Moved On From Dae Ho Too Fast. That Man Is So Sexy
Moved on from dae ho too fast. That man is so sexy
More Posts from Lovelymylene and Others
introducing..
໑ 70s STONER NATE DOE
STONER NATE.. who never seems to have an agenda—he’s just down for whatever’s happening, whether it’s a party, a late-night drive, or sitting in a field listening to music
STONER NATE.. doesn’t go out of his way to mess with freshmen, but he finds it hilarious when Chris does. If someone trips over their own feet because of Chris, Nate’s the one doubling over in laughter.
STONER NATE.. who no matter where he is, there’s a faint smell of weed clinging to him. He claims it’s because he “lives in the vibe,” but really, it’s because he’s perpetually lighting up.
STONER NATE.. who’s also the guy who has a crumpled pack of rolling papers in his pocket at all times.
STONER NATE.. who loves dropping “profound” thoughts that are really just common sense. For example:
“You ever think about how the sky is just… the Earth’s blanket?”
“Money’s just paper, man. Like, what even is a dollar?”
He thinks he’s deep, and honestly, no one has the heart to tell him otherwise.
STONER NATE.. who is the guy who “accidentally” ends up at every party, concert, or hangout. He’ll show up uninvited with a shrug and a grin, saying, “I heard this was the spot, man.”No one ever questions it because his chill energy is oddly comforting.
STONER NATE.. who’s infamous for saying, “Yo, you got snacks?” within five minutes of showing up anywhere.
STONER NATE.. raids your fridge without asking, then apologizes with a mouth full of chips.
STONER NATE.. who has an unassuming talent for painting and doodling. His notebooks are filled with trippy, colorful designs that blow people’s minds when they see them.
STONER NATE.. who once painted a mural in his friend’s basement while stoned out of his mind, and now it’s the ultimate chill spot.
STONER NATE.. who might not remember the details of your story later, but in the moment, he’s the guy who will sit and listen to your problems while nodding sagely.
STONER NATE.. who’s is always something vague like, “You just gotta, like, follow the vibe, man.”
STONER NATE.. who absolutely loves animals and will drop everything to pet a dog or rescue a stray cat.
STONER NATE.. who secretly befriended the neighborhood raccoons, who he feeds leftover pizza crusts.
STONER NATE.. who never seems to have money, but he’ll gladly share whatever he has, whether it’s his last joint or a bag of chips.
STONER NATE.. has a knack for collecting the perfect records/cds for any situation. His mixtapes are legendary, filled with everything from Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin to groovy, obscure B-sides. (Lowkey fucks with jazz a lot)
STONER NATE.. who whenever Chris’s antics start to go too far, he’s always the one who steps in with a chill, “Yo, man, maybe let’s not do that.”
STONER NATE.. somehow diffuses tension without actually doing much—his calm presence alone is enough to make people relaxed
@lovelymylene <3
Would absolutely love some more teenage dirtbag hamzah.. maybe smth like meeting/getting to know his friends (aka Martin n Mandy)
The Booth at BENNY’S
70s hamzah..
The first time you meet Hamzah’s friends, it’s at some dimly lit pizza joint called Benny’s, the kind of place with cracked red vinyl booths and a jukebox that only half works. The whole place smells like melted cheese and grease, and the floors are just sticky enough to remind you that generations of teenagers have sat exactly where you are now, huddled in a booth, stealing fries off each other’s plates, talking about nothing and everything at once.
Hamzah’s next to you, his arm draped lazily along the back of the seat, fingers just barely grazing your shoulder. It’s casual, but it’s something. He keeps glancing at you like he’s trying to read your expression, make sure you’re okay, because Martin is a lot. He’d warned you about that on the way over.
“He overstimulates people,” Hamzah had said, cigarette balanced between his lips as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping out some invisible rhythm against his knee. “Talks too much, says weird shit, but he means well. And Mandy’s cool. She’s just—” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’ll see.”
Now, you see.
Martin is across from you, mid-story about the time he saw a guy punch through a vending machine because his Snickers got stuck. He’s reenacting the whole thing, wild gestures, full sound effects, even a dramatic recreation of the guy’s emotional breakdown afterward. “Dude fell to his knees, right there in the hallway. Hands bleeding, Snickers in his mouth, just sobbing. It was beautiful.”
You’re not sure if the story is real, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s entertaining.
Mandy is next to him, sipping her soda like she’s heard this one before. Which, she probably has. She catches you watching her and just smirks, leaning in a little. “Don’t let him overwhelm you. If you ignore him long enough, he short-circuits.”
“I do not,” Martin protests, offended.
She just raises an eyebrow and turns back to you. “So. What’s your deal?”
Hamzah shifts beside you, like he’s nervous about what you’ll say, but you just tell her the basics, where you’re from, what you do, how you met Hamzah. The last part gets Martin’s attention.
“Wait, wait, wait— let me guess,” he interrupts, squinting dramatically at you. “You saw him from across the room, all broody and mysterious, and just had to know who he was.”
Hamzah groans, kicking him under the table. “Shut the fuck up.”
Martin grins, undeterred. “Or—or maybe he said some deep poetic shit and won you over, huh? That sounds like him. Just staring at the stars, all like, ‘You ever think about how small we are in the grand scheme of things?’
You snort, shaking your head. “Actually, he just asked if I had a lighter.”
Martin slams his fist on the table like you’ve just told him the greatest joke of all time. “CLASSIC.”
Hamzah groans again, sinking lower into the booth, but you can tell he’s smiling a little.
The conversation keeps flowing, movies, music, the weirdest things you’ve ever seen on public transport. Martin jumps from topic to topic like a pinball, Mandy rolling her eyes but still smirking at him like she secretly finds it funny. Hamzah mostly listens, watching you more than he watches them, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll laugh at the right moments, if you’ll understand their inside jokes, if you’ll, fit.
And you do.
Somewhere between stealing the last slice of pizza off Hamzah’s plate and making Mandy laugh with some dumb story about your childhood, you realize you’re not nervous anymore. You like them. And, maybe more importantly, they like you.
Hamzah nudges your knee under the table, subtle but warm, and when you glance over, he’s already looking at you. Soft. Happy. Like he knew this would work out all along.
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CHALLENGERS — suggestive, no smut, implied smut
frat rafe cameron and frat saxon ratliff x 𝒜ngel reader
The party is loud, music pounding through the walls, the air thick with alcohol, sweat, and something dangerous humming beneath it all. You’re not supposed to be here, not really. You’re the kind of person who shows up at these things with a friend, clutches a red cup full of something you won’t finish, and smiles politely at the chaos around you. You don’t belong in the thick of it. You never do.
And yet, here you are.
Standing by the makeshift beer pong table, watching Saxon Ratliff and Rafe Cameron destroy their opponents with a kind of reckless confidence that makes it look easy. Rafe is silent, his jaw locked, eyes razor-sharp as he lines up his shot, sinking another ball without so much as a smirk. Saxon, though, Saxon is eating this up, grinning as he flexes his fingers, talking shit with a voice that’s way too smooth for someone half a bottle deep.
They’re winning. Of course, they are.
Saxon catches your gaze mid-laugh, eyes flicking to you like he knew you were watching him before you even realized you were. His grin widens, and he raises the ball between his fingers, tilting his head in your direction.
“C’mere.”
You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to, but because the way he’s looking at you, like he knows something you don’t, makes your stomach twist in ways it shouldn’t.
Still, you move closer, slow, your fingers tightening around your cup. Saxon’s already reaching for you by the time you do, fingers brushing against your wrist, warm and confident.
“Give it a kiss,” he murmurs. “For good luck.”
Your lips part, heat crawling up your neck. “That’s stupid.”
He smirks. “Yeah? Do it anyway.”
You should say no. You really should. But Saxon’s looking at you like he knows you won’t, like he’s already won this game, and somehow, that’s worse. So you do it. You lean in, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss against the ping-pong ball, and you swear he breathes a laugh when you do, quiet and full of something slow and smug.
And then, of course, he makes the shot.
The room erupts into chaos, drinks spilling, voices rising. Saxon basks in it, dragging a hand through his hair as he turns back to you, his grin full of something victorious. Rafe just shakes his head, exhaling sharply like he’s unimpressed, but the way his eyes flick to you as he takes a swig of his drink tells you otherwise.
And that should be it. That should be the end of it. But somehow, it isn’t.
Because now they’re both following you around the party, circling you like you’re something to be won. And maybe you are.
“You a freshman?” Saxon asks, leaning way too close, his breath warm against your temple.
“Sophomore,” you murmur.
Rafe hums, standing just behind you, the contrast between their energies almost dizzying. Where Saxon is all heat and teasing touches, fingers ghosting against your waist, your wrist, your shoulder, Rafe is steady, quiet, eyes dark as they flicker down to the way your breath catches.
“You look like you don’t belong here,” Rafe observes, and there’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel small and exposed.
Your throat tightens. “I was invited.”
Saxon grins, tilting his head. “Yeah? By who?”
You glance away. That was probably the wrong thing to say.
Rafe’s hand brushes against the small of your back, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing something. “What’s your major?”
You swallow. “Film.”
Saxon laughs, deep and slow. “That makes sense.”
Your brows pull together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Saxon just smirks, but Rafe, Rafe leans in closer, his voice barely above a murmur. “Means you’re soft,” he says, his breath teasing the shell of your ear. “All sweet and careful.”
Saxon chuckles. “You one of those girls that reads romance novels and thinks she’s above all this?”
You open your mouth to argue, but it’s useless, they’re talking like you aren’t even here, like you’re something fragile between them, something to be studied and toyed with.
“Bet she’s never even done a keg stand,” Saxon teases.
Rafe smirks. “Bet she hasn’t even funneled a beer.”
Your face burns. “That’s not exactly—”
“You drink whiskey?” Saxon interrupts.
Your lips press together. “Not really.”
Rafe leans against the wall beside you, watching the way Saxon tips back his cup, throat bobbing as he swallows. “Not really,” Rafe repeats, shaking his head like that’s amusing.
Saxon grins, reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s cute,” he says, and the worst part is, you can’t even tell if he’s mocking you.
Your stomach tightens. “I should go find my friends.”
Saxon tuts, fingers grazing the back of your neck like he’s barely holding himself back. “They can wait.”
Rafe smirks. “Yeah. We’re having fun.”
And the worst part?
They’re right.
The party only grows louder, the heat of bodies pressed together making the air feel suffocating. But somehow, with them, Saxon grinning, Rafe watching, their touches light but deliberate, it’s not the crowd that has your head spinning. It’s them.
You don’t know how it happens. Maybe it’s the way Saxon’s hand finds the small of your back as he leans in, murmuring something low and teasing in your ear. Maybe it’s the way Rafe lingers, his gaze burning into you like he’s unraveling you thread by thread.
Or maybe it’s the way they move, together, separate, effortless in their control.
You don’t know how it happens, but suddenly, you’re upstairs.
The music is muffled from here, the dim hallway a stark contrast to the chaos below. Saxon tugs you forward with an ease that should scare you, but it doesn’t. Not really. He kicks open a door, stepping inside like he owns the place, and Rafe follows, the door clicking shut behind him.
You should leave. You should say something. But Saxon’s already tilting his head at you, his grin lazy and amused.
“C’mere, pretty.”
You swallow. Your feet move before you can think, drawn into the gravity of him.
Saxon’s fingers ghost over your hip, the heat of his touch barely there but still enough to make you shiver. Rafe is behind you now, solid and unyielding, his presence alone making your pulse stutter.
Saxon tips his head, his gaze flickering over your face. “You nervous?”
“No,” you whisper, though the way your breath catches betrays you.
Rafe chuckles, low and knowing. “Liar.”
His hand finds your waist, steady, grounding, and then Saxon’s fingers are brushing your jaw, tilting your chin up. You barely have a second to think before his lips are on yours.
Soft at first, slow, like he’s savoring it. But then he deepens it, his fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you closer, swallowing the quiet sound that escapes you.
And then he’s gone.
Your eyes flutter open, dazed, breath uneven. Saxon smirks, running his tongue over his bottom lip like he can still taste you.
“Pretty,” he murmurs.
Your stomach tightens.
And then, Rafe.
He doesn’t hesitate. His hand tilts your chin up just enough before his lips are on yours, rougher, more demanding, like he’s proving something. You whimper against him, and he makes a sound low in his throat, his other hand finding your hip, gripping just enough to make you ache.
When he pulls back, his breath fans against your cheek, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Baby,” he murmurs.
You shudder.
Saxon chuckles, his fingers tracing the bare skin of your arm. “Think she likes that.”
Rafe smirks. “Think she does too.”
And then, Saxon’s mouth finds your neck.
Warm and slow, teasing kisses against the sensitive skin, his breath hot as he hums against you. Your head tips back before you can stop it, lips parting as your hands find his shoulders.
Rafe watches. And then he’s there too, his lips tracing the other side of your neck, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers skimming the curve of your waist.
You should stop this. You should pull away.
But you don’t.
Because when Saxon grins against your skin and murmurs, “You’re so damn pretty,” and Rafe drags his lips up to your ear, whispering, “You like this, don’t you, baby?”
You can’t bring yourself to deny it.
taglist.. @italiansunsetss @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @yearlyism @itsyagrillkat
Just watched a white lotus interview and Lochlan is going for my girl piper next STAY AWAY FROM HER I WONT LET YOU HURT MY BABY
What if I wrote something for dad!saxon with a poc mom!gf.. actually forget I asked I’m writing this
I finally found the little shops of horrid slime tut if anyone wants it
Their random pair group science project in THE 70s
CHRIS & HAMZAH – ELECTRICITY
Why They Got Paired: Mr. Calloway assigned them when they both took too long picking a partner.
Where They Worked: Chris’s basement, but mostly just goofed off.
How They Split the Work: Chris insisted he had a “vision” for the project but did no actual research. Hamzah tried to take notes but kept getting sidetracked by Chris’s nonsense.
Final Grade: C-.
WORKING TOGETHER
Chris and Hamzah met up at Chris’s house on Saturday afternoon, but calling it a “work session” would be a stretch. Chris’s basement was dimly lit, old band posters peeling off the walls, a stack of records leaning against a dusty turntable. A single lightbulb flickered overhead, which Chris immediately used as a teachable moment.
“See that?” he said, pointing dramatically. “Electricity, man. That’s our project right there. The light flickers, and boom. science.”
Hamzah exhaled through his nose. “That is literally not how that works.”
Chris flopped onto the couch, tossing a football in the air. “Yeah, but like… imagine if we just walked in, pointed at the lights, and said, ‘Electricity. You need it. We got it.’ Then sat back down.”
Hamzah ran a hand down his face. “I cannot fail this class, dude.”
Chris sat up, suddenly serious. “You think I’m gonna let you fail? Trust me, I got this.”
He did not have this.
By the time Sunday night rolled around, all they had was a half-finished poster with the words Electricity: It’s Important! scrawled across the top in marker. Hamzah, fully resigned to his fate, shook his head.
“We’re bombing this.”
Chris grinned. “Nah, man. We got charisma. That’s half the battle.”
PRESENTATION DAY
Standing at the front of the classroom, Chris tried to hold it together. Hamzah, on the other hand, was already choking back laughter.
“Alright,” Chris started, gripping the edge of the poster like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “So, electricity. You need it. We got it.”
Hamzah pressed a fist to his mouth, shoulders shaking.
“It’s, uh… real important,” he managed, voice cracking slightly.
Chris cleared his throat.
“Right. So. Electricity comes from, uh, power plants… and lightning. And, like, when you plug stuff in, boom. It works.”
Mr. Calloway pinched the bridge of his nose. “Explain the diagram.”
Chris turned to their hastily drawn diagram of a battery, wires, and a lightbulb, none of which were labeled.
“Right, so you got electrons. They, uh, zoom through wires—”
Hamzah, tears in his eyes while scratching the back of his neck, added, “Not scientifically accurate, but sure.”
Chris powered through.
“And they make stuff work. That’s basically it.”
A silence hung in the air. Then, from the back of the room, Nate muttered, “Genius.”
The class erupted into laughter.
MANDY & QUEN – PHOTOSYNTHESIS
Why They Got Paired: They picked each other.
Where They Worked: The library, but mostly spent time laughing, giggling, gossiping.
How They Split the Work: Mandy did the research. Quen made the project visually appealing and cute.
Final Grade: A-.
WORKING TOGETHER
Mandy and Quen sat at a library table, surrounded by open textbooks and crumpled notes.
“So, photosynthesis,” Mandy said, flipping through a book. “It’s how plants turn sunlight into energy. They take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen.”
Quen twirled a pen between her fingers. “So, plants are out here minding their business, making their own food, not needing anyone?”
Mandy smirked. “Exactly.”
Quen tapped her chin. “Independent queens. Love that.”
Mandy rolled her eyes but was clearly amused. “Yes, Quen. Plants are independent queens.”
Quen grinned and started sketching a tree with sunglasses onto their poster.
PRESENTATION DAY
Mandy stood confidently at the front of the room while Quen adjusted their colorful poster on the chalkboard.
“Photosynthesis is the process in which plants convert sunlight into energy,” Mandy explained.
Quen nodded, leaning into the mic. “Basically, plants are self-sufficient badasses.”
Mr. Calloway sighed. “Academic language, please.”
Mandy fought a smile. “Right. Plants absorb sunlight through chlorophyll, take in carbon dioxide, and release oxygen. It’s why we can breathe.”
Quen gasped. “Breathing?! I love doing that.”
The class chuckled.
MATT & MARTIN – THE SCIENCE OF SOUND
Why They Got Paired: They were the last ones left.
Where They Worked: Martin’s attic, surrounded by random junk.
How They Split the Work: Matt tried to keep things on track. Martin kept derailing into weird facts.
Final Grade: B.
WORKING TOGETHER
Matt sat on the floor with a notebook, actually trying to work. Martin was balancing a spinning record on one finger.
“Did you know the loudest sound ever recorded was from a volcano in 1863?” Martin said suddenly.
Matt sighed. “Martin.”
“People heard it from 3,000 miles away. Imagine just chillin’ and then—BAM—volcano.”
“Martin, focus.”
“This is focus.”
Matt gave up.
PRESENTATION DAY
Matt cleared his throat. “Sound is made when vibrations travel through the air and reach your eardrum.”
Martin grinned. “Also, dolphins use echolocation, which means they’re basically underwater superheroes.”
Matt exhaled slowly. “Please ignore him.”
Mr. Calloway rubbed his temples.
“Moving on.”

Mr. Calloway sat back in his as the bell rang chair, rubbing his temples as the last presentation ended. Some were disasters, some were impressive, and some were just… what they were.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s just hope the next two project turns out better.”
taglist.. @italiansunsetss @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @yearlyism @cinnamoncunt
PARTY at my’s *mwah
ִ ࣪ ⋆𓂅 MYLENE.. ❛she/her, 19, blk, taurus, movies, pink girly, stevie wonder, billy joel, uptown girl, hamzah, the french dispatch, 70s, gold jewelry, romanticism, malcomb todd, pineapple, raspberry ice tea, blush blind, saturday night, purple rain, dessert, dylan o’brien, princess diaries, classy cunty, dior lip gloss, women, kitten heels, mwah❜
master-list taglist playlists
