussed on restricting. The master wanted to ensure that Riko and Kevin were hitting their daily needs. If a plate was not empty, then a goal had not been met, and it didn’t matter how much Kevin cried that he was full, or not hungry, he couldn’t get permission to leave that table until his plate was clean. Their meal times were set and strict - any changes were usually punished in the firing of cooks or the beating of unfocused children. They were weighed each morning to ensure they were growing as they should be, gaining weight as expected, gaining muscle as required.

The older they got the more particular things got; Kevin found himself on an almost unmanageably strict diet and weight management routine - nothing unhealthy, in theory, but too healthy, instead. Times that he couldn’t deviate from, the same meals day in day out, nothing added, nothing taken away. It was when he started working harder on his physique that it became second nature - there was no space for him to be a lazy high schooler who didn’t want however many grams of protein with his dinner. That didn’t exist. Want was a non-factor. Food was always a finely crafted need.

When Exy becomes the biggest priority in his life (as if it wasn't before), when gaining muscle and working out becomes more appropriate for his age, he's introduced to intermittent fasting by a Raven dietician that should've had her license revoked. He was 14, 15, 16 and calculating the times he would be able to stop eating at in order to get a decent amount of time without food in his system. He would calculate what he would need throughout the day to eat as little as possible but to get the nutrition that he needs. They built this bulking/restricting programme into his routine, weeks where he'd eat at regular intervals throughout the day, hitting his calories and nutritional needs, and weeks where he felt like he wasn't eating much at all. It was done in a way that research deemed healthy, so who was he to argue?

So it’s normal to him, this obsession, more of a built-in requirement than something he thinks about at all. He's never been around people that don't care about things in the way he's supposed to. He doesn't remember much of his mother or her eating habits, and until he's much, much older, he isn't reminded of any of the foods he was allowed to eat as a much younger child, until a smell or a taste throws him back. (When he tells David he's never had McDonalds before, he believes he is telling the truth, but when he allows himself to try the fast food some time into the future, he remembers that taste from some memory too far away to touch. It's confusing and sickening and it feels wrong, wrong, wrong.)

I think the thing about Kevin's eating disorder is that, until he is around people that can tell him it's not normal, he doesn't see any problem with it, and even then he sees the foxes as unfocused and unserious when he's called out on it. He doesn't believe anyone when they tell him he has an unhealthy obsession with what he does and doesn't put in his body - why would he? Why would he have any reason to believe that they're right?

The way I like to imagine him understanding his issues is between a few different ways. There's David, first off, in those first couple of weeks after he broke his hand. It's beyond David how Kevin can be in their hotel room with a barely recognisable hand asking about dinner, or calculating how he could properly fast around this whole ordeal. How Kevin could barely keep down any food he was in that much pain, but still insisted on having a full meal that he forced down his throat because he had to. He watched how frustrated Kevin became when he would throw up his food, some app on his phone or a scribbled-on napkin calculating what he was missing with every day that went on where he was in too much pain to eat. There's David, who tells him he can't justify cooking him a huge meal that he can't eat, and Kevin who has a panic attack at the idea of missing a week, two weeks, of being on track. I can't play if I don't eat, he sobs, when all David is thinking about is, I'm not even sure you can play at all.

There's Abby, who does his first physical a couple of weeks into his time in PSU, who carelessly tells him his weight, and Kevin who immediately freaks out and the number being much lower than he's expecting. Abby who tells him it's okay, that he's recovering, and he who panics and asks her to buy him as many protein bars as she can find.

There's Bee, who tells him his relationship to food is unhealthy, and Kevin, who doesn't trust her at all. There's the number for an on-campus dietician and a pamphlet about eating disorders pushed across a table that he throws out into the first trash can he can find.

(There's Allison, something I could fill a whole other ask about, who can't stand watching the way that he eats, his obsessions with food, who begs Bee to do something about it because of how triggering it is for her to watch.)

So that's one side of it - his obsessive health, his over conscious eating habits, his learned behaviours that he would never deem to be unhealthy. There's that need for control over everything that goes into his body, that sends him into a spiral when he can't keep on track of things. It's the eating disorder than most people in the sports world wouldn't bat an eyelid at. He's dedicated, of course he is, he's admirably obsessed. That's just what athletes do. That's just how he was taught to care for his body. He doesn't comprehend for a long time just how damaging it is for his whole world to revolve around his next or last meal.

The other part is his body image - this one, maybe, is less tied to canon than the healthy eating, but something that I feel goes hand-in-hand with 1) him being an athlete in the public eye and 2) already having underlying issues with orthorexia and the way that he eats.

Imagine this, Kevin who has always been mindful and obsessed with the way that he looks, how much he weighs, how his body is shaped and built - he's 17, 18, doing some of his first major magazine shoots. One is for a sports magazine, or maybe a pop culture magazine, and he's doing this shoot in a few different outfits. But the last of the bunch is some shirtless shots, all harmless and not-too-revealing, but shirtless nonetheless. And Kevin has been so obsessed with his own body for so long that he knows exactly how he looks when he's unclothed. Maybe he has a mole on his lower stomach. He has a rib on his left side that sticks out a little more than the rest. His six pack isn't perfect, but it's there. He has acne on his back. Something.

Kevin does the shoot, and honestly? He feels great. He feels like he looks his best, he's happy with himself and how well he's been looking after his body, and then the magazine comes out. Then the magazine comes out, and he flicks to the section dedicated to him, and there, in a full fold-out spread, is him, shirtless. It doesn't take him long to notice the differences - he'd asked the photographer to flick through the photos at the shoot, and there's some tiny, minor editorial differences that he can't stop staring at.

There's a little bit of normal body fat that usually just hangs over his pants - it's muscle, he knows it is, and it is minuscule when he sees it on himself, but for some reason they've edited it out. The mole on his stomach is gone. The redness on his chest, on his back, the textured skin on his stomach - smooth, gone, no longer a problem. It's the first time Kevin has ever seen his body photoshopped, as if the things normal about him are a problem, and he looks closer at any shoots he's done before; tiny blemishes on his face, little scars, freckles, things he'd never even considered to be a problem, disappeared through the magic of photo editing. It's jarring, at first, but he realises then just how much it's been done. And it's not necessarily that the editors of these photos sees these things as problems, we know that, it's just how normalised it is for celebrities to be flawless at that point in time, but Kevin doesn't see it like that.

Some other times he compares edited photos and non edited photos of himself - ones where he's been made to look taller, leaner, sometimes bigger, whatever the publication required, and that manifests itself into a different obsession. It manifests into the desire to look perfect, flawless outside of the healthy eating and muscle toning he's already doing. I've always thought that if Kevin's eating disorder was to turn from something along the lines of orthorexia into something else, that that would be the reason. When he loosens up from his strict routine after joining the foxes, maybe then would come the au or the point where it'd manifest into knowingly fasting without it being a healthy-diet thing. Maybe then it'd manifest into harming his body knowingly because he feels like it'll make him look "perfect", instead of harming his mind unknowingly because he needs to be "healthy".

I should stop myself before this gets too much longer but the TL;DR is that I have a lot of thoughts about Kevin & his relationship with food and his body and I could talk about it forever. <3

[kneecapsbelong2me]

Marvel Women x Diabetic!Reader HCs:

When your blood sugar is low

Characters: Kate Bishop, Natasha Romanoff, Maria Hill, Wanda Maximoff, Carol Danvers

A/N: this can be read as platonic or romantic! Also, world diabetes day was last week, but here we are.

Kate Bishop:

Before you met, the food scene at Kate’s apartment was dismal

The only things she ever really kept on hand were boxed Mac and cheese, microwave popcorn, and chocolate bars

Now, (in addition to real food and snacks you can eat more regularly) Kate’s apartment is filled with all of your favorite carb-filled, high glycemic index snacks and drinks

When you go low, she’s immediately offering you everything under the sun

If your favorites are from abroad, she WILL order them, shipping costs be damned

If you’re having a super mild hypo, she’ll pop downstairs and grab you a slice of pizza

Kate Bishop is a bit of a hoverer

Constantly checking in to make sure your sugar levels aren’t going down further

She HATES waiting 15 minutes to see if you’re back above 70 mg/dL (3.9 mmol/L)

Lowkey more anxious about it than you sometimes

“Are you sure you’re not going to collapse?”

“Kate, I’m only at 68, and I had a snack. I’m fine.”

“That is not fine!”

Natasha Romanoff:

Natasha is super observant (obviously, she’s a spy)

Seems to know you’re going low before you do

Will tell you to check your blood sugar because she’s noticing you look a little shaky and out of it

Other times will rummage through your bag and hand you a pack of gummies just as you’re about to tell her you feel low

She keeps little hard candies/gels hidden in the most random places for you

Once you were out and she pulled a candy from a pocket in her shirt you didn���t realize was there

Will never force you to do anything, but will give you her hardest stare if you don’t immediately treat your low (especially if you wear a continuous glucose monitor [cgm])

“I don’t even feel shaky, and you know this thing sometimes shows false lows,”

“I can tell you’re about to go low. Here, drink this.”

“Where were you hiding a juice pouch?!”

“I have a lot of things hidden on my body,”

“IS THAT A GRENADE??”

Maria Hill:

When she found out you were diabetic, Maria did a whole bunch of research, including on the signs of hypoglycemia and how to treat it

She has your lows down to a science

If you have a cgm, she definitely has the app on her phone so it tells her when you’re going low

If the cgm says you’re low, but you don’t feel the symptoms, she makes you check with the finger stick

Has things portioned so each serving has exactly 15 grams of carbs

Makes sure you eat a more substantial snack with protein in it once you’re back in range

Keeps a journal of the dates/times you go low and how effectively different treatments work for you

“I think you should start having an afternoon snack. I’ve noticed you have the most hypoglycemic incidents an hour or two before dinner.”

“Hmm, okay. But only if you take a break and have a snack with me.”

“If that’s what it takes, deal.”

Wanda Maximoff:

Wanda is an even bigger worrier than Kate

She’s lost so many people in her life, and she’ll be damned if she lets you die from something she can directly stop

She keeps a closer eye on your blood sugar than you do

Like Maria, if you have a cgm she has the app to track

Wanda makes sure EVERY alarm is turned on and at the highest volume

When you go out, she carries more snacks than you do

If you have glucagon, Wanda keeps a dose with her, even if you also have one on you

The instant she knows you’re low there is a candy in your hand (before you can even access your own stash)

“If that doesn’t do it, I have three juice boxes, two packs of fruit gummies, and about two dozen hard candies in my bag,”

“Geez, Wanda. That sounds heavy. Which one of us is diabetic again?”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay!”

“Sorry, I know. Thank you for caring so much about me.”

“Of course.”

Carol Danvers: 

You go low while on Carol’s ship once, and she gives you juice from an alien planet and it’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever tasted

She finds out how much you like it and goes back to the planet just to buy it for you so she always has some on her ship

Forget a phone app, Carol has low glucose alerts hooked up to all of her tech no matter what technology you use

She somehow managed to get your finger stick connected to her suit and her ship

If she happens to be off-world and she gets an alert about you going low, she stops what she’s doing to text you

But if she’s “close,” no matter where she is on Earth (or near it) when you go low she will use her super speed to get to you, even if you assure her your fine

“Carol, you really didn’t have to leave your meeting with Fury for this. I have my own snacks.”

“I know, but I’m planetside and I have that juice you like.”

“Thanks for always taking care of me.”

“Of course, I’ll always be here when you need me.”

[redtsundere-writes]

Jinx | Sukuna Ryomen

mmafigther!sukuna ryomen x femcoach!reader

Part 11. The Other One

Beginning. ← Previous | Next →

Sypnosis: Sukuna is a world champion with anger issues. It's believed by many that he is untrainable. Yeah, you can't train him, but you can dominate him. Contents: Fighting. Sukuna being Sukuna. Female reader being dom. Jinx AU (the BL, not the character from lol) Yuuji, Choso and Sukuna are brothers. Warnings: Cursed words. I only read it once lol Word Count: 4667 words. Author's Note: We are so close to the end. I already want to get to the grand finale, but I can only write one chapter at the time. uwu Thanks for all the support so far!

Btw I made a PLAYLIST

“Salmon or hake?” I wondered as I compared the two frozen fish. I was in the frozen section of the best supermarket in the city.  My exposed skin was cold by being exposed to the bed of ice and near the refrigerators full of snacks and fast foods. The nerves in my hands were beginning to tighten from holding the frozen packages for too long.

Ladies slowly dragging their carts through the white aisles, children crying to their mothers who already want to go home and the employees running from side to side behind me. The popular music framed my thoughts as I read the nutritional facts for each product, focusing on the grams of protein. Since I was in charge of cooking for Sukuna’s birthday, I had to choose the best products to make him the best dinner he ever had

Salmon has 20 grams of protein, 13 grams of fat and zero carbohydrates. In addition to its contribution of Omega-3, for high-performance athletes it is the ideal fish to eat, since it has a very good ratio of proteins and healthy fats. If I baked it in the oven, I was sure it would be delicious. The only problem? The famous mercury. Although, according to some studies, it is true that salmon is the fish that contains the least amount. Hake is usually its alternative, which has less fat, but the same or more amount of protein, also it digests better.

“Salmon has more potassium, selenium, and vitamin B12." A female voice interrupted my mental debate.

My eyes widened when I saw the beauty next to me. A thin and tall blonde woman. Her blonde hair was long and her bangs looked great on her. His thin eyebrows framed her big brown eyes. His tight-fitting black turtleneck shirt and high-waisted pants made her look phenomenal. It was like admiring a beautiful porcelain statue, you could easily get lost in the details of her person.

"Oh, thanks. Are you a nutritionist or something like that?” I asked curiously as I returned the hake to the bed of ice.

"I'm a jiu-jitsu coach. I never thought I would meet the Medusa Snake in a supermarket,” she joked.

I should have seen it before. Her physical build was magnificent for a jiu-jitsu fighter. Her arms were perfectly toned, and his long legs could knock down any rival with one kick. I started to envy her body.

"I was told you were Ryomen's coach, I see that you are… very close," she said as she looked directly at the bracelet that Sukuna had given me earlier this morning. That was strange.

"It is a complicated task, but I think that every day we understand each other more," I answered honestly.

"I wanted to be his coach, you know?” she told me as if nothing had happened.

Something in me set off a warning alarm. I could sense that this conversation had a double intention. Was she threatening my position? Did she know that I wouldn't be Sukuna's coach anytime soon? Was she just trying to have a nice conversation in the middle of the frozen section? She was a beautiful woman to admire, but I didn't like where this was going.

"Who are you?" I asked confused, completely breaking the flow of the conversation.

"My name is Yuki Tsukumo," she introduced herself with a smile. “This is the Yuki who sent the bracelet to Sukuna!” I thought, trying not to reflect surprise on my face, but I'm not sure if I did it. “I see he received my gift, it's a shame he didn't want to use it."

"Sukuna doesn't like receiving gifts, that's why he gave it to me,” I answered, my tone sounding more defensive than I intended.

"Thank goodness he didn't throw it in the trash," she said before taking the hake I left. "I hope he doesn't throw you away either." With that threat, she walked away, getting lost in the cereal aisle.

I just saw the beautiful woman swinging her hips away, like a poisonous viper with beautiful colored scales. I couldn't help but see the gold bracelet that rested delicately on my wrist. My gaze hyperfixed on the letters engraved on it, wondering what kind of relationship this strange woman had with Sukuna. I put the salmon in my basket and continued with my shopping in an attempt to forget the unusual conversation.

After paying for the salmon and the rest of the ingredients I would use for the special dinner, my phone started ringing. I arranged the plastic bags in one hand to get my phone out of my pants. It was Yuuji.

"Hello, Y/n!" His friendly voice sounded from the other side. "Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Not really. I am only going to make Sukuna’s dinner for his birthday,” I answered as I walked back home.

"Cancel that. My parents just invited me and my brothers to dinner at the restaurant they just opened in the bay.” I stopped dead and sighed. “The salmon will have to wait until tomorrow.” "Do you have a pretty dress?" he wondered out of nowhere.

"Why you ask?". I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I asked my parents if you could come. When they found out you were Sukuna's friend, they said yes.”

"Why did you do that?" I asked him, even more confused. This couldn't be good.

"Because Choso is going, duh," he answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Because I was thinking about Sukuna 24/7, I had completely forgotten about Choso's existence. Yuuji still doesn't know that I like his other brother now. Plus, his parents will be there. Oh no, this can't be happening. This would be a disaster, I could sense it. Did I really have to go? My feelings churned in my chest the further I walked down the sidewalk. I stopped when I reached the crosswalk. The traffic light was red.

"I don't think this is a good idea..."

"Don't say that! It's the perfect opportunity for Choso to see you slay like the queen you are,” Yuuji lifted my spirits that I was dragging on the ground.

"Hang up the phone now!" I heard Gojo yell at him from a distance, Yuuji was still be in the gym, training with Sukuna.

"See you in the afternoon," he said goodbye before hanging up.

The light turned green, but I still couldn't cross. I stood frozen on the sidewalk, stunned by the unusual invitation. I felt lost. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to go because I really like hanging out with the boys, but I was afraid to find out what my true feelings were for Choso and Sukuna. Also, I raised Choso’s hopes up. What if I didn’t like him anymore because I liked Sukuna? Thai was a mess. 

The traffic light turned red again. Why was I questioning my feelings for Choso? It's true that I liked Sukuna, but I liked Choso the moment I saw him. Sukuna had been an acquired taste from the times we've slept together. The gifts and me living with him seemed to have no meaning to him. I was in a dangerous situation, and he just wanted to protect me, right? Everything was so confusing. Maybe if I was to go to dinner, I had to find out what my true feelings were.

The traffic light turned green again.

After picking my outfit, an everything shower and doing my makeup, I was ready. It had been a long time since the last time I dressed up like a fine lady for dinner. I always have to wear sporty clothes due to work. Putting on a cute pink dress and applying a small wing eyeliner made me feel like a pretty princess. I brushed my hair in front of my large bathroom mirror while my stomach churned nervously. Seeing myself so different from how I normally look was like seeing an old friend I hadn't seen in years. As I put the brush back in its place, I noticed that I still had Sukuna's bracelet on my wrist. 

“I don't think it's a good idea to wear it today,” I thought aloud before taking it off and putting it in a jewelry box.

I went down to the entrance at the time Sukuna and I had agreed to leave. My heels echoed with every step I took. I already wanted him to see me as “the queen” that I am, Yuuji's words. I went downstairs with every intention of surprising him, but I was the one who ended up surprised. He was already there, fixing his elegant suit in front of the mirror. I never thought I'd see a man like Sukuna, who always dresses in T-shirts and shorts, wearing a sharp black suit with an ivory turtleneck sweater. This was not the cranky man I coach, this was a millionaire man with a mobster vibe straight out of a romance novel written by a woman. From the shine on his shoes to his well-groomed hair, Sukuna looked like the jackpot. 

“You look... different,” he said as he analyzed my whole body. “Of course I look different! What kind of compliment is that?!” I thought annoyed. 

“You look different too.” I told him reluctantly. 

“Are you ready to go?” He asked. I just nodded excitedly before following him out the door. 

In the nighttime tapestry of the city, the bright lights painted a surreal panorama. The asphalt shone like an ebony river, reflecting the headlights of passing cars like wandering fireflies. The city had an air of mystery and adventure. Tokyo was a place where anything could happen, where dreams came true and nightmares lurked in the shadows. The steering wheel turned under my fingers like a rudder guiding a ship through a sea of ​​metal. The roar of the engine was a discordant symphony that echoed in the silence of the night.

“How did training with Gojo go?” I asked him to get a topic of conversation.

"Everything was going well until I had to train again with the useless rookies,” he muttered in annoyance, gripping the steering wheel firmly. "Have you thought about who your replacement will be?" He asked.

"I have a few candidates in mind,” I answered. "In fact, a coach approached me when I went to the market, but she didn't give me a good vibe.”

"Why?" he asked, curious.

"I think you already know each other."

"What's her name?”

"Yuki Tsukumo." Sukuna braked the car in its tracks, making us bounce in our seats. Thank God we had our seat belts on. If we hadn’t, I would have slammed into the glass. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I exclaimed with my heart in my hand.

Sukuna didn't answer me. He squeezed the steering wheel, clearly annoyed, to park next to the curb. He took off his seatbelt to lean back on the steering wheel. Who was this Yuki Tsukumo that could make Sukuna act like this? An ex-partner? Impossible, Yuuji told me that he has never had a girlfriend. Someone he slept with in the past? I don't blame him, she's beautiful.

"You better not tell Choso or Yuuji that you ran into he," he told me after letting out a long sigh.

"Why not? Is there something I should know?” I asked him confused with the whole situation.

"She is Choso's ex-fiancée,” he answered before holding his forehead in concern.

"Oh…” I could not believe it.

Sukuna POV

I couldn't believe this blonde bitch had shown up again. Finally, when we had all left her in the past, she decided to come back for more. I clearly remembered the first time I saw that stupid girl smiling from cheek to cheek as if she were a pure soul. Choso looked so happy and proud to introduce her as his future wife. Poor asshole, he didn't know what he was getting into... and neither did I.

He still vividly remembered the night where everything turned into a shit show. The UFC had paid me the best suite in Las Vegas for my first championship fight. Sometimes I closed my eyes to return to that majestic place. Admiring the Strip, a glittering ribbon of casinos, hotels, and attractions that never sleeps, Paris's iconic Eiffel Tower twinkling with a thousand lights, and the High Roller Ferris wheel rising above the horizon like a giant lighthouse. I fucked a prostitute in the middle of the wide balcony, enjoying the panorama that stretched out in front of me.

"Sukuna!" The whore screamed my name desperately.

My hips didn't stop pounding into ramming her. Her tits were bouncing in my face and her legs were spread across the couch. I opened her ass to reach the deepest part of her being. He had paid a good amount for her, he was willing to destroy her physically and emotionally. I pulled her hair while my cock hit her cervix, her limit. I was so close to reaching the climax, ensuring my future victory... but some idiot had to ring the bell at that moment.

I was so close that I didn't care that the person would stay outside all night. I didn't care if it was Choso, Gojo, Yuuji or my parents. I was very busy. The idiot didn't seem to want to understand that I wasn't going to open it, so he kept insisting on the fucking doorbell. Ding-dong. Ding-Dong. Ding-fucking-Dong. The annoying sound made me lose concentration.

"Fuck!" I screamed before pulling my cock out of the whore. She sighed in annoyance, plopping down on the couch. "Hide in the closet or something, I'm not done with you." I told her before wrapping a towel around my hips.

"I'm going to charge you extra!" She yelled at me before following my instruction.

I straightened my towel before reluctantly opening the door. In front of me was the last person I thought I would meet. It was Yuki, Choso's guest. What the fuck was she doing here at midnight? Especially alone. From her pajamas and her slightly messy hair, I could tell she had escaped from the bed she shared with my younger brother.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked her, annoyed. "It better be important."

"I want to talk about business, can I come in?" she asked me with her usual flirtatious smile.

"No. Just tell me what you have to say so you can leave me alone,” I answered. I could already feel my balls turning blue.

"Do you kiss your mother with that filthy?" she joked.

"I'm not in the mood, spit it out before I slam the door in your face," I blurted out. It was the last warning I was going to give her.

"I noticed that you don't have a trainer who specializes in jiu-jitsu. I know you don't accept women in your gym, but if you allow me to be part of your team, I can…".

I couldn't help but laugh in her face, cutting her off completely. Did she just interrupt my good luck ritual to offer herself as my trainer? I knew she was a jiu-jitsu trainer at a local gym, but I never thought she had the balls to ask me to recruit her. Couldn't she do this another day or in the morning? Why right here when Choso is surely sleeping peacefully thinking that she is by his side? Was this shit serious? There were so many questions about her behavior that I could only laugh.

"I don't see what's funny about it," Yuki said, crossing her arms.

"Then you have a terrible sense of humor," I answered. "Is that all you have to tell me?"

"I'm sure I'm a better fighter than you, I could kick your ass if I wanted to," she said annoyed.

"I want to see you try," I said. “She wouldn't dare,” I thought for sure.

Well, she dared. She attacked me by surprise with a kick to the abdomen. I lowered my arm, preventing it from connecting completely, but it did hit my side. I couldn't defend myself well while just having a towel on. One wrong move and I was already naked. I backed away out of inertia, allowing her to enter the suite. She jumped at me to continue hitting me.

"Bitch!" I screamed while covering my private parts.

"I'm going to show you that you need me on your team!" she shouted with a smile on his face.

"I don't want anyone else on my team!" I exclaimed.

How the hell did we get to this situation? I wasn't sure, but I had to do something about it. She pulled and punched me, trying to take me down like any jiu-jitsu fighter would do. She launched another kick at me, this time I evaded it in time, but she broke a lamp in the process. I was debating in my mind whether I should knock her out with one punch. I could not do it. Even though she was crazy, she was Choso's fiancée. My first option was to call one of my brothers or someone saner.

"Just think about it seriously, with my brain and your muscles I could make you a millionaire in less than you think," she told me excitedly.

So she was after the money. Which is normal… but that didn't explain why she was acting so secretive. Why didn't she tell Choso he wanted a job on the Team Black? There was something else she wasn't telling me. I entered the master bedroom as quickly as possible without exposing my cock to grab the phone, but she ended up cornering me against the closet before I could get to it. At the sudden knock, the prostitute screamed.

"Who is it?" Yuki asked me confused.

"I didn't know he had a wife!" The whore screamed opening the closet door. “Oh no,” I thought. "Please don't hit me!" The poor girl yelled as she fled the scene.

"Hey! We're not done yet!” I yelled.

And as if fate was mocking me, I dropped the towel. I was in the middle of a teenager's worst nightmare. Yuki shamelessly looked down, making this more awkward than it already was. By this point I was praying that this was a bad taste prank. I just wanted Yuuji or Gojo to come into the room with a camera in hand, mocking my reaction, but that never happened.

"Nice girl you hired," she laughed at me. And just when I thought this was only going to get worse, I heard the voice of my potential savior.

"Sukuna!" I heard Choso's voice from the door as he rang the doorbell as if his life depended on it.

"You worried your future husband," I told her before pushing her to let go, so I could put the towel back on.

"Hire me or I'll tell Choso I cheated on him with you," Yuki threatened me.

"What?!" I asked him, frowning at the tremendous bullshit she just said.

That's when it hit me. Yuki came to ask me for a job without Choso because she is only with him for convenience. She's only with him to blatantly get close to me. Since I don't accept women in the gym, this was his solution to get to me. I should have seen it before. I remember how at dinner with our parents he spent the time talking about jiu-jitsu and the UFC, sharing his extensive knowledge on the subject. Everyone was delighted with her, but she drove me crazy. 

"Are you that desperate for money?" I asked him, not believing what was happening.

"You don't have much time,” Yuki crossed her arms as the ringing continued.

"Sukuna!" Choso exclaimed again.

"I trust Choso, he is not stupid enough to fall for something like that."

End of Sukuna POV

"Choso was stupid enough to fall for that,” Sukuna blurted out after recounting the tragedy that happened that day. "He knew about my lucky ritual and to this day he still thinks I fucked his fiancée," he said as he looked towards the car in front of us.

I was just listening to him while Sign Of The Times by Harry Styles was playing on the radio. We were still parked so that Sukuna could tell me in great detail what had happened with Yuki and Choso. It was a hard story to believe. A woman interrupting his suite in the middle of his lucky ritual and then threatening to break off his relationship with his brother over a measly coaching job is not something you hear every day.

"I tried to explain to him several times what happened, but he never wanted to listen to me. Then he told Yuuji and since that idiot doesn't know how to shut up, everyone in the gym knows,” he explained. "It's an absurd story, I know, but…".

"I believe you," I told him before he could finish his sentence.

"You do?" he looked at me, confused.

"Why are you surprised? I believed you when you told me about your lucky ritual.” I said. "Is it a strange story? Yes, but we are a team. If you tell me the sky is pink, I believe you. If you tell me that pigs fly, I believe you. If you tell me that Yuki Tsukumo is a son of a bitch, I'll believe you.”

Sukuna smiled at my response. He looked relieved, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. I smiled back at his reaction. Sukuna always has been honest with me, I had no reason to doubt him. Even though I had little time left as his coach, I planned to continue by his side. I don't know if it was the sad story or my feelings towards him got in the way that made me take off my seat belt to reach him. He didn't know what exactly was going through his mind, but whatever it was, he needed a hug.

My body felt light when he reciprocated the gesture. Our bodies melted in the warmth of the moment. His hands traveled down my back to press me closer to his broad chest. I would have liked to stop time to stay here all my life. Maybe Sukuna didn't like me back, but I knew I someone important to him, and I was happy with that.

The luxurious restaurant at the Grand Palace Hotel had an elegant atmosphere with high ceilings, panoramic windows and sparkling chandeliers. Sukuna and I made our way among the tables covered with white tablecloths and velvet chairs that invited guests to delight in an exquisite menu. In the distance, we saw his family. They were happy to see us, but they were also clearly disappointed for arriving 20 minutes late. Everyone looked elegant and sophisticated, especially Choso. He always looked good, but today he looked phenomenal in his gray suit and white shirt. He greeted me with a smile on his face as soon as we approached the table.

"You look beautiful,” he complimented me. My heart skipped a beat with happiness. “Are you watching, Sukuna? This is how you give a compliment,” I thought with blushing cheeks.

"I thought I raised you to always be on time," the mother scolded Sukuna.

According to Yuuji, Kaori Itadori was a highly sophisticated and strict mother. She has always focused on giving his children the best education so that they would grow up to be strong men and providers. An extremely traditional and Catholic woman. She sounded like the worst mother-in-law you could have.

"There was a lot of traffic," Sukuna answered reluctantly as we sat at the table.

Choso helped me, pulling my chair like a perfect gentleman. I was so nervous having him so close, since Yuuji gave me his seat, so I could sit next to him. My mind was at peace realizing that I still liked Choso a lot.

"At this time? The report says that the streets are quite clear,” his mother challenged him.

"Honey, it was only 20 minutes. You're going to scare his girlfriend away,” her husband, Jin Itadori, told her. He was like any dad, pretty chill and care free. 

"She is not my girlfriend. She's my coach,” Sukuna clarified, starting to get annoyed.

"But you live together," his mother said.

"You live together?" Choso asked me confused. “Oh no,” I thought. I had barely arrived, and I already wanted to go home. I had a feeling this woman was going to try to embarrass me in any way possible the rest of the evening.

"It is a long story," I said, trying to cut the tension.

"You see, Sukuna kicked his ex's ass. This ex almost raped her in the past, so Sukuna offered her to live with him so she would feel safe,” Yuuji explained the situation.

"Yuuji!" Sukuna and I scolded him.

"I'm just trying to help!" Yuuji defended himself.

I wanted to die. Yuuji just told the whole table my life trauma as if it were the plot of a movie he watched on Netflix. I hid in my hands from shame, praying that the earth would swallow me whole.

"I'll take a smoking break," Choso said before getting up from the table to retreat to the balcony.

"Is it necessary to ask those kinds of questions now?" Sukuna asked his mother, already annoyed.

"You know what I think about concubinage," His mother reproached him, disappointed.

"We're not a couple. We just work together.” Sukuna rolled his eyes.

"Besides, Y/n likes Choso, don’t you?" Yuuji asked me to make his mother stop bugging me with questions about my relationship with her son.

"I need fresh air," I excused myself to get out of there as quickly as possible.

I knew this was a bad idea from the start. I should have said no to Yuuji. I went out to the balcony to breathe deeply and admire the view of the city. I looked at Choso to explain what was happening. I found him smoking on the other side of the balcony, just as he had told us. He looked so elegant and mysterious in front of the pretty city lights. A beautiful contrast between brightness and darkness.

"Long time no see," I greeted him, approaching him.

"Does Sukuna treat you well?" He asked me, ignoring my greeting. It seemed like being straightforward ran in the family.

"I can not complain," I answered honestly. "Sometimes he's a jerk, but you already know that," I joked. He smiled with the cigarette between his lips.

"I know… very well," he said as he blew the smoke into the wind, being careful not to blow the smoke in my face.

"Does it bother you that I live with him?" I asked him worried.

"Of course not, I just didn't expect it," he answered. "Yuuji told me that you're going to quit soon, is that true?" I was happy to see that he was treating me as always.

"That's right, I'm very excited to return to the gym with my team," I explained with a smile.

Choso despite having some similarities with Sukuna, he was so kind in comparison. His voice was sweet, his touch was pleasant, and his words filled me with joy. My heart moved every time he spoke to me. In the end, I realized that I still liked him, and I was very happy that it was that way. He was my ideal man.

"Are you still thinking about calling me when you become the protector again?" He wondered with a thread of hope. My cheeks blushed redder as I listened. I had already forgotten what I had said to him that night at the bar.

"You know it," I answered him with a smile.

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[nanaten]

more people should base mother characters’ character traits/design elements off their stats. its something ive been doing for a while now

I draw Ninten to be thinner than the rest of them as a result of his speed stat being significantly higher than the other two at level 99 (155!! insane!! more than double Lucas’s max speed!!) and I also imagine him to be that way having less guts than the other two protagonists— so he’s more susceptible to finding other routes to resolve/escape conflict, (4th D Slip you get it). He’s also (pardon my language,) a lucky, sarcastic fucker, so he’ll take advantage of that during combat too. (Wisdom/Luck: 155). I also think that Ninten, lacking in vitality, also aids this general idea that Ninten isn’t noticeably strong— though i also think maybe his vitality would be noticeably higher without the asthma, LOL.

This is why i also consider Ninten to be more witty and bastardy. Is he all that strong (from the outside)? No. Can he use offensive PSI? No. But luck is on his side, he’s smart, and he can pack a real damn punch if need be.

I also think, with his wit, he’d weaponise his smaller stature, this is to say he’d weaponise his (what is viewed as,) physical incompetence. you get it. he’s just a little boyyyy he’s a little birthday boy look at him he can’t hurt you he’s like 2 grams of protein Oh Shit He Just Knocked You Out Because You Were Unassuming And Thought He Couldn’t. Welp!

Ness’s I consider less simply based on the fact he specifically gets a huge boost (y’know the whole magicant boost thing,) nearing the end of the game, but I still think it’s important. For example him having the least defence of the three (whilst having the most guts & IQ) could take to mean that he’s overtly confident and relies far more on his own strengths and immediate in-the-moment smarts. I also take this to mean he’s got alot more muscle mass, not valuing speed as much as raw strength— His moves are calculated, but not premeditated, he figures out the best course of attack and goes for it immediately. I also think it’s representative of a more laid back, relaxed personality— he’s not too uppity, he’s not all that scared of much, he’s confident and reliable and faithful in his skills.

Lucas’s stats may initially seem weaker than the rest but I moreso take this to mean he’s alot more calculated. Being the slowest with a speed of 60, I imagine he puts an immense amount of thought into each and every move he makes— he cares less about how much he can do and cares far more about precision, each hit deliberate with intention. And i think this is cooperated well with his defence stat being the second highest (I also take this to mean Lucas is pretty tanky, as opposed to Ninten, who I think has high defence more from mental planning and probably PSI— cough cough power shield,) only 5 points away from Ninten’s— it all takes to mean he is safe and deliberate, calculated and threatening. I also think the high fight/guts stat infers that Lucas isn’t really one for finding alternative routes out of combat, he is not afraid to fight and is down to fuck your shit up if it comes down to it. He is also a notorious lucky fucker, like Ninten, but with it being slightly lower I imagine his luck would moreso aid him, as opposed to Ninten who would regularly bank on that luck.

Lucas’s stats don’t add too much to how I characterize him but I think they do further aid the general idea of Lucas being quite stoic and unmoving, quiet and observant.

These stats are scaled because each mother games’ stats work differently! this is just a general idea and for fun lol

[trashpandacraft]

hi! ok so i'm going to talk about one of my top-five favourite things, which is: dyeing stuff! this is going to be specifically about dyeing protein fibres (animal fibres—wool, alpaca, silk, etc) in a pretty low-key way in your kitchen.

to be clear up front: this is not the most scientific, most perfectly reproducible, or most Objectively Correct way to dye things. i get a lot of fibre that i like this way, though, and i think that other people can, too.

fibre i've dyed that i think is neat:

you can also dye yarn like this:

yes, i like blue a lot. i also really like variegation and heathering, which is why most of the fibre here has patches of white—it's an intentional choice that i've made. you can make different choices.

here is what you need to dye things:

fibre, vinegar, dye, a pot, heat, and some water.

that was so you don't get overwhelmed by the impending wall of text. here is what you need to dye things (it's the same stuff!), but with way more detail:

fibre or yarn. this is the big one, obviously. i tend to dye in 100-200 gram batches, because that's approximately what fits on my stovetop easily. if you're very nervous about felting or harming your fibre, you can use stuff that's been treated to be superwash, start with yarn (which is harder to felt than fibre is), or use a felt-resistant breed like dorset or suffolk. honestly, though, i learned with merino because that's what i had, and it was fine. again, though, this guide is only for protein fibres. it will not work for things like cotton. the only exception to this is nylon, which will take on some colour, but less than a protein fibre will.

a mordant. this is a fancy way of saying a thing that makes dye stick, and for what we're doing here, it's citric acid or vinegar. your grocery store definitely has at least one of them, though if you can choose, i prefer citric acid, because i love wet wool smell but i do not always love wet wool vinegar smell.

dye. i use acid dyes, and am personally deeply loyal to dharma acid dyes, but ashford and jacquard acid dyes work the same way. if you don't want to buy dye or don't have access to it, food colouring will often work, as well, though i haven't tried this with natural food colourings and have no idea how well they'll work.

a dedicated dye pot. ok, if you're doing food dyes, you don't need this. if you're not, it's definitely best practice, though i don't know how dangerous it is not to. any large metal pot will do, but my favourite option is hotel pans, which are those huge metal pan/tray things that hold food at buffets and the like. i have a full-size one that's 15cm deep, and a half-size one that's 4cm deep. they're great because they let you lay out the fibre you're working with so you can see most of it in a single layer.

dedicated dye utensils. as before, i don't know how much of a huge deal this is. i'll be honest and admit that for several years i had a single pair of tongs that got used for all tong-requiring events, including dyeing, and i'm still alive. i suggest that you have at least a big spoon, and a big spoon and tongs are even better.

something to mix the dye in. yeah, i use empty plastic sports drink or soda bottles for this. you can be fancy and get mason jars or little squirt bottles or whatever, and if you get super into dyeing you'll want to mix up dye stocks, but that's way outside the scope of what we're doing here. i like the powerade bottles that have a little squirty mouthpiece, because it's fun to squirt dye onto things.

personal protective equipment. i think this is the part of things that freaks people out. ideally, you wear plastic gloves and a mask (yeah, like your covid masks) when you're working with dye. realistically, i almost never remember to put on gloves and just accept that my hands are going to be blue sometimes. you should wear a mask, because dye is an irritant, but the world is an imperfect place and i have wicked bad adhd and sometimes i forget. this isn't advice. i'm just being honest. you should use some kind of safety stuff. you probably won't die if you don't.

you might also want some little random bits: an old toothbrush or paintbrush, a pipe cleaner, some toothpicks, etc. this is mostly if you like speckles, or if you want very small patches of colour.

so first: there are a million ways to dye things, and i'm not convinced that any of them are objectively correct. i do what i do and it works for me. some of the things i do are the opposite of what most guides suggest, but i do them because i like the effects they create.

ok, that's all the background stuff you need. let's dye some stuff!

the number one most important thing to remember when you're dyeing is this:

you can always add more colour. you cannot take it away.

that's in fancy writing and bold because every once in a while i forget this, and every single time i end up regretting it.

here is how to dye things:

put water, citric acid (or vinegar), and fibre into a pot. add dye and heat. let cool completely. rinse the fibre in cool water, then hang to dry.

like, sure, we're going to go into way more detail, but push come to shove, if you do that, you're going to end up with dyed fibre. there are a lot of tutorials telling you that you must soak your fibre first, or you must add your citric acid this way, or hold the water at exactly this temperature, and i'm here to tell you that while any of these things can give you different results, those results aren't necessarily better.

the only way that you can totally screw this up is by accidentally felting your fibre, so before i get into the way more detail part of things, i'm going to talk about that.

how not to felt your fibre

i feel like if you've read this far, you know how things felt: wool, heat, and agitation. you may also notice that at least two of these things are required for dyeing. this can be stressful! but you don't have to be afraid of it. there's only been one time that i felted something to the point that it was unusable, and that happened because i literally fell asleep for several hours while the pot was on the stove. you can avoid doing this by simply setting an alarm—this is a good idea anyhow, because you'll want to check on your dye pot!

when you're dyeing, use the lowest heat that you can while still keeping the water at a simmer. if your stove, like mine, has one burner that's wildly unpredictable and sort of out of control, you may want to look for some sort of flame diffuser, also called a flame tamer or a simmer ring. i bought one on amazon for about fourteen dollars, and it's literally just a thick metal circle. it works fine.

you can also keep the heat low by using a pot with a thick bottom, though in my experience those are expensive, and if i had one i would be using it for soup, not wool.

avoid shocking your wool—never put room temperature wool into hot water, and never put hot wool into cold water. leave your wool in the dye bath until it's cooled completely, which for me usually means overnight.

finally, obviously you have to move the fibre around some. you'll need to peek under it in the pan, and when you're done, you have to rinse it and squish out the water. try to minimise handling, though. don't run water directly onto the fibre, don't get a wooden spoon and stir your dye pot around, don't wring the fibre dry when it's done.

you're probably never going to be perfect. i often find that i lose a gram or two of wool where fibres have grabbed onto each other, or where parts of the ends clumped up. it's not really felted, just sort of compacted, but it's not great to work with, and i'd rather lose a gram of fibre than fuss with the clumpy bits.

back to how to dye things

let's take it step by step, assuming a hundred grams of fibre.

put your pan on the stove and fill it halfway with water. add either a teaspoon of citric acid or a tablespoon of vinegar. this is going to help the dye strike, or stick to the fibre. the teaspoon/tablespoon is a guideline, but one that it's fine to exceed. adding more will help the dye strike faster, which can be useful if you're trying to create blocks of colour on your fibre. i usually err on the side of a little more than the guidelines, and just eyeball this—if you feel like the dye isn't taking well, you can add more later.

add your fibre to the pan. this is the first place you have to think about what you want the finished fibre to look like! you can put it into the pan any way you want, but i suggest trying to keep it in a relatively even layer, regardless of what that layer looks like. here are some ways to get specific effects:

if you want a gradient from one end of the fibre to the other, use a rectangular pan and lay your fibre out so that the line of it is parallel to the short sides of the pan

if you want a short, repeating gradient, use a rectangular pan and lay your fibre out so that the line of it is parallel to the long sides of the pan

if you want something that starts with very close repeats that get further apart as you go down the fibre, make an approximate spiral

if you don't want A Pattern (i usually don't) just lay things out in a single layer, more or less

here comes the next exciting part! decide if you want to let your fibre soak or not. again, doing or not doing this gives you some different effects!

soaking your fibre will mean that dye takes more evenly. if you want consistent colours, you'll want to soak.

not soaking your fibre means that the dye takes less evenly. the fibre on top will have less acid available to it, spends less time in the dye bath, and also has to actually get wet before it will start to dye. i actually love doing this, and think it affords a lot of cool opportunities to play with and layer colours.

if you're soaking, leave the fibre there until it's submerged. if not, don't.

now you're going to add dye! decision time, again.

you can add dye when the water is cold, which will give you more even dye coverage, and in my experience gives the colours more time to mix together

you can add dye when when the water is hot, which will give you less even coverage, and tends to encourage the colours to stay more delineated

probably surprising no one, i tend to heat the water first unless i'm starting with a base colour or i'm doing a two-colour gradient.

time to mix up some dye

as i mentioned earlier, i'm assuming that you're using powered acid dyes for this. if you're not, this mixing up part is technically optional—but doing it gives you way more control about how and where you place your colours, so i'm going to assume that you'll do it.

i usually mix dye in some sort of empty drink bottle. regardless of what you're using, before you add dye to anything, put some water in the bottle, wipe off the lip, put the lid on tightly, and shake the bottle vigorously. if there is any leakage at all, do not use that bottle. find a better bottle. if your bottle cap doesn't seal well or if you have an empty condiment bottle that's just a little wonky or whatever, you will get dye all over the kitchen, and your landlord will be really really mad about it, and you will regret your life choices. (if you own your kitchen, you can do whatever you want, but this isn't about you and you know it.)

so you have a bottle that seals tightly! great job. dump out the water and carefully put some dye powder into the bottle. remember earlier how i said you should be wearing a mask? this is the part where you should be wearing a mask.

i know that people are reading this and going, ok, but how much dye do i put in?

my answer is put in the amount that feels right in your heart, and don't forget the number one rule of dyeing things, which is that you can always add more colour, but you cannot take it away.

this isn't a very scientific answer. most dyes have a guideline about how much to use, expressed as a percentage of the dry weight of the fibre, which is what you use to get the whole quantity of fibre dyed evenly. for dharma dyes, it's like 1.5-2%, i think ashford is 1%, and jacquard is more like 2-4%, depending on the colour.

here is the problems with doing that in your kitchen: first, using that much dye will get you an evenly dyed piece of fibre, which—for me, at least—is basically the opposite of what i want. second, and more importantly, unless you have one of those teeny tiny scales used by jewelers and drug dealers, your kitchen scale will not weigh out such tiny quantities with any accuracy. third, if you do it like this, you really have to plan what you're doing ahead of time, because there's a point after which no more dye will bind! the fibre will be like enough thank u that's it i'm good and that'll be it, so you lose some of your ability to decide that actually, you want more green.

you can probably guess, at this point, that i don't weigh the dye. once you've done a couple batches of fibre with a given brand of dye, you'll start to get the vibes for how much you should use. if you really want a guideline, for a hundred grams of fibre, start with a quarter teaspoon of a given colour. you can add more—either more of this colour or a different one—later, as desired.

put your dye in the empty bottle, and then fill the bottle partway with hot water. the amount of water doesn't really matter here, nor does the specific temperature of the water. i usually fill about 3/4 of the way, because that way there's plenty of room for this next step, which is: wipe the lip of the bottle, recap it tightly, and then shake it up real good. the dye powder is going to dissolve into the water, and you now have a bottle of dye!

if you're going for a gradient, you might want to mix up your second colour so you can add them at (basically) the same time for more even mixing. if you're not, or if you only have one mixing bottle, you can do them one at a time.

oh my god we're finally putting dye on the fibre

are you ready? it's time!!

you have basically infinite options for how to do this, and many of them will give you different effects. here are some ideas:

pour the dye all at one side of the pan. and if you don't add anything else, your fibre will fade from the colour of the dye to the natural colour of the fibre

pour two colours, one at either side of the pan. depending on how much dye you use (and remember, you can always add more), this will give you either chunks of colour surrounded by white, or a two-colour gradient

add all the dye to unheated water and mix it gently, then let the fibre soak for a few minutes longer before turning on the heat. this will give you a fairly even colour

pour randomly all over, and you'll either end up with a tonal yarn or a heathered one, depending on how much dye you're using

add the dye to the water under the dry fibre, which will sink in and take up more dye on the bottom of the fibre than the top

if your heat wasn't on before, it should be now, and you're going to let the dye hang out in the hot but not boiling water for a while. how long? well, one of the cool things about dyeing with these dyes is that they exhaust, which means that when the dye has been sucked up by the fibre, the surrounding water will be clear. how long this takes will depend on the specific dye, how much of it you used, how much mordant you used, etc. i try to check every fifteen minutes.

reminder: if you started with room temperature water, the dye's not going to start taking until the water heats up, so don't check it after fifteen minutes and freak out that nothing has happened. it is fully normal for it to take up to an hour for the dye to exhaust. don't turn up the temperature, just give it time.

yay it worked!

at this point, you have a pot of hot water with some beautifully coloured fibre in it! but maybe it's not beautiful enough. maybe you want...more colours.

that's cool as hell and you should go for it. we mentioned two-colour gradients up there, but what if you want something else?

the answer, probably obviously, is adding more dye.

first, a caveat: while you can successfully make multicoloured gradients like this, it's more difficult than you think, and if it gets messed up—all the colours bleed into each other, say—it turns into a muddy mess. my suggestion is to stick to two (or three at most!) colour gradients until you have a much better feel for what you're doing.

let's talk about ways you can add more colour. you have two options: big colour and little colour.

big colour is going to add a lot of colour—you're going to mix up the dye and pour it just like you did before, but paying more attention to places that don't have dye yet. sometimes it's the middle of a gradient, or the white splotches from random pouring, or the half of the fibre that wasn't submerged when you started. or maybe you dyed the whole thing yellow, and now you want to add a blue gradient over top. whatever!

if you don't want to freehand pour, consider buying a couple large syringes, or a bottle with a squeezy top. these are also fun because you can easily get more colour between the laid-out fibre, or even under it.

in the pictures at the start of this post, the red-and-gold top and both yarns were dyed by adding big colour.

little colour isn't going to add big patches, but is going to add speckling, tonal depth, or smaller patches of colour. all of the blue-base fibres and the yellow-and-blue yarn were dyed like this.

if you're still reading this closely, you might have caught that i just said both yarns were dyed with big colour, and that the yellow-and-blue yarn was also dyed with little colour. these are both true! the base colours of the yarn were done to make big colour, but if you look at the full-size image, there are also a bunch of speckles. you can do whatever you want! no one can stop you!

here are some ways to add little colour:

mix up some dye, but use less water. add drops of the dye, either directly onto the fibre (more dramatic!) or in the water (tonal!)

use a toothpick to grab a little bit of dye powder and drop it into the dye bath (similar to the previous one, but a little less predictable)

put on a damn facemask. take a clean toothbrush, paintbrush, or pipecleaner, and just barely touch it to the dye powder. gently flick or tap the brush to add speckles of that colour

find a salt shaker that you're never going to use for anything but this. put citric acid, salt (to make it distribute better), and dye powder into it, and shake it up (with the holes covered, please cover the holes) to make sure they're evenly distributed. gently shake this over the fibre to add speckles, but more of them, and clustered together

put a little dye in a spray bottle and gently mist the exposed fibre, kinda glazing it with colour

another thing is that if you like a natural coloured yarn with dyed speckles, you can do any of these techniques without doing big colour first. the only thing to note when doing this is that you'll want to be very sure to spread out the fibre well, and maybe to consider dyeing one side, then very very carefully flipping it over and getting the other side.

ok, now what?

let's say that you've added all the colours that you want, and you've let your bath simmer long enough that the water is clear, or nearly clear. (if it's not, check troubleshooting, below.)

put the lid on your pan and walk away. if you don't have a lid, just walk away, but it's less dramatic.

the super frustrating part here is that the safest thing to do is wait until the water and fibre is fully cooled before you do anything else.

have i ignored this? yes

has it ever gone horribly wrong? not horribly wrong, but it's definitely caused me to lose an inch or two of roving on occasion

is it way more stressful if you don't wait? absolutely yes

honestly maybe just go to bed and deal with your fibre in the morning

so now let's say that it's morning and you slept long enough that your water and fibre are both room temperature, which often actually feels quite cool on your hands.

you have to drain your fibre. there are two ways to do this:

lift the fibre out of the water. this has the upside of not risking dumping your beautiful fibre into your sink, and not needing to maneuver a full pot of water, both of which are admirable. the downside is that wet fibre is fragile, and you'll want to be careful to support it.

dump the water out of the pan. this has the upside of minimising how much handling you're doing of the fibre, as well as (in my opinion) making rinsing easier. the downside is attempting to keep the fibre into the pot while you dump the water into the sink, and also needing to carry around a full pot of water.

secret third option: dump the fibre (and the water) into a strainer. upside: very easy, and you can keep the fibre in the strainer while you rinse, minimising both how much it needs to be handled and the weight on the fibre. downside: i never remember that this is an option until i'm already elbows-deep in acidulated water, discovering every tiny cuticle tear.

you're going to fill your dyepot with water again so that you can rinse the fibre. you want to minimise thermal shock, so keep the water temperature as close to the temperature of the fibre as you can, and don't run the water directly onto the fibre. i like to pull all the fibre to one side of the pan, and fill the pan on the other side.

side note: if you, smart person, remembered that you can use a colander, simply fill a pot with water, put the colander in the pot, and gently agitate the colander.

if you, person who is deeply relatable, did not remember you can use a colander and now have a pot with clean water and fibre, gently move your fibre in the water to encourage any excess dye and also citric acid to get out of there.

drain your fibre again, and this time, you're going to squeeze it dry. you're still trying to minimise agitation, so this isn't a 'wring it out' situation, it's a 'gently squish it between your hands and/or a hand and the side of the pot' situation.

hang your fibre to dry. remember what i was saying earlier about it being fragile? let me suggest, here, that you do not simply drape the entire length over a single hanger or something and hope for the best. if you literally have a single hanger, at least drape it back and forth a bit, but better if you can use more than one hanger, or a clothes drying rack, or that weird metal wine rack thing that came with your fridge that you've never used, or whatever.

important reminder: drip-drying things will make your floor wet! if you live somewhere very clear with no major roads or pollen nearby, you can probably dry things outside, but if you don't, you'll probably want to position the drying rack in a bath, shower, laundry area, or otherwise over something that will catch and/or absorb the water.

how long it takes for the fibre to dry is another unknowable variable. if it's warm and dry where you are, it might literally be overnight. if it's damp and cool, it can take days. the batch i posted a couple days ago literally took almost a full week to dry. spread it out as best you can, gently squeeze out the water you can, and otherwise you just have to wait.

you're done!

when it's dry, that's it, you're done! you might find that you need to pick off some little lint balls or a bit of compacted or slightly felted fibre from the tips, but other than that, you should be good to go.

like most fibre stuff, this is best maintained by handwashing in cool water. you may see a little bit of dye or colour loss the first time you wash it, which is pretty normal and nothing to worry about.

congratulations! you made it to the end of this incredibly long post, and if you followed along, you've just dyed some fibre!

troubleshooting

this isn't dyed enough! i want more colours!

add more dye! i'm not the boss of you.

this is true even after the fibre is all done and dryed. there's nothing that says you can't dye it again—you can, and i have.

some fibre seems to require more dye than others. silk, for example, dyes beautifully with acid dyes, but also needs way more dye than i expect it to.

remember that if you're dyeing something that's a wool/cotton blend, for example, the cotton isn't going to dye. the only exception is nylon, which will kinda dye, but not as dramatically. this guide will not work for plant fibres.

this is too dyed! i want fewer colours!

please refer back to the number one most important thing about dyeing, which—as you know—is: you can always add more colour, but you cannot take it away.

pull out some more fibre and try again. this has a learning curve, just like any other fibre craft.

these colours don't look like i expected!

this can be about a lot of things.

colour guides, especially if you're looking at them online, aren't always very accurate.

colour guides tend to assume that you're dyeing a single colour at the suggested dye percentage of weight, and using less than that will give paler colours.

dyes, especially if you're mixing brands, can interact with each other and behave in ways you didn't expect.

dyes can also break, which is when they split into their component colour molecules. this happens commonly with blacks and browns, food colouring, and anything that dharma trading has marked as 'advanced'. some people find this very desirable and seek it out; some people are very frustrated by it.

the ph of your water can sometimes affect your dye. i've been lucky enough that i've only lived places with lead problems, not weird ph stuff, so i haven't investigated this closely, but if you're consistently not getting the results you expect, even going for a single, solid-colour dye, look at the ph.

my dye water's not clear!

if you used a quarter teaspoon of dye and a hundred grams of fibre, and it's been, say, 45 minutes of actually hot water and your water still isn't clear, you probably didn't use enough mordant, and you should add some more citric acid or vinegar to encourage the dye to get in there and do its thing.

if you used you used more like a teaspoon of dye, or if the citric acid doesn't change anything, you used too much dye for your fibre. you can either shrug and pour it down the drain, or you can add some more fibre and dye that, too.

my rinse water's not clear!

you probably used too much dye. it's ok—just keep rinsing it, gently, until it's more or less clear.

some colours just like to run—you know how every once in a while you get a yarn and it just bleeds a little bit every time you wash it? sometimes it's just like that. i wouldn't worry about it too much.

my fibre has felty/clumpy bits!

a little bit of this is normal, especially at the ends of a fibre that felts easily (this means you, merino!)

pick off the bits that you don't like—this is generally fairly easy, and involves very minimal fibre loss. i don't bother doing it until i sit down to spin, and then just pull off bits as i come to them.

if there's a lot of felty/clumpy bits, more than you can reasonably pick out, you agitated the fibre too much. there's not much for this other than trying to card it out, which may or may not work.

sometimes this happens because your stove got weirdly aggressive and boiled your fibre. especially for wool that's prone to felting, the bubbling and jostling can be enough to encourage more clinginess than you'd like.

i want my dyeing to be reproducible!

this is kinda doable. it's a handmade thing, so it's always going to have some natural variance, but you can do it.

buy a jeweler's scale that measures in fractions of a gram.

start measuring your dye and acid, and take detailed notes about what you do.

follow those notes in the future, and you'll be probably 90% of the way there.

i want to dye with natural dyes!

i fully support this and have played around with it a little bit myself, but absolutely do not know enough about it to advise you.

the internet is very large and full of many people who are much smarter than i am, and i feel confident that at least one of them is desperate to tell you all about how to do natural dyeing.

i am, at this point, not that person.

i want to dye plant fibres!

i am begging you to find another guide, because this one will not work.

you didn't answer my question!

that's what my inbox is for

i have to reiterate that i'm just a person with real specific interests who started dyeing things because i couldn't find or afford the kinds of colourways that i wanted.

i am not a professional

i will do my best to answer questions, but sometimes the answer is 'just fuck around until you find out'

plant fi—

shhhhh

the end

thank you for reading this incredibly long post! i might make another one in the near future, either so i can show pictures or because i took out an entire section about how to choose colours and pick a colour scheme and work with colours, and i kinda want to talk more about that, but this is no joke almost six thousand words long, so i thought, you know. maybe not tonight.

anyhow, i hope that this was useful to someone! thank you for letting me talk about one of my very favourite things.

[toshio]

I wanna get even half the chest and body that you have. I know you said you basically just did push ups so I was wondering if you had any specifics. How often? How many?

Gonna use you as inspiration lmao

hey anon! i know it sounds CRAZY simple but yeah. literally just push ups at home on your carpet or hard wood floor will DO IT. whatever you find comfortable. i think pecs are SURPRISINGLY easy to get, and gay men and straight women love a nice set of boobies on a man, they really give you that "macho" look LOL so definitely try for it. you can probably get some smol but fierce tiddies in about a year.

gonna do a [read more] so i can yap to you in full detail:

if you're a complete beginner, start with like 10 push ups, if you think that's nothing and you're not fatigued yet, do more than that, like 20. keep doing that until you can do an insane amount of push ups and then stop when you start getting tired/failure. do that daily. the more the better. you can take some rest days, on those days you can like walk or jog or something to get more lean. if you consider yourself slightly overweight, definitely walk/jog daily.

and when you do push ups, make sure they're not half assed. like, when you see that skinny guy in your gym class going REALLY fast but stupidly out of form, that's probably doing nothing but injuring him LOL. go on youtube or look up an article about push ups, there are lots of evidence that prove you can get boobies with them. i learned pretty much everything from online btw, go on youtube and just look up how to get pecs at home if you're too cheap for a gym membership (like me. i don't have a gym membership)

here's a random image i found on google, don't worry about any of this other stuff in the picture for now. just do regular push ups for now and you should have results. but another thing i'm leaving out is obviously you need to eat right. try to eat like 0.7-0.8 grams of protein per pound of body weight. some protein rich foods you can eat are stuff like chicken/beef/pork/fish daily (with rice) or low fat greek yogurt, beef jerky, and buy some protein shakes at the store. almost anything protein tastes nasty to me btw but beauty is pain.

also some life hacks because my fat ass (and lazy ass) loves fast food/eating out in general, go to panda express and just get a bunch of chicken and broccoli LOL that shit has so much protein and it tastes good. goddamn. basically just consume meat daily for gains.

also ONE more thing in terms of eating [moderately] healthy (i still don't eat healthy but i try) stop drinking soda, stop drinking alcohol, stop doing drugs, just drink nothing but water, green tea, any tea you want, just make sure it has no sugar. if you crave sugar, get diet soda like diet coke (it's 0 calories) but avoid drinking too much of that because aspartame.

THIS IS A LOT OF INFORMATION but i get asked about stuff like this a lot so hopefully this is enough. LOL. i'll get asked again probably haha but oh well. and again i'm not a fitness expert, just an enthusiast. good luck. remember anon, BEAUTY IS PAIN. and youth is only temporary, so you might as well look sexy before you get old.

[pedge-stuff]

Fic request: Pedro or reader has an intense panic attack in a public. Reader has to talk him through it and calm him down enough so they can leave the event. Holding each other in bed.

clean up, aisle 4 (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked," per usual.

thanks, as always, for everything.

summary: sometimes, you deal with the downsides.

——————————————————————————

"I feel like we tried this and didn't like it."

Pedro inspects the back label on the box— some kinda chickpea flour protein pasta 'alternative' that came less-than-highly recommended by his personal trainer— before re-shelving it alongside the other sad, fake noodles.

The grocery store has become a little bit of a minefield. Gladiator 2 prep was exciting, until the rigorous hours in the gym started requiring a specialized diet. He can't eat carbs, you don't eat meat, both of you love frozen pizza, and neither of you really want to participate in the whole classic disordered Hollywood eating thing. And yet, here you are.

Home-cooked meals have consisted mostly of roasted vegetables and dry, baked proteins. You're attempting to eat "clean" in solidarity with him, but...

"We don't need pasta," Pedro laments, turning away from the shelving altogether. "What's left?"

You pull the notes-app list back up. "Whatever kind of frozen fruit you want for smoothies, plus pitted dates. I'd love those wasabi almonds from last month, but I dunno if they have them again. We could get Skinny Pop, if you want it?"

A grimace. "That's fine."

"We don't have to get it, Pedge."

"It's fine, really. We need something for the movie tonight, right?"

His shoulders slump as he pushes the cart onwards. The back right wheel is making a little squeaking sound, sharp and grating on your last damn nerve. This grocery store feels more and more like a minefield with every aisle turn. The balance between supporting Pedro in his training, and wanting him to just say fuck it and be happy, feels entirely precarious.

"Almonds," Pedro mutters, veering right, around an obnoxiously large Goldfish display and the toddler sobbing loudly in front of it. An obstacle course of bright lights and loud sounds. "Almonds, almonds—"

"Ohmygod, Pedro Pascal."

Immediately, no. Two college-aged, tri delta-looking, fresh-from-the-salon type girls, grinning like they'd won the damn lottery. Fans— no one he actually knows says "Pay-drow."

The wheel squeaks again as they grind to a forceful halt; the girls are standing directly in the path of the cart.

"Should we ask for a picture?" They speak at full volume, to each other, as if he isn't standing right in front of them.

"We have to, for the gram. Oh my god."

"Maybe Deuxmoi will pick it up."

Pedro grimaces as they start rummaging for their phones. He's always generous with his time— sometimes a little too generous, so concerned with hurting peoples' feelings that he'll take selfies through the drive-thru window, or walking the dogs. Even one memorable time, pumping gas.

Only at night, lights off, tucked away, does he ever confess his frustrations. As though he should not want privacy; as though being grateful was more important than being safe. Guilt eats him in ways that you alone cannot heal. All you can do is hold him a little tighter.

A phone is thrust towards you. "Can you take a picture of us?"

Before either of you can react, one girl has her arm over Pedro's shoulder. The other, on his waist. He's never been one to shy away from affection— had been pushing the cart single-handedly, with the other on the small of your back, since the dairy section— but that intimacy does not extend to strangers.

They are laughing, chattering— something about Game of Thrones. You distinctly make out so sexy and slay.

But you hardly register them, instead frowning at your partner as you snap a couple pics without looking. He is frozen, eyes fixed somewhere past you, though he offers a wan smile for the camera. Answers a question you can't hear with a half-hearted laugh, before gesturing to the next aisle. A polite gesture, too far from the fuck off on the tip of your tongue.

Pedro attempts to move away, but the girl's arm is still snaked around his waist. Trapped. She reaches to wrap the other around, attempting to encircle him in a teddy bear-style hug. This, here, is the limit.

With a rough, jerky motion, he forces her off of him. "Sorry, sorry," he says quickly. "We need to go."

"But—"

If you push the cart, and it happens to roll over a perfectly manicured foot, well...

Pedro is a few paces ahead of you, stalking towards the almonds like they owe him a grave debt. His fists clench and unclench at his side.

Not good.

His tells for a panic attack are well-catalogued in your brain. You push the cart to one side, mouthing an apology to the man you almost plow down, before approaching Pedro with caution. His chest heaves as he frowns at the Blue Diamond display, breaths noticeably shallow.

"Pedro." Fighting muscle memory, you don't touch him. Don't want to startle him, though concern burns a hole in your own diaphragm.

"Mm."

"Baby, look at me."

His eyes squeeze shut, instead. "I'm good. I'm good."

"Why don't you go to the car, I'll finish up quick."

"I'm good," he insists, voice cracking.

"It's OK if you're not good."

A hitch in his breath, and Pedro's face crumbles. "Just startled me, is all," he whispers, brown eyes pooling remorsefully. "So stupid. Can't even make it through the fucking supermarket to get my fucking fruits and veggies."

You reach for his hand, lithe fingers prying his clench fist apart. Soothe the red-crescent divots in his palm with the pad of your thumb. Wait for him to continue, as if you're not both standing in the middle of the nuts-candy-and-coffee section.

"Everything is just a lot right now," Pedro says, dragging in a shaky but deeper inhale. His other hand swipes across his cheek.

Mentally, you catalogue how difficult it would be to return the items in your cart; how fast you could retrace your steps, and rush the man home.

You bring his palm to your lips, instead. "Go take a smoke," you suggest. "And then we can get the fuck outta here."

"Someone's gonna post it online again. Everyone's talking about how I reek of cigarettes."

"You have reeked of cigarettes as long as I've known you. They are late to this." Tugging playfully on the hand you still hold, you wait for him to crack the barest, thinest of smiles.

"You still love me, though."

"Enough to fight off anyone else who tries to dry-hump you in this Whole Foods."

Slowly, you both retreat to the abandoned cart. "Can we—" Pedro stops himself, unsure of how to ask.

"Whatever it is, babe, yes."

He pushes forward. "What if I was asking if we could get naked right now and run through the supermarket parking lot so people would think we were crazy and leave us alone forever?"

"Then I'd start untying my shoes. It'd be hard to pull my jeans over 'em."

The wasabi almonds are, finally, pulled from the shelf. You proceed to the freezers. "That's not what I was gonna ask," he admits, grabbing a bag of chunked mango.

"Bummer."

"Can we just get some normal fucking popcorn? If one night's worth of fake butter is what does me in, someone else can be the Gladiator, I give up."

For him? Anything.

[sportsbianism]

yesterday i went to the grocery store and got supplies for a bunch of my high fiber beef quesadillas and tbh they're the best i ever made. i decided to mix four pounds of ground beef with two pounds of ground turkey to help save some money. blended that up with an abundance of spices in a big pot with a hand mixer. i think that this somehow tenderized everything or something, cause the texture was superior. then i browned the meat at high heat in a huge skillet but did not cook it fully through. put it back in my huge pot on low heat with two big bricks of golden curry chopped up, a little bit of extra salt and seasoning, and some water. kept the lid on and stirred occasionally. this turned out fucking divine u guys. and there's a lot of fat in golden curry bricks but i used 97% lean beef and 99% lean turkey so the macros are good.

for the tortillas as always i used the carb conscious tortillas from aldi, bc they have a ton of fiber and are super cheap compared to name brands.

cheese, in the past ive used fat free cheese from walmart, but to save money and treat myself, this time i just used reduced fat cheddar and mexican blend from aldi.

fat is really good for you, but im trying to cut a little bit again so im watching my macros a bit more and not spending them during lunch. i eat normal delicious dinner with my gf every night.

one tortilla folded in half, 30 grams of cheese, 90+ grams of meat is what i usually do for these. usually i bake them in the oven to get the cheese melted, but my gf's oven is messed up rn so i just heated them up on the stove real quick. i store them in the freezer in the same bags the tortillas come in. i didn't carefully track the macros this time, but my guess based on similar recipes in the past is something like 400 cal, 30 grams of protein, 15 grams of fiber.

[overwhelmed-overweight]

Plant-Based Benefits and Tips!

A couple of lovely people asked for some elaboration on plant-based eating! I studied nutrition & dietetics in college before I dropped out so I'm not a professional in nutrition but I do have a broad understanding of the biochemistry behind what we eat.

This is kind of a long post, so continue under the cut!

Starting with the basics!

I aim for a more whole foods plant-based diet, which is essentially a low-fat diet that focuses on removing all animal products, limiting processed food, and minimizing oils.

Looking at micronutrients, both protein and carbs have about 4 calories per gram, but oil has 9 calories per gram. Low-fat diets are often easier to manage calories on, as you can fill up on a higher volume of protein and carbs (specifically fiber) to reach satiety, whereas processed/high-fat foods are higher in calories per serving, meaning you get less volume.

You DO need fat in your diet, but it's preferable to reach for nuts, seeds, avocados, etc. instead of oil, which is comparatively nutritionally void.

FIBER IS YOUR BESTIE. Fruits, vegetables, and whole grains are low in calories meaning you can eat more of them, reaching satiety faster than you would with something processed. Fiber makes your digestive system happy. Be sure to incorporate more plants into your diet gradually so your digestive system can adjust.

Let's talk about animal products...

They are inflammatory by nature. If it comes from an animal, particularly red meat and ESPECIALLY processed meat, it will cause stomach issues in most people.

Fun fact, we are biologically closer to herbivores than carnivores. Our digestive tracts are much longer and our stomachs are less acidic than a carnivore's, meaning we are designed to most efficiently digest plant matter. Carnivores, on the other hand, have short digestive tracts and significantly more acidic stomachs for breaking down flesh and bone. This is why many people experience gastrointestinal discomfort when consuming meat. This leads to bloating, gas, and constipation. We are omnivores because we CAN consume animal products for survival, but it is nowhere near optimal.

Dairy is highly inflammatory and is directly linked to hormonal cancers (breast, prostate, etc.) It is also high in saturated fat, which is inflammatory. When we are born, we have the "gene" necessary to process breastmilk, but for many people, as we age, this "gene" gets switched off. Past infancy, we don't need milk (or other dairy products) because we can get our nutrients from other food sources. Black and Asian individuals have the highest rates of lactose intolerance. Not to mention, dairy is full of foreign bacteria, especially from factory farms, which causes an immune response in the body, leading to further inflammation.

Eggs are saturated fat and cholesterol bombs. They're high in protein, sure, but you can get protein and a wide variety of other nutrients from things like tofu.

To summarize, animal products are high in fat, high in cholesterol, high in calories, and cause inflammation, bloating, gas, and of course, constipation. Eating whole foods like vegetables, fruits, whole grains, beans/legumes, tofu, nuts, and seeds will boost your fiber intake, fill you with antioxidants, foster healthy gut bacteria, and reduce gastrointestinal issues.

Make sure you add more plants to your diet GRADUALLY. If you immediately go full force into eating plant-based, your stomach will experience distress due to the sudden increase in fiber, creating gas and bloating. But this will subside, and you'll feel better overall!

I highly recommend listening to seminars on YouTube by Dr. Neal Barnard, Dr. Michael Greger, Dr. Will Bulsiewicz, and Linda Davis RD to learn more in depth about what I've talked about.

Extra tips:

An air fryer is going to change your life when it comes to cooking without oil and making stuff taste good and have a better texture! I use mine multiple times a day.

TOFU!!! I'm a soy addicts, and tofu is my favorite source of protein. There's so many ways to prepare it, too!

Berries are so nutrient dense and delicious-- nature's candy!

There's honestly nothing wrong with protein powder even though it's processed. Just be sure to opt for vegan protein powder so you aren't loading your body with whey.

Stevia is a godlike sweetener, imo.

Eat a wide variety of different plants to diversify your gut microbiome and to get a variety of vitamins and minerals!

Take care of yourselves :') 💚🌿 I may add to this post as more things pop in my head!

When I tell you it's so goddamn easy to do dishes when you don't cook with oil 😭

Don't drink alcohol... this is the most hypocritical thing I can say lmao but it will wreak havoc on your gut microbiome

[cupcakeinat0r]

A couple of yall asked for the booty routine so here u go, shawty <3

Ik this looks like a lot, but trust, bae, it’s important. I felt like if ima talk abt my routine, might as well talk a lil bit abt food too since both work as a team.

[First, let me say that I am by no means a professional. This is something I've learned and acquired through self-research, as well as having two siblings, one who is a bodybuilder and the other who is a personal trainer. Also, the gym is a safe n fun space for everyone:) Work out because you want to, not bc you think you need to look a certain way <3]

Here's my Split: I added my upper body days as well in case yall wanted to kno <3

Monday: Glutes + quads

Tuesday: Back + Biceps

Wednesday: Glutes + Hamstrings

Thursday: Chest + Tricep

Friday: Full Body

Saturday + Sunday: Active rest!!! (Could be running, walking, bicycling, etc., whatever is fun to do! My personal fav is the stair master for an hr or Running for 3 miles, but you do whatever you can. Listen to your body.)

In addition, I do cardio after each sesh on the weekdays. For me, that's running for like 2 miles or so, depends how I'm feeling, but you do whatever cardio you'd like! A good start could simply be inclined walking!

Also, pls pls pls remember rest days are VITALLL. If u want to grow that booty (which is something the couple of you specifically mentioned), those rest days are important bc this is the period when those muscles are actually repairing themselves from the workout, resulting in growth!!! A huge misconception is that “the muscles grow during the workout”… no. Ur actually tearin up those puppies, so that’s what rest days r for! Both rest + protein contribute to ur muscle repair + growth (I’ll talk abt protein intake later). Naturally, I like to rest Sat n Sun, but it could be any 2-3 days of the week. Sometimes, I be usin that Fri full-body sesh as a rest day too so liiiike... if u need to, please do (especially during periods uuuuugh).

As for specific Workouts, I'll list em here. These r for the booty ;)

Hip thrusts, booty + hamstrings

Romanian dead lift, booty + hammies

Goblet Squat, quad destroyer

Hip abductions, booty burner, omfg

Leg press, depends on footing. Higher on platform works hammies n booty, lower works quads.

Weighted Squats, the whole damn leg.

Body weight squats OR lunges (good for warm-ups)

Leg curl, hammies

Leg extension, quads

Bulgarian split squat, booty n whole leg

I do 4 sets of 12 <3

(ALMOST FORGOT, I TARGET FOR 5-6 DIFF EXERCISE FOR EACH WORKOUT)

Nutrition plays a huuuge part as well, but I'll only talk very lil abt it since ion know yall's specific needs<3

Generally, if u want growth, just take ur current weight and put that in grams, for example = 170 lbs. -> 170 g of protein each day. Now, taking in the amount of protein u need can be hard at first, so just for the beginning, just try to at least get close to it then work ur way up. Foods high in protein that I like are Greek Yogurt, Chicken, Lean Ground Beef, Salmon, and snackies such as protein bars (avocado is like the holy grail for a phat booty just sayin. It's not protein, but it's the healthiest source of fat there is!). As for other groups (fat n carbs) don’t be so strict, bae… just use your portions. No need to restrict urself from ANY food bc no food is “bad”. I can talk allllll day abt this one but ima just shut up for now lmao.

PHEW, honestly, don't mention the gym around me cuz I will not shut up. Ima gym rat at heart so like I could literally keep writing abt this but bc literally, like, 3 ppl asked for this, Ima just wrap up here <3

Hope this was a lil bit of help @gltzpzy @mybvalentine @icenbroo <33333333

P.s. would it be cringe if I said I sometimes use Miguel as motivation??? Like he’s watchin me or som??? Bye, I hate that I do that, I’m like actually mentally unwell bc of that stupid mass of pixels Sony created ☠️