#and he sees that in sunday and wants to help him out of it

[willowsnook]

Papaya Was Never the Problem

request: Y/N spends months crushing on Lando, only to be heartbroken when he moves on with someone else. Ready for something real, she realizes she had her eyes on the wrong McLaren driver all along—maybe it was Pato she should’ve seen from the start.

pato o’ward x reader

—----------------------------------

Your 16-year-old self would be disgusted at you if she knew that you’d be 23 and simping over a man who did not feel the same about you. But you couldn’t help it, everytime you thought it was over, Lando would pull your right back in. 

It wasn’t really even his fault, you had both agreed to keep things casual, that you weren’t looking for anything more. But somewhere along the line, it became a little blurred. You tried to take a step back, but everytime you did he pulled you right back closer. Whether it was random flowers he sent to your door, making sure that everyone knew he took your opinion the most serious out of all the McLaren strategists, or coming over to watch a movie and not hooking up. 

You felt crazy. You knew logically that you needed to cut it off but damn you just loved his attention. He could make you feel like you were the only girl in the world. 

But you knew that wasn’t the case. If you weren’t there on his arm, someone else was. It was never anything serious – until it was. 

It was a race day just like any other and you were buried in data, trying to figure out what you could do between now and qualifying to ensure Lando started P1 on Sunday. You had been at it for a while now, interrupted only by the clearing of a throat. Max Fewtrell stood next to your desk, and the look on his face had you instantly stopping. He looked…guilty? 

“What’s up?” You asked, and he hesitated. 

“I need to tell you something that is going to hurt you,” he started. “But you’ve become one of my closest friends so I can’t let this go on any longer.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, heartbeat raising. 

“Lando is bringing his girlfriend ot the race tomorrow,” Max said and it felt like you had been doused with a cold bucket of water. 

“Girlfriend?” You asked, the word foreign on your tongue. 

"Yeah," Max winced. "I'm so sorry. I thought you knew. It's serious apparently. They've been together for a few months."

A few months. The words echoed in your mind as you tried to process what Max was telling you. All those nights, all those moments that felt like something more—they had meant nothing.

"Who is she?" The question left your lips before you could stop it.

"Some model he met at a party in Monaco." Max's hand came to rest on your shoulder. "You deserve better, Y/N. You always have."

You nodded numbly, tears threatening to spill. "Thanks for telling me."

After Max left, you sat motionless at your desk, staring at the data that suddenly seemed so meaningless. Months of your life wasted on someone who had been leading you on while building a relationship with someone else.

The next day, you kept your head down, focusing entirely on work. When you spotted Lando in the garage, you ducked out of the way, avoiding him for as long as you could. You were forced to finally see him during the pre-race briefing and you doing everything in your power to not look at him did not go unnoticed. 

“Y/n,” Lando called as everyone walked out. “Can we talk?”

You nodded, gaining the courage to look him on the eye. You knew he knew what was happening the second his eyes met yours. 

“I-I I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I should have told you, but we always said it was casual between us right?” 

“Why didn’t you just say something?” You asked, your sadness melting into anger. “Like what’s fucking wrong with you Lando?”

He flinched at your tone, the guilt written all over his face. “I know. I just wanted both of you as long as I could have it.”

“And then you decided that you wanted her more,” you said for him, your heart ripping in half. “Quite frankly I never want to see you again.” 

Hurt flashed across his face but you didn’t give him a chance to respond, moving past him and out the door. 

The race went horribly. Lando dropped from P2 to P10 and it was just a disaster all around. You knew it was your last race, you’d made the decision last night, before even talking to Lando. There were plenty of things you could do with an engineering degree so you weren’t worried. You could go anywhere you wanted. Away from all of this. 

Zak was in a conference room when you found him and you shut the door behind you as you walked in. He looked up at you in surprise, the doom and gloom from the race on his face. 

“Hey y/n, tough day today,” he said and you nodded. “What can I do for you?” 

“I’m going to be leaving McLaren,” you told him, trying to not let your voice waver. This was your first job and you loved the people here. Loved the work, the environment, everything. But you couldn’t stay. 

“What?” Zak veered back, shocked. “After one bad race?” 

“It’s more than one bad race,” you said quietly and in that moment he knew. He’d seen the two of you together, and wasn’t the only McLaren employee that was confused by another girl’s presence today. 

“What are you going to do?” He asked and you shrugged. 

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted and he shook his head. 

“Y/n, you are one of the most talented young strategists we’ve come across,” he told you. “I can’t let you leave.” 

“I can’t stay Zak,” you said, exasperated. He thought for a moment before lighting up. 

“IndyCar,” he said and your eyebrows furrowed. “If you’re okay to move, let me put you on one of our IndyCar teams, probably Patos.” 

You hesitated. You were open to moving somewhere new and across an ocean was pretty far away from Lando. Plus you’d get to stay in racing, which was definitely ideal. 

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you said and Zak grinned. 

“It’s settled then.” 

—-----------------------------------------

“Welcome to Indianapolis!” Your new coworker, Hannah beamed at you from outside of the Arrow-McLaren office in downtown Indy. 

“Thank you,” you said politely.

“I know we don’t go to as many glamorous places as you’re used to but Indy is pretty historic for racing,” she said. 

“Yeah, I actually grew up in Kansas City,” you told her and her eyes widened it surprise. “So I’m familiar with all of this, even if it’s been a while. “

“Sorry! They never tell me anything,” she grumbled. 

“No worries,” you told her sweetly. She led you through the lobby and to the upstairs floor, where different mechanics were working. She was around your age so you felt comfortable chatting with her, happy to have someone to be friends with in a new place. 

“Okay Tony is waiting for you in his office up there,” she told you and you thanked her before stepping into the room. 

“Ahh, y/n, pleasure to meet you,” Tony said, standing up to shake your hand. “Zak sings your praises all the time so I’m happy we got to steal you away.” 

“I’m happy to be here,” you said, sitting down across from him. 

“I’m going to put you on Pato’s team - he’s our best driver here and I think you guys will get along,” he said and you nodded. “Ah here he is, Pato! Come in here for a sec.” 

You turned as the door opened, and in walked a man you'd seen on TV but never in person. Pato O'Ward had a vibrant energy to him, his smile genuine as he entered the room. His eyes landed on you, and for a moment, you felt a flutter of something you couldn't quite place.

"Welcome to the team," he said, extending his hand. His accent was thick but endearing. "Tony has been talking about you all week."

"Has he?" You shook his hand, noticing the calluses that came from gripping a steering wheel for hours on end.

"All good things," Tony assured you. "Pato, Y/N is coming to us from the F1 team. She's one of their top strategists."

"Was," you corrected with a small smile. "I'm all IndyCar now."

"Well, their loss is our gain," Pato said, his gaze not leaving yours. You smiled shyly before turning back to Tom. 

“Well, let’s get started.”

—------------------------------------

IndyCar was a whole new puzzle to crack, but you were loving the challenge. The other strategists had welcomed you with open arms, eager to hear your ideas for the car as you headed into a race weekend. 

Pato was fast, but Alex Palou was faster and it was a problem you were drowning trying to figure it out. It was late, the warm air of Riverside blowing gently through your hair as you stepped outside, eager to take a break. No one else was at the track, just you and a bunch of numbers, just like you preferred it. 

Switching to IndyCar had been a good move. Max had called you a couple of times to check in and you were honest when you told him: you were happy here. Much happier than you were back there. You’d become fast friends with Hannah, and she’d introduced you to her friends, quickly accepting you into the group. 

Working with Pato was a breeze. He was focused and driven but also fun and lighthearted. You ignored the way you caught him looking at you every once in a while. You’d seen that look before, just on a different man in a papaya suit. 

“What are you still doing here?” 

Speak of the devil, you see Pato coming up to you, a boyish smile on his face. You smile back, appreciating the way the track lights hit his face. 

“Trying to get you a win,” you said and he laughed. 

“I thought I was supposed to be doing that,” he replied and you shook your head amused, turning back to stare out at the track. 

"No, I think it's a team effort," you replied, leaning against the railing. "I'm just used to working late. It's a hard habit to break."

"You don't have to do that here," Pato said, moving to stand beside you. His shoulder brushed against yours, and you tried to ignore the warmth that spread through you at the contact.

"I want to," you admitted. "I want to prove that I belong here."

"You already have," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Everyone can see how talented you are."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. There was something in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," you said softly. "That means a lot."

A comfortable silence fell between you as you both gazed out at the empty track. The distant sound of cicadas filled the air and you were too lost in your own thoughts to see the way Pato was looking at you.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence. “I was supposed to meet you last year in Brazil but I was told to stay away.” 

“By who?” You asked, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you turned to look at him. You sighed as you saw his face, already knowing the answer. “Lando.”

“Mhm,” Pato answered. “Is that why you came here?” 

“Yes,” you said honestly. “I needed a fresh start.” 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said and you looked at him once again, his eyes on yours. “He didn’t deserve you.” 

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing to him. "You don't even know me," you said softly, but there was no bite to your words.

"I know enough," Pato replied, his voice gentle. "I know you work harder than anyone else on the team. I know you care about the success of everyone around you, not just yourself. And I know that anyone who couldn't see what they had with you is an idiot."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You're just saying that because I'm trying to get you a win."

"No," he said, turning to face you fully now. "I'm saying it because it's true."

The intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. For months, you'd been so focused on getting over Lando, on proving yourself in this new environment, that you hadn't allowed yourself any opportunity to open your heart.

“I can’t start something with you Pato,” you said sadly. “No matter how much I want to. I can’t go through it again.” 

“I don’t think you understand that it would be completely different,” he said but you didn’t say anything, just looked down at your hands. “Okay, if I have to spend the rest of the season proving that to you then I will.” 

��----------------------------------------------------------------

It felt like you were back in F1, watching Max lurking like a shark in the background, quickly gaining on whoever was in front of him like a shark who had seen it’s prey. Except this time the shark was Alex Palou and Pato was unfortunately the prey. Pato had led almost the whole race but Alex did what he did best: win. 

The garage was dejected, despite taking second and third and you fully expected the silent treatment from the drivers. Lando always shut down after races, always so in his head that there was no point in talking to him. Pato was quiet during the debrief but you were used to it so it didn’t bother you. 

Picking up your stuff, you headed out the door. Pato was waiting for you outside and you looked at him in surprise. You would have expected him to get back to the hotel as soon as possible. 

“Do you have plans?” He asked and you shook your head. He was still in his fireproofs, sweat and champagne stained on his face. “Get something to eat with me and talk about the race?”

“We just had a chance to talk about it, but you didn’t say much,” you countered and he rolled his eyes. 

“I just want to talk to you right now, okay? I’ll talk to the rest of the team when we’re back in Indy,” he said. 

You hesitated, caught off guard by his directness. This wasn't what you expected after a race that didn't go his way. But there was something in his eyes—an earnestness that made it impossible to say no.

"Okay," you agreed. "But you should probably change first."

He grinned, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Give me ten minutes."

True to his word, Pato emerged from the motorhome shortly after, dressed in jeans and a simple black t-shirt that hugged his frame. You tried not to stare.

"There's a little place around the corner that's pretty good," he said, leading you away from the track. "I found it last year."

The restaurant was small and unassuming, tucked away from the main streets where most of the racing crowd would go. The hostess greeted Pato by name, clearly recognizing the driver and led you to a table in the back. 

"So," you said, taking a sip of your wine. "Second place isn't bad."

"It's not first," he replied, but there wasn't any bitterness in his tone. "Palou is just... consistently good. But we're getting closer."

“We have the advantage on some of the upcoming tracks though – you’ve performed better than he has in the past.” 

Pato’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a smirk growing on his face. “Watching my old races huh?”

You rolled your eyes but a smile was evident on your face. “Doing my job.” 

The rest of dinner was spent going through the race almost lap by lap until you really just had nothing left to say. Pato paid the tab and held out his hand to you almost challenging as he got up. You rolled your eyes but took it, letting him lead you out of the restaurant. 

“Tired?” He asked, once you were outside and you nodded. “Okay let’s get you home cariño.”

You blushed at the term of endearment and he grinned widely before tugging you along to the car. The ride back to the hotel was short and he walked you back up to your room, gently pressing his lips against your cheek before saying goodbye. 

Remember what happened with Lando

Remember what happened with Lando

Remember what happened with Lando

You chanted this to yourself as you got into your room but it was becoming hard. Pato seemed to be everything Lando was not but you had built up a lot of walls around your heart. You still didn’t know what you wanted, not sure if you could handle another situationship during a season just hoping that it could be something more in the offseason. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

There was a few weeks in between races so you packed your bags to head off to a nice vacation during your free time. Hannah had begged you to join her and her friends so you found yourself on the sunny beaches of Punta Mita, baking in the Mexican sun. By day three of the vacation your skin had a nice glow to it and you decided you never wanted to go home. 

You were sitting on loungers outside with your friends watching the sunset, a margarita in your hands when you saw a familiar face sitting at another lounge area, his eyes trained on you. Your head snapped towards Hannah who looked over your shoulder then smirked. 

“Did you know he was going to be here?” You asked. 

“I swear I didn’t, but I’m definitely not complaining,” she said with a smirk and you groaned. Soon enough, Pato was walking over with his friends, asking if they could join you all. The seat you were sitting on was definitely big enough for two so you begrudgingly scooted over as Pato plopped down next to you. His arm rested behind you on the back of the lounger and he gave you a small smile. 

“Hola hermosa,” he said cheekily and you couldn’t help but smile at his antics. 

“Are you stalking me Pato O’Ward?” You said and he let his head dip backwards, laughing. 

“Oof, using my full name, does that mean I’m in trouble?” He asked. 

“Maybe,” you teased. 

“I’d love to see what the punishment is,” he murmured, eyes flickering down to your chest. Your face flamed which only made his smirk deepen. He pulled you in closer to his side and you panicked, feeling yours and his friend’s knowing eyes. 

“Pato, everyone can see us,” you whispered. 

“Kind of the point cariño,” he replied, letting his hand fall to rest on your upper arm, tracing the skin with his finger. You started to say something else but he jumped into a conversation with his friend next to him. 

You couldn't help but feel conflicted as you sat nestled against Pato's side, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. The sun was setting over the ocean, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and pinks, and despite your internal protests, this felt... right.

After a couple more rounds of drinks, the group decided to head to a nearby restaurant for dinner. Pato's hand found the small of your back as you walked, guiding you through the crowded beachfront. The gesture was small, but intentional. Public. A statement.

"You're not being very subtle," you murmured as you reached the restaurant.

"I'm not trying to be," he replied, his eyes meeting yours. "I told you I would prove that I'm different."

At dinner, Pato insisted on sitting next to you, his leg occasionally brushing against yours under the table. The conversation flowed easily, most of his friends having been around a lot of his racing so they could keep up with you and Hannah. When it died down, most of the group decided to turn in for the night but you weren’t ready to retire just yet. 

“Walk with me?” You asked Pato and he nodded, slipping his hand into yours as you headed down the shoreline. Being with Pato was easy. You were never stressed, never waiting for the second ball to drop. 

He walked you back to the resort, stopping before the staircase that led up to your floor. You turend to him in confusion but were cut off by his lips against yours. They moved slowly and you found yourself moving against him, bringing your hand up to cup his face. His rested on your waist, holding you close to him. 

You pulled away after a bit, biting your lip as you stared at him. 

“What are you thinking cariño?” He asked. 

You hesitated, heart hammering in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the warmth of the kiss still lingering on your lips, or the way his voice sounded like honey under the moonlight, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“I like you,” you admitted, eyes dropping to the sand. “But I’m not sure I want to do this again, just be someone there for your convenience not able to commit during the season. I’ve already done that before.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, one you almost regretted the second you said it. But Pato didn't say anything right away. His expression shifted, the playfulness draining from his face, replaced by something sharper—something that almost looked like hurt.

“Wow,” he finally said, his voice low. “You really think that little of me?”

Your eyes widened, head snapping up. “Pato, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You meant it. And maybe that’s on me—maybe I was too forward, maybe I made this all feel too easy. But I’m not him, Y/N.”

He took a step back, still looking at you like you’d just slapped him.

“I’ve never once treated you like an option. I never played games. I’ve shown up, I’ve been honest, and I’ve waited—for you to see me, to trust me. And I would’ve kept waiting if you needed more time.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, and it cut you to your core.

“I’m not asking you to be mine right now,” he added. “I’m not asking you to give me anything you’re not ready for. But I am asking you to stop treating me like a placeholder for your past.”

Your throat tightened, your own eyes stinging with tears you didn’t expect.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Pato nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll wait for you as long as you need, Y/N. But only if you’re willing to believe I’m worth waiting for too.”

And then he turned, starting to walk back toward the resort, leaving you with your bare feet in the sand and your heart unraveling in your hands.

—----------------------------------

You didn’t hear from Pato for the rest of the break and you tried to not think about the silence. It was hard to not compare him to Lando but it felt like you were right back in it. Big fight, usually a misunderstanding, and then he wouldn’t look at you and you’d pretend it didn’t hurt. 

That’s why you were dreading the return to the office, you knew he was going to be there today and you weren’t ready for the silent treatment in person. Hannah gave you a sympathetic look when she saw you, having heard everything that happened when you both travelled home. You spent the first half of the day at your computer, analyzing some data before deciding to get up to grab some coffee. 

Rounding the corner you ran straight into someone, your sorrys were cut off by two arms wrapping around you, pulling you into their chest. 

“Hola hermosa,” Pato whispered into your ear and you relaxed into him, letting your guard down. You couldn’t help the tears starting to gather in your eyes as he pulled away. “Oh cariño, what’s wrong?” 

You tried blinking away the tears, but one fell and was quickly swiped away by his fingers. 

"I thought you were going to be mad at me," you admitted, voice shaky. "I thought you wouldn't want to talk to me anymore."

Pato's face softened, understanding replacing his initial concern. "Is that what he would have done? Gone silent on you?"

You nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

"Look at me," Pato said gently, tilting your chin up. "I meant what I said on the beach. I'm not him. I was hurt, yes. I needed space to think, but I wasn't going to throw away what we have because of one fight."

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "For comparing you to him. For not trusting that you're different."

"I know," he replied, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "And I'm sorry I walked away. I should have stayed, talked it through."

The admittance that he could have done something differently didn’t go unnoticed by you and you started to say something else when someone called out your name. 

“Y/n!”

You turned around to see Zak Brown coming down the hallway and your face broke out into a massive smile. 

“Zak,” you greeted and he pulled you into a bear hug, lifting you off your feet. 

“Oh how I’ve missed you,” your old boss said. “I hope you’ve been keeping up with the F1 races, I need your advice.”

“Of course you do,” you teased. Zak reached out to shake Pato’s hand before Pato excused himself to head to lunch. 

You walked with Zak to the conference room, chatting about the previous F1 races and what he was thinking. 

“I saw you and Pato,” he said as you reached the doors and you froze before deflating. 

“Just hopping from one driver to the next aren’t I?” You asked quietly. “I know what you’re going to say.” 

Zak looked at you carefully, “Lando didn’t deserve you, everyone knew that. But Pato’s different. He looks at you like you’re his whole world so what I was going to say is that I’m happy for you.”

You looked up at him in shock. "You think so?" you asked, a note of vulnerability in your voice that you rarely let anyone hear.

"Y/N, I've known Pato for years now," Zak said, leaning against the doorframe. "That man has always been passionate about racing, about winning. But I've never seen him look at anything the way he looks at you."

You felt warmth spread through your chest at his words.

"Besides," Zak continued with a knowing smile, "I didn't transfer you here just because you needed to get away from Lando. I sent you here because I thought you'd be brilliant with this team. And maybe, just maybe, I thought you and Pato might hit it off."

"You were playing matchmaker?" You laughed incredulously.

"Call it an executive decision," he winked. "Now, about these race strategies..."

The meeting with Zak flew by, and by the time you emerged from the conference room, it was late afternoon. You checked your phone to find a text from Pato.

Dinner tonight? My place. I'll cook.

After stopping by your own place to change into something comfier, you headed to Pato’s. He smiled as he opened the door when you knocked, stepping aside to let you in. 

“It smells amazing,” you commented. You knew you were no longer going to enjoy your family’s white people taco nights after just one glance at what was cooking in the kitchen. 

Pato grinned, stepping back over to the stove to stir something in a pan. “It’s my mom’s recipe,” he said. “I figured if I was going to earn your forgiveness, I should start with food.”

You laughed softly, walking toward the kitchen island. “You already have my forgiveness,” you said, watching the way he moved so confidently around the kitchen, barefoot and in a soft black t-shirt. “But if you want to impress me, this is definitely the right way to do it.”

“Good to know,” he said with a wink. “Because I plan to keep trying.”

Dinner was relaxed, the two of you sitting across from each other at his kitchen table, a bottle of wine between you. He kept your cheeks warm with compliments and your stomach sore from laughing. It was comfortable—easy in a way that didn’t scare you anymore.

After the dishes were done (you washed, he dried), Pato grabbed a blanket and led you out to the small balcony that overlooked downtown Indy. The sun had long set, but the glow of the city lights made everything feel soft and quiet.

You curled your legs beneath you as you settled onto the outdoor couch, Pato sitting next to you and draping the blanket over both your laps.

“It’s kind of wild,” you said after a few minutes, your voice low. “That I ended up here. That it took me going through all of that mess just to realize the right person was someone I hadn’t even met yet.”

Pato turned to look at you, his profile lit up by the warm patio light. “I hate that he made you feel like you were hard to love,” he said quietly. “Because being with you? It feels like the easiest thing in the world.”

You swallowed, heart thudding in your chest as you met his gaze. “I was so scared of getting it wrong again.”

“You didn’t,” he said, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You just hadn’t found the right person to get it right with.”

A beat passed between you before you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “Are we really doing this?” you whispered.

Pato smiled, the kind that reached his eyes. “We’ve been doing this for a while now, haven’t we?”

You kissed him again, slower this time—deeper. It didn’t feel like a maybe or a placeholder or a temporary distraction. It felt like a beginning. When you finally pulled away, Pato rested his hand against your cheek.

“So,” he said, eyes dancing, “do I get to call you mine now?”

You couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across your face. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I’d like that.”

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours again. “Because I’ve been yours since the day you walked into that office.”

And under the stars, wrapped in his arms, you finally believed it.

[sanjisblackasswife]

Thinking about Single Dad Toji

Blk Fem Reader

Single Father Toji that maybe in a different universe where even though his wife died he still managed to hold onto his promise of taking care of Megumi on his own, because he found something to live for.

Single Father Toji that doesn’t live in the worst apartment, but definitely isn’t the best one by any means. Just a small studio in the city with him and his baby boy.

Single Father Toji that still does his assassin job to help keep with bills so when he has to work he started leaving his 1 year old baby ALONE (Lord knows how he haven’t been arrested for this yet)

Single Father Toji that has no clue on how to raise a baby, but he just works off of instinct of what NOT to do based on his own childhood

Single Father Toji that some nights struggle to look Baby Megumi in the face because his eyes look too much like his late wife

Single Father Toji that goes to the laundromat every other Sunday with his baby boy and let him explore the washing machines, mesmerized by the clothes washing back and fourth and playing with some old train toy he gave him after he found it at work.

Single Father Toji that sees the pretty kind woman that comes around the same time he leaves arrive earlier to do her laundry.

She apologizes for interrupting them, noticing Toji’s natural mean mug when she walks in

She and his son immediately get along as he goes up to the lady and attempts to play with her.

Toji notices this and apologizes for him, but she doesn’t mind.

Her son was adorable to her.

Single Father Toji that notices how well she and her son always get along everytime they cross paths.

He notices the times she comes in to do her laundry and changes his near that time too so they can see her again, using the excuse “Megumi enjoys her company”

Single Father Toji that after a few weeks of getting to know her at the laundromat finds out she lives a few floors above him and offers to walk home with her.

Single Father Toji that now anticipates seeing her beautiful smile and calm presence, he’s still stand offish. Not wanting to reveal his living conditions to her, but still having an internal battle of wanting to let her in his life.

Megumi tells her anyway one evening and she didn’t judge. Instead, she offers to watch him while he’s at work since they both have opposite schedules.

She ends up allowing Megumi into her home and offers Toji for dinner one evening, he says she doesn’t owe him anything, but he realizes she just wanted his company not a hand out.

Single Father Toji that learns he wants to fill a void that has left him years ago with her, but only if she’s willing to be patient with him.

[lazysoulwriter]

lovesick puppy. - rafe cameron.

---

Everyone expects Rafe to be reckless, rough around the edges — the storm that never settles. But when it comes to you? He’s all sunshine and slow Sundays. The kind of gentle that makes people double take like wait, is that RAFE CAMERON???

He’s tucking your hair behind your ear during a keg party, completely ignoring the chaos around you. He’s wrapping his hoodie around your shoulders when it gets cold, without you asking. He’s got that hand on your lower back like you’re precious — like he’s making sure the world doesn’t even breathe wrong in your direction.

And the way he talks to you? Soft. Like his voice only works at 10% volume when you’re near. “You good, baby?” “You tired? I’ll drive.” “You want me to punch him? I won’t, but I will.”

Kooks and Pogues alike are watching him help you tie your shoes, lips parted, drinks frozen mid-air. Pope literally drops his cup. JJ whispers “what the f—” under his breath.

And when he calls you “sweetheart” with that lazy grin and a kiss to your temple?

Yeah. Shots fired. No one’s recovering.

-

It’s always something with Rafe. Always some dude looking at him wrong or running his mouth, and tonight’s no different.

You're barely back from the bar with your drink when you see it — Rafe chest-to-chest with some guy, jaw tight, fists clenched, eyes wild. That Cameron switch flipped and ready to throw hands.

The music fades into a buzz as you weave through the crowd, ignoring everyone calling your name. You know that look. You know what comes next if you don’t stop it.

You slide in front of him just before it escalates, placing a hand on his chest — firm, but gentle. Warm. His eyes drop to yours immediately. Still flaring, but confused now.

“Hey,” you say, soft but clear. “That’s bad boy behavior, baby.”

His brows twitch. “He—he said some—”

You shake your head, stepping closer, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. “Nope. I don’t care. You’re not like that anymore, remember? You’re my good boy now.”

That kills him.

You watch it in real time — the fight drain out of his shoulders, his jaw unclenching, like you flicked a switch. He looks away for a second, embarrassed almost. His hand drags down his face, and when he looks back at you, he’s already softened. Not for the guy. Not for the crowd. For you.

People around are stunned. You’re the only person in the Outer Banks who’s ever told Rafe Cameron what to do and lived. JJ’s watching from across the party with a full-on soap opera gasp. Even Topper looks impressed.

Rafe grumbles under his breath, “He was being a dick,” but his hands drop to your waist instead of someone’s jaw, and you just smirk.

“I know, baby,” you whisper, “but let’s go home instead. You can pout there in peace.”

And Rafe?

He follows. Like a lovesick puppy.

---

[chenlezip]

annas note: i know some of these aren’t proper love languages but i wanted to do something separately for each member! i hope i haven’t repeat anything… :/ it’s not proof read… please vouch for me if i have guys

ACTS OF SERVICE | MARK .

mark always pays attention to you, no matter what he’s doing. if he’s busy on his phone scrolling through socials, noticing that your skirt is slowly riding up, he carefully brings a hand toward it and pulls it down gently.

insists on carrying heavy bags, even just carrying your bag. no matter how many times you insist and say ‘no markie, ‘s light enough.’ he will make you give it to him so he can carry it on his shoulder.

if he notices you struggling with anything, oh he is right there instantly, helping you out and making everything better. "i saw you struggling, let me do it for you, hm? rest your pretty self."

SHARED EXPERIENCES | RENJUN .

renjun never usually says he misses you but you kind of get the hint when he invites you to do something with him - even if its just something as simple as going shopping or just going on a small walk to pick up some paint for his next painting.

he stores his best memories of you both in the back of his mind and usually tends to bring them up when you're both laying in bed together, "do you remember that time we got caught in the rain on our first date?" or "remember when i tripped over trying to get you ice cream because we were in such a hurry?"

he remembers all the firsts of your experiences together like: first movie you watched together, first silly inside joke, first time he realised he was in love during something totally mundane like making instant noodles at 2 in the morning after a long day. these things mean more to him than dramatic declarations.

QUALITY TIME | JENO .

as a homebody, jeno loves to be spending time indoors with you. making the most of it by watching a movie with you, or a show. he doesn’t mind. spending time with you is just worth it for him.

you both don’t need to speak, just being near each other is enough. you always find yourself sitting close to jeno, you love being by his side.

sunday mornings are the best for the both of you though. just laying in bed, all snuggled up under the covers, legs intertwined. your back against his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist and the other under your head. soft sighs, murmurs exiting your lips as you complain about not wanting to leave the covers.

PHYSICAL TOUCH | HAECHAN .

haechan will always have his hands on you, come on. who else would be clingy at 9am after just waking up. arms already wrapped around your waist, soft kisses trailing down your neck, his morning voice in your ear like a melody. “smells good, baby.”

whenever you’re sat somewhere, he always has a hand on the top of your knee or your thigh, gently squeezing sometimes. he loves doing it during a conversation you’ve noticed, either squeezing or playing piano chords on your leg. you don’t mind it though.

whenever you’re a little overwhelmed, haechan brings you to his side and wraps an arm around your shoulder, shushing you quietly and whispering sweet nothings while his hand trails small circles on your arm. his touch always calms you down, he knows what will calm you.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION | JAEMIN .

jaemin is always there, complimenting you or expressing how proud of you he was even if it was just something small you did. he loved letting you know, just saying anything that comes to mind like: “im so proud of you, baby.” “you did great, alright?”

he’s always reassuring you whenever you feel down or just out of place in the world. his words mean so much to you, he always knows exactly what to say. “you’re doing the best you can, all you can do is try. you can’t be expected to always do good. it’s natural, it’s a human process. don’t worry your pretty little head, hm? i’m here for you and i see you.”

jaemin likes leaving a little something in your bag or just on the kitchen counter if he has to leave before you do. a photo he took of you during a date one time with a note that read: “the prettiest girl ever, always looking so stunning no matter what you do. have the best day, ‘m always here.”

QUALITY TIME/GIFTS | CHENLE

chenle hates to admit it but he loves spending time with you. he always gets you to cook with him, softly wrapping his arms around your waist as he watches you cut some vegetables up. "i'm just waiting for the pot to heat up, i'll watch you do this." he mumbled into your neck.

you casually mentioned liking a certain plushie, obscure snack, or pair of socks with capybaras on them once.. or twice (can't blame you) and next thing you know, it’s sitting on your desk with a sticky note that says, “this reminded me of your weird little brain. hope you like it baby."

loves cuddling up on the sofa in the living room, putting on one of stephen currys old basketball matches with food on the way for the both of you to enjoy for the night. you don't mind watching it because its time together and you barely had that time so you both are taking it for granted before he gets busy again.

DIGITAL CONNECTION | JISUNG

jisung loves sending you memes that he thinks you would find funny, maybe even some that he knows the both of you will giggle at. even tiktoks, throughout the day, the notifications slowly piling up as he sends one with a ‘this is us’ or ‘reminded me of u :’)’.

he loves customising your online spaces together, whether that be on minecraft with matching skins, matching pfps, having the same handle on overwatch / slightly matching ones.. anything that matches you both together? yeah. customised straight away. especially your avatars on any game.. be prepared.

whenever you both are far from one another, you always end up facetiming late at night and falling asleep together after sharing your day. you always send photos to him while you’re away, updating him about it that way where as jisung was the type to spam text and send a video at least.

nct : @remtrack @mejaemin @mahaewebs @zorange13 @florihaei @spacejip @markkiatocafe @polarisjisung @lainzitos @ayukas @sunghoonsgfreal @ikozen @tigerlillizz

[baocean]

Hi! I love poyp so much!

Could you do a blurb of JJ finally winning over Y/Ns parents? They've come to terms with the fact that he's not going anywhere and they invite him for another dinner but they start making digs and Y/N snaps at them in anger and leaves, but JJ stays just to tell them something like "I know I'm not what you wanted for your daughter but if you think I will leave her you're crazy" or something like that?

Also, can't wait to see what you have in-store for Boys Like You

this is so cute! thx for sending <3

your parents invited you over after only a week home from your freshman year.

after an entire year of cold stares, passive-aggressive comments, and backhanded compliments, your parents inviting jj over again almost felt…hopeful. maybe they were finally starting to see what you saw. maybe they were finally giving him a chance.

but the second you sat down, it started.

your mom’s smile was too tight. your dad’s questions too pointed.

"so, jj," your dad said, cutting into his steak, "still working at the marina?"

jj smiled politely. "yep. full-time now, actually."

"and… is that the goal, then?"

you stiffened. jj didn’t flinch. "it’s one of them."

"mm. well, not everyone needs a college degree, i suppose," your mom chimed in with a sip of wine, not meeting your eyes.

you could feel your blood boiling. but jj just nodded, jaw tense, swallowing his pride like he always did.

and then your mom added, "i guess it’s good you’re so loyal. some people just cling to what they know, right?"

jj’s hand brushed yours under the table, grounding you, but your patience snapped.

“okay, you know what?” you said sharply, standing up. “if you brought us here just to talk down to him again, you could’ve saved the wine and spared me the drive.”

your mom blinked, startled. your dad set down his fork.

“he is kind,” you continued, voice shaking. “he is loyal. and he is so much more than the assumptions you’ve made about him since day one. i don’t know what more he has to prove to you, but i’m done watching you make him feel small.”

you grabbed your bag, looked at jj, and said quietly, “i’ll wait in the car.”

he nodded, eyes soft on you. “i’ll be right there.”

and once the door closed behind you, jj stayed in his seat.

“look,” he said, setting his glass down, voice low and steady, “i know i’m not who you pictured. i know i come with a past you wouldn’t have chosen for her.”

he leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze hard and honest. “but i love your daughter. i would go through hell for her. and if you think for one second that i’m gonna leave her just because you’re uncomfortable with how i got here… then you don’t know me at all.”

he rises, slow and steady, and nods politely.

“thank you for dinner.”

he turns toward the door, already expecting to walk out into the night alone.

and behind him, after a pause, your dad clears his throat.

“next time… maybe you could bring that potato salad you made last time,” he mutters gruffly.

jj turns slightly, surprised. your mom’s still watching him, guarded, but softer now. like maybe, just maybe, she’s starting to see what you do.

he doesn’t smile wide or celebrate.

he just nods.

“sure,” he says. “i’ll bring it.”

and with that, he slips outside into the quiet, heart thudding with something dangerously close to hope.

the second dinner invatation came as a surprise to you both.

it wasn’t a fancy dinner this time.

just a sunday afternoon, backyard chairs, lemonade sweating in plastic cups, jj's potato salad he spent all day working on. your dad at the grill. your mom in her gardening gloves. the kind of casual gathering where expectations were lower, and walls started to come down without anyone noticing.

jj had offered to help your dad with the grill, completely unprompted, and to your surprise, your dad said yes.

you were sitting on the back steps, talking to your mom about the flowers blooming too early this year, when you caught sight of them, jj and your dad, shoulder to shoulder by the grill, laughing about something. real laughter. no tension. no tight smiles.

jj flipped a burger one-handed while holding a conversation about tools and fishing trips like he was born into it.

then later, while everyone was eating, your mom went inside for something and the screen door stuck on its track. without missing a beat, jj hopped up, fixed it with a screwdriver from his pocket (along with three lighters, a hair tie he always kept for you, and a cigarette he didnt tell anyone was there), and then sat back down like it was nothing.

your mom stared at the door for a second longer than she needed to.

and maybe the moment it really shifted was after dinner, when jj was doing the dishes. no one asked him to. he just stood there, sleeves pushed up, joking with you and your mom as he scrubbed a pan. like he belonged there. like this was always part of the plan.

your dad came in with a fresh beer, leaned in the doorway, and watched him for a second.

“he’s good with his hands,” he said quietly. not to you, to your mom. and she just nodded.

later, on the drive home, jj glanced over at you. “i think your dad smiled at me.”

you laughed. “he did, i saw it.”

“and your mom gave me leftover pie in tupperware. that’s gotta be some kind of approval.”

you leaned over, kissed his shoulder, and smiled like the sun was inside you.

“told you, they’re coming around.”

jj just grinned, eyes on the road, heart way too full.

note from the author - ok guys! i know i havent introduced yn being comfortable with jj driving yet but im going to lol just pretend you see that blurb before this one. also, im hoping i can put out another chapter of boys like you/first chapter of tbt but im working all day so pray for me lol

masterlist

taglist -  @dr3amgrlll /  @jjmaybankmylovee / @smokahontas-113 /  @abigailovesz / @enchantedstarfish / @reeseswirl / @lmaowhatt / @moonywhisp3rs / @dylsdaily /  @idli-dosa / @bloodofadoll / @cokewithcameron / @mariamadison6-blog / @rrosiitas / @always-reading / @sunflouer04 / @bambigirl10 / @mirellef2001 / @wasiasproject / @kissesandmartinis / @gublerstylesobrien1238 / @isinpfortvdmen / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @mjwashere / @sideboobrry11 / @ameliacione13 / @wrtzia / @sanriobuny / @dramagodesss / @luvrclub / @yesshewrites1 / @ayy1234567 / @doesnt-care / @rainingcecilias / @4jjsbank / @blythee1

[st4rlvr]

Movies || CSN

Every Saturday since I started university, San would come over for movie night. It wasn’t anything we planned ahead or talked about during the week it just sort of happened. The first weekend I came home after moving into the dorms, he showed up at my door with a bag of snacks and two DVDs, acting like it was the most casual thing in the world.

And from that night on, it became our thing.

I’d drag myself home every Friday, exhausted from the week, my bag full of laundry and half finished assignments, and by Saturday evening, San would be knocking on the door like clockwork. He never even texted to say he was coming. He just did.

At first, my parents thought it was sweet. They liked San my mom always offered him dinner, and my dad gave him those stiff, approving nods that were basically a warm welcome coming from him. But eventually, they started getting a little annoyed. “You’re home for two days and spend one of them glued to the TV with San?” my mom would ask. My dad had once muttered, “Guess we’ll see you Sunday night, then.”

Still, they weren’t mad. Not really. San had a way of getting away with things. He was polite, he helped carry in groceries if he saw my mom unloading the car, and he always laughed at my dad’s bad jokes. They liked him, even if they missed me.

This weekend, he brought over Big Hero 6.

“You’ve never seen it?” I asked, mouth half open in shock as he unpacked the snacks onto the coffee table.

He looked kind of sheepish, shrugging. “I know, I know. I just missed it somehow.”

“Well, that’s criminal. We’re fixing that tonight.”

So we did. We curled up on the couch like always San with his spicy chips, me with chocolate and hit play.

Watching him watch it was almost better than watching the movie itself. He laughed so loud at Baymax’s low battery scene that I was genuinely worried my dad might come downstairs to scold us. He got so into the storyline, muttering little reactions under his breath like he was talking to the characters. And when Tadashi’s scene happened, he went quiet like heartbreak had taken him by surprise.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

He nodded, eyes still on the screen. “I didn’t expect to get emotional. This movie’s hitting way harder than I thought.”

“Told you it was good.”

He smiled at me without saying anything, but I could tell he meant it. That kind of smile you give when you’re glad you’re right where you are.

The credits started rolling and we didn’t say much for a while. Just sat there in that easy silence that came from years of knowing each other. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.

Movie nights weren’t fancy. We weren’t doing anything wild or romantic or dramatic. But they were ours. Every Saturday since I left for school, San showed up. No questions asked. Just him, me, and a screen full of stories we’d remember long after they ended.

We didn’t even realize the time.

One minute Baymax was waving goodbye, and the next it was 10pm the kind of late that crept up without warning. The living room was dim except for the soft blue light of the TV screen and the glow of the kitchen nightlight around the corner. I glanced at the clock and let out a quiet sigh.

“You gotta go soon,” I said, not really wanting to say it.

San nodded, slow and reluctant, like he’d already been dreading it. “Yeah.”

My parents didn’t really care how late he stayed they’d long since given up on pretending to monitor us but San never overstayed. He was too polite for that. Too respectful. He’d once left in the middle of a thunderstorm because he didn’t want to be “a bother.”

So I walked him out like I always did, slipping on socks and a hoodie, stepping into the cool night air with him beside me. It was chilly but not freezing, quiet except for the hum of distant crickets and the sound of his keys jangling in his hand.

When we reached his car, he stopped but didn’t open the door right away. I leaned against the mailbox, watching him, waiting for the usual “Thanks for tonight” or “See you next week.” But he didn’t say anything.

He was fidgeting—eyes on the ground, shoulders drawn up a little. Then he muttered something, so soft I barely caught it.

“I… kinda wanna kiss you.”

I blinked. “What?”

He looked up, eyes wide, like he hadn’t meant for me to actually hear. Like maybe he’d been hoping the wind would carry it away.

“I mean—” he cleared his throat, his voice still low, shaky with nerves. “I… I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

My heart was racing. I wasn’t sure what to say, if I was supposed to laugh or play it off or say it back. But I didn’t move. I didn’t joke. I just looked at him, stunned in the best way.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s okay if that’s weird. I didn’t mean to make things—”

“San,” I said, quietly.

He froze.

“I don’t think it’s weird.”

I started fidgeting with my bracelets something I always did when I didn’t know what to say. They clinked softly as I turned them on my wrist, my thumb tracing over the little bead on the blue one San and I had gotten together at a street fair over the summer. Most of the ones I wore were ones we matched on. Not intentionally, at first. But over time, it became a thing unspoken, like a lot of what we did.

San was still quiet. Really quiet. His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched like he was trying to shrink into himself. It was rare, seeing him like this. Nervous. Almost timid. He kept glancing at me and then away, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or bolt.

I swallowed hard, heart in my throat, and let the silence stretch just a second too long before I said it.

“Fuck it.”

He barely had time to blink before I stepped closer and cupped his face with both hands, the coolness of his skin meeting the warmth of mine. His breath hitched just a little, lips parting like he was going to say something but I didn’t give him the chance.

I kissed him.

Soft and unsure at first, but real. His face was warm under my palms, his lips still for a moment before they moved against mine, hesitant and gentle like he wasn’t quite convinced this was really happening. One of his hands came up slowly, settling on my waist like he was afraid I might vanish if he moved too fast.

When we pulled back, his eyes were wide, like I’d just short-circuited his entire brain.

“I… wow,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah.”

He blinked. “Did you just say ‘fuck it’ and then kiss me?”

“Yeah.”

“…That was kinda hot.”

I laughed, leaning against his chest for a second. His arms wrapped around me easily, naturally, like they’d been waiting to.

And just like that, movie nights would never feel the same again.

[ghostgirl-22]

Saw this on twitter and thought a fic could be made of this https://x.com/defnotatp/status/1891582457683587511?s=46 them watching a movie or one of patrick’s matches while Pat is on his way back from a wildcard match. They’re on the couch and Art’s getting excited so he starts tilting his hips along her leg, she tells him to pay attention or else he’ll get punished that night but after hearing Pat’s grunts repeatedly he loses control. As u can see i am not a great smut writer but im sending this to some of my fave challengers writers bc im greedy like Patrick and would love something out of this🤭

okay so here’s something outta this anon <3 this is also somewhat inspired by @compress1repress pegging universe which is amazing with the best Tashi and Patrick ever… so if you like this please go read and adore their stuff. lol but yeah have some Patrick inspiring Tashi to fuck Art sorta… idk lol.

CW: MDNI, NSFW

—-

Tashi doesn’t want to be a boy. Not really (well maybe when she’s on her period…). But other than that she loves being a girl. She loves make up, perfume, pretty clothes and having boys’ desire her.

She does sometimes wish she had a dick though. Especially since she started dating Art. It all started because of Patrick actually. It’s a lazy Sunday morning… pouring rain non stop. They’re in bed still. Art’s so pliable that he’s perfectly okay with being the little spoon when they cuddle sometimes. Sometimes she thinks he prefers it. Her body wrapped around him, arms over his broader shoulders, one leg curled between his thighs. 

Art’s flipping channels looking for something to watch when it lands on the tennis channel some random qualifying match. Tashi makes him stop out of a sudden recognition. His body goes all rigid in her arms when he sees it too. Patrick Zweig and his fellow no name opponent playing out a rally, soft grunts back and forth as he lunges himself all over the court, desperately smacking the ball. 

She grips Art tighter. Both of them watching in silence, as their breathing gets heavier.  Her panties all wet, Art now fully hard against her leg.

That’s when she first thinks about it. Wrapped around him, as he starts to rub off against her leg, hardly able to control himself. God. Patrick probably fucked him.

She helps him, moving her leg back and forth along his length as he swallows on a whispered “fuck.” 

And that’s when she realizes… she also wants to fuck him.

She imagines getting hard curled up against him rubbing it against his ass to get him excited. Patrick’s little moans making him crazy, she can only imagine how he’d react to a swollen dick pressed up against him. 

They don’t talk about it… the fact that they both silently leave the television on as they tear off each others clothing. Her imagination runs wild as she climbs on top of him, too frenzied to get her panties off  before she sinks down onto him. God, his little whimper, the soft gasp he lets out like he’s surprised every time by how good it feels. 

She imagines what it’d be like if she could slip inside him. His body reacting before his mind can, pushing himself back on her. All while listening to the sound of her ex moaning like a whore on the tennis court. The thought turning her on so much that she can barely keep him in as she gets close… she’s too wet. Both of them falling apart to Patrick’s voice… god who knew he was so vocal on the court. 

Both of them insanely satisfied and unable to talk about why. She gets up to change the sheets and Art eventually changes the channel.

After that night two things take over her mind. 

It’s probably perverted… the way she’s suddenly fixating on Art’s ass. When he’s bent over to tie his shoes, leaning over the counter top as he talks about his day, or bent over the net trying to retrieve a ball from the other side. It’s like he’s displaying it for her. She just wants to walk up behind him and press her metaphorical dick against him. make him squirm. He just seems like he’d respond really well to it.

She doesn’t know how the topic comes up when she’s with her girlfriends at brunch. Sometimes she drinks too much mimosas and she can’t stop talking and— “Sometimes I really wish I could just fuck him” —slips out. 

Thankfully none of her friends are very conservative. After a good 10 minutes of laughter her friend Shana who’s dating a woman informs her “There’s actually a solution for that.” Which leads the four of them on a tipsy field trip to the closest sex shop for something big and thick and pretty pink— Tashi’s favorite color. 

The second thing she can’t stop thinking about is Patrick. Suddenly she’s subscribing to so many obscure tournament newsletters that her inbox is just about fucked and recording video from 3 am matches on the tennis channel. She’s not the only one thinking about him. She gets a glimpse at Art’s phone open on the countertop one night when a text from Patrick’s sister comes in: yeah he’s in playing in Barcelona… doing well. So many questions. Do you want his number? 

She’d always played with certain ideas about their friendship. Things she picked up on when she and Patrick were still together. When Art and Patrick were still friends. The way they mirrored each other. The way she could get Patrick off so easily by bringing up Art while they were fucking. 

Now she knows that she knows the inverse is true she’s certain Art will like this.

“I’ve got a little surprise for you,” she says when she gets home from brunch. She’s still a little tipsy as she hides the bag with the strap-on behind her back. He’s spread out on the sofa, watching a movie. Lazy day in sweatpants and a t-shirt. 

“Really?” He asks, face lighting up.

“Mmhm,” she says, putting the little baggy on the end table. “Can you be good for me?” He looks at the baggy then back at her. 

“Yeah, I can be good.”

“I know you can.” She smirks. He’s so pliable.

She grabs the remote. “Lay down i wanna watch some matches.” 

He nods, expecting she means his own matches and he spreads out on the sofa letting her spoon him from behind. They haven’t talked about the Patrick match at all since that night but she knows neither of them have stopped thinking about it.

“What’d you get me?” 

“You’ll see,” Tashi says softly. 

She goes through the TiVo and finds one section from Patrick’s 3 am matches—one she’s reviewed several times for…technique. Art goes tense in her arms just like last time. 

“Relax…” she says softly. “We’re playing a game. If you can stay still and tell me what you think of his playing I’ll give you what’s inside the bag.” She says it like she’s not going to give it to him regardless.

“Uh,” He lets out a bit of a choked sound. 

“All you have to do is sit still and pay attention…” 

The camera zooms in haphazardly for a moment while some half interested kid reads Patrick’s stats. Sleeveless, muscular thighs in short shorts, sweat dripping everywhere, skin bronzed by the hot Barcelona sun. Haughty expression on his face, bent at the waist ready for a return service.

Art wiggles in her grasp. “I don’t think… I don’t think I can watch this.” She can feel him, he’s already getting hard. Insane. Apparently all this time apart clearly has done nothing but make the attraction that much stronger. 

“I think you can.”

But she’s wrong. By the time Patrick starts grunting. It’s like he can’t help himself. The sound driving him to wiggle and rub off against her. 

She’s not immune to it either. Art would probably cry if she told him how many times she’s viewed this particular video. Best sound quality. The only one that bothered with a close up shot. 

“Don’t worry… ‘m still gonna take care of you,” Tashi says gently. 

“My gift?” Art whimpers. 

“Mmhm,” she says quietly. She shifts away and reaches up to grab her purchase. She’d stopped by her friends house to clean it up so she could be ready to use it as soon as she saw him, at least thats what she thought in her tipsy mind. She lifts it out of the bag, Art’s moved to turn and look and his cheeks start to color. 

“You like it?” she smirks, asking him nicely but the way his blue eyes dilate is all the answer she really needs.

“Tashi. This is… that’s…so… so…” 

“Has he ever fucked you Art?” She interrupts bluntly. 

Art fidgets just a little too much and yeah, that’s an answer too.

It’s not too long before they’re half naked. And she’s strapped in rubbing along his ass the way she’s been dreaming of. It’s even wilder than her dreams, the way he likes it. he starts moaning as he’s grinding against her strap, she knew he needed it. It feels good the way the toy is also rubbing along her clit while he grinds. The room filled with Art’s sounds and Patrick’s sounds, mixed with her own desperate whines. Euphoric. 

“‘m can you fuck me now?” 

Tashi blinks, half dazed as he shifts and gets on his hands and knees. 

“Please, i —” His words lost in a desperate little moan.

Tashi imagines this is what all boys dream of hearing when they get hard. She takes her time with the lube though clearly he doesn’t need it. Before long she’s lined up her hips. Pressing it in and listening to his breathing. Patrick’s probably on the last game of his 1st set, his sounds getting more and more desperate.

Arts rocking against her, mindlessly moaning out his pleasure, “fuck, ohh fuck yes.”

Tashi’s a little stunned by the force of his hips. God.  

“Good job…you’re so good for me,” she whispers. Manicured fingers gripping his hips so she can get a chance to push back. She ruts against him and he whines. She’s never been this turned on before in her life. Its like this is what they’ve been missing. 

“You like that don’t you? You love my big pretty dick.” 

Art moans, his knuckles white, fisting the sofa cushions. One hand reaching up so he can touch himself. “P-Tashi…Tashi…oh fuck.”

That makes her giggle. “You can say it if you need to. you wish he was here right now don’t you. Not on tv but here. Watching me fuck you like a whore.” 

“Nngh,” He groans, all his muscles pulled taught. 

“Did you beg him to fuck you like you did me? Hm? Did you suck him off to get him hard for you?” Shes suddenly dizzy imagining him sucking on her strap. “Mouth so full and you’re still whining for more.”

“Oh god—fuck, fuck, fuck please Pat— I’m gonna—“ he cuts himself off moaning as strings of white splatter all over the sofa where she realizes they probably should’ve put a sheet. “Oh no oh fuck, oh fuck.”

Tashi’s breathless, all sticky wet between her thighs. Television still alight when the sound of tennis balls being smacked and traded moans. She watches as the strap slips out of him, shiny with lube. She unbuckles just so she can touch herself. Art undoes the rest. Making her lay back on her back so he can put his mouth between her thighs.

“Mm love you so much. Gonna lick it all up for you. Did he do that for you?”

“Oh god yes,” Tashi grins. She lets her eyes close and tangles her fingers into his hair, already eager for the next time she gets to fuck him.

FYI

[queerprayers]

tw for sh mention

this year, what i gave up for lent was self-harm. it was really hard, and as the days ticked down to the end of my fast, i was scared i'd do the predictable thing. one of your posts about judas reminded me of the phrase "don't quit before the miracle happens." and i didn't. reached out for help and made it to easter sunday. so, thanks for that :)

Beloved. My dear friend. What a blessing.

Thank you for sharing this joy with me. I am genuinely deeply proud and so honored. Easter, like healing, is the most unpredictable thing I can think of--but it also makes complete sense. Of course there is more waiting for us, after everything.

I'm sure I've admitted it before, but that quote is from my favorite sitcom (One Day at a Time) in a really poignant scene about mental health. It always reminds me of Judas, and also of my own journey. It means more than I can say that it stayed with you as it has with me. And that show is mostly just very fun if you ever need cheering up.

You didn't ask for my story/advice, but I am a couple years into my own resurrection, and I want to make sure you know that while you'll never be someone who hasn't gone through this, you will be someone who carries it lighter. Your predictions will sway toward choosing something else. The miracle is that you have already changed, to have left it behind for as long as you have. You didn't imagine being able to do this--which means you're capable of more than you can imagine.

Judas did not reach out for help--and I do not fault anyone who will not, who gives into pain. I would never imply that to be a personal evil. That was almost my fate. I know Judas has reached God's love, because my hope is in a God who saves. I also know that we can learn from what he didn't get to experience. And in my more imaginative moments, I can't help but think us reaching out, us making it to Easter, brings him and all those who didn't make it so much comfort. Do what he wasn't able to do on earth. No matter who you betray, including your own self, wait. Who knows what will happen in the morning?

It may continue to be hard--the first Easter was met with disbelief and fear and confusion. Easter is fifty days because we need time to get used to Jesus's presence, to our risen self--and because there will always be more time with Jesus than without him, always more life than death. Sometimes we forget, but there is no place we can hide that God cannot reach. God, who cried and panicked in the garden, is intimately close with your pain.

For what could separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or relapse, or shame? We are more than conquerors of our pain. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor addiction, nor scars, nor fear of self, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (see Romans 8:35-39)

<3 Johanna

[sleepdeprivedf1fan]

Love and Speed

———

———

It was a bright Sunday morning, the sun beaming down on the iconic Circuit de Monaco, and the excitement in the air was palpable. You had been looking forward to this day for weeks—today was your first time in the paddock, and you were about to experience the world of Formula 1 up close. But there was more to it than just the roaring engines and the glitz of the paddock; you were there to support Max Verstappen, your boyfriend, and the reigning champion.

You and Max had been dating for a few months, and you still felt a flutter in your stomach whenever you thought about him. He was not just a talented driver; he was also kind, funny, and incredibly down-to-earth. The way he treated you made you feel special, and you were grateful to be part of his life, even if it meant stepping into a world that was completely new to you.

As you walked through the entrance of the paddock, you were immediately struck by the buzz of activity. Teams were setting up their garages, engineers were deep in conversation, and the smell of high-octane fuel hung in the air. You felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as you made your way through the sea of team members and media personnel. You had dressed carefully for the occasion—comfortable yet stylish, knowing that you wanted to blend in yet stand out as Max’s girlfriend.

“Hey! Over here!” you heard a familiar voice call out. Turning around, you spotted Max waving enthusiastically, his signature grin lighting up his face. He was dressed in his Red Bull team uniform, and his energy was infectious. You hurried over, feeling your heart race as you drew closer to him.

“Wow, you look amazing!” he said, pulling you into a warm embrace. You breathed in the familiar scent of his cologne, feeling an overwhelming sense of comfort. “Are you ready for your first day in the paddock?”

“I think so! It's a little overwhelming, to be honest,” you admitted, glancing around at the bustling atmosphere. “But I’m excited to be here with you.”

Max took your hand, leading you through the maze of hospitality suites and pit garages. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice the way he interacted with his team. He was focused yet approachable, stopping to chat with engineers and mechanics as if they were old friends. It was clear that he respected everyone around him, and that made your admiration for him grow even more.

“Let me show you around,” he said, leading you to the Red Bull garage. The sight of the sleek cars, glistening in the sunlight, took your breath away. You could hardly believe you were standing in the very place where so much passion and hard work came together.

“Isn’t it incredible?” Max asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is where all the magic happens. The team works so hard to make sure we’re competitive out there.”

You nodded, taking in the high-tech equipment and the bustling crew members. “It’s like a well-oiled machine,” you said, marveling at the efficiency of it all.

After a brief tour of the garage, Max introduced you to some of his team members. They greeted you warmly, making you feel right at home. You were amazed at how friendly and welcoming everyone was, despite the high-pressure environment. You could see the camaraderie they shared, and it made you appreciate the sport even more.

As the morning progressed, the atmosphere in the paddock shifted. The sound of engines revving filled the air as the cars prepared for practice. You felt a rush of adrenaline as you watched the drivers suit up and take their positions. It was surreal to witness the intensity of the moment—the anticipation, the nerves, and the pure love for racing.

“Are you ready to watch me out there?” Max asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement. You nodded, feeling a surge of pride. “Just remember to cheer for me, okay?” he added with a playful wink.

“Of course! I’ll be your biggest fan,” you promised, feeling your heart swell at the thought of him racing. You watched as he climbed into the car, the team surrounding him as they performed the final checks. It was a moment of focus and determination, and you couldn’t help but admire him even more.

As the cars flew out onto the track, you found yourself standing with the other team members, watching the action unfold. The sound of the engines was deafening, but it was music to your ears. You cheered as Max sped past, feeling the adrenaline rush through you. It was exhilarating to see him in his element, showcasing his incredible skills behind the wheel.

After the practice session, Max returned to the pits, and you rushed over to greet him. He looked exhilarated, his cheeks flushed with excitement. “How did I do?” he asked, a hint of anticipation in his voice.

“You were amazing! I couldn’t believe how fast you were going!” you replied, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. You could feel the adrenaline radiating off him, and it was contagious.

“Thanks! I think we’ve got a good setup for the race,” he said, his eyes scanning the data on his team’s monitors. “We’ll make some adjustments, and I’ll be ready to give it my all.”

The day continued with more practice sessions and briefings. You were mesmerized by the behind-the-scenes action, the strategic discussions, and the teamwork that went into preparing for the race. You felt like you were getting a glimpse into a world that was both thrilling and intense, and you were grateful to be sharing it with Max.

At one point, you took a break and found a quiet corner of the paddock. Max leaned back against the wall, and you settled beside him. “So, how are you finding it so far?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

“It’s incredible. I never realized how much goes on behind the scenes. It’s like a whole other world,” you replied, feeling a sense of awe. “I’m so proud of you and everything you do.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That means a lot to me. I’m glad you’re here to experience it with me.”

As the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the paddock, you could feel the excitement building for the race ahead. The atmosphere was electric, and you were caught up in the anticipation. Max had to head back to the garage for final preparations, and you reluctantly let go of his hand.

“Stay close to the pit wall,” he instructed, a serious look on his face. “I want to see you there when I come in for my pit stop.”

“I will! I promise,” you said, watching as he walked away, his focus shifting entirely to the race ahead.

The race itself was a blur of colors, sounds, and emotions. You cheered loudly as the cars sped past, your heart racing with each lap. You felt a mix of anxiety and excitement every time Max’s car zoomed by. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could see the determination on his face as he fought for every position.

When it came time for his pit stop, you were on the edge of your seat. The pit crew worked like a well-oiled machine, and you held your breath as Max came in for service. It was exhilarating to witness the precision and speed with which they operated. In mere seconds, he was back on the track, and you couldn’t help but let out a cheer.

As the race neared its conclusion, you could see that Max was in a fierce battle for the lead. Your heart raced as he navigated the corners with skill and precision, the tension building with every passing lap. You stood by the pit wall, your eyes glued to the screen, willing him to push through.

Finally, as the checkered flag waved, the crowd erupted in cheers. Max had crossed the finish line in first place! You were ecstatic, jumping up and down with excitement. You felt a rush of pride for him, knowing how hard he had worked to achieve this victory.

As he climbed out of the car, you rushed to meet him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. “You did it! I’m so proud of you!” you exclaimed, tears of joy welling in your eyes.

“Thanks! I couldn’t have done it without you cheering me on,” he said, his face lighting up with a radiant smile. The adrenaline still coursed through his veins, and you could feel the joy radiating off him.

You celebrated with the team, the atmosphere filled with laughter and cheers. You felt so grateful to be part of this moment, surrounded by people who shared a love for racing and a dedication to the sport. Max’s victory was a testament to the hard work and determination of everyone involved.

As the night wore on and the celebrations continued, you stole a moment with Max away from the crowd. You stood under the stars, the city of Monaco sparkling in the distance. “Today was incredible,” you said, leaning into him. “I can’t believe I got to experience all of this with you.”

“I’m glad you were here. It made it all the more special,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours. In that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and contentment.

“Here’s to many more races together,” you said, raising an imaginary glass.

“Definitely. And to us,” he added, leaning in for a tender kiss. It was a perfect end to an unforgettable day, and you knew that this was just the beginning of your journey together.

As you stood there in the paddock, wrapped in his arms, you realized that you had found a love that was as thrilling as the sport itself. Max Verstappen and you—two hearts racing in sync, ready to take on the world together.

[anylady-fics]

Wicked game | Ch.2 - Super bowl

⚠️ warnings: smut

It was Sunday morning, so of course, you didn’t want to get out of bed… but it was already late, so you had to. As you were doing your laundry, you noticed the panties you gave Jeongin last night were mixed in with the dirty clothes. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d used them to jerk off…

You didn’t see him anywhere in the apartment, so you had your coffee and started thinking about what to cook for the week. Still feeling lazy, you flopped onto the couch with your phone, not bothering to change your clothes. Your pajamas were definitely too short – indecent even –, but you didn’t care. Jeongin had seen enough last night, and he’d just have to get used to it—if he still wanted to live with you, that is.

A few minutes later, you heard the front door open and some bags rustling. You got up to see what he’d brought, only to be hit with a lot all at once. First off, his hair was different—the awful blonde was mostly gone, replaced with black, except for a blonde streak in the front. And then there was the fact that he’d just come back from the gym, which you weren’t prepared for. His arms and chest were pumped from his workout, his skin glistening with sweat. He was wearing a tight tank top and loose shorts, and fuck, he looked good. Too good. You stared at him, thinking about how ridiculously hot he was. And he’d gone grocery shopping—without you even asking.

“What’d you buy?”

“The usual stuff for my diet. Got some for you too, since I know you eat the same. You’re gonna cook?”

He knew way more about you than you expected. That was a bit surprising. 

“Yeah. Look at you, being such a good boy.”

“You just woke up?” He eyed your outfit, taking his sweet time to check you out, especially since your strap had slipped a bit, showing off more than you intended. “Lazy day?”

“My eyes are up here.”

“You’re the one dressed like that.”

“And you’ll just have to get used to it.”

“Fine by me.” He suddenly just pulled off his tank top and handed it to you. You could take it, sure… but you took a second too long to react, eyes glued to his chest. His muscles were bigger than you remembered, and you felt an overwhelming urge to touch him. Your mind was gone, you weren't even sorry for staring at him like that.

“Uh, my eyes are up here, you know?” He gestured playfully at his face, but you were still too busy staring.

You hated it when people turned your own words against you. You blinked, trying to figure out why he was giving you his shirt.

“You’re giving me this for…?”

“I heard the washer going. Can you toss it in for me? Oh, wait!” He slipped off his shorts too, handing them over with the tank top. “These, too.”

“Not the boxers?”

“You want me naked in the living room?” He pushed the clothes against your chest until you finally took them. Standing there in nothing but his blue boxers, he grabbed the grocery bags and headed to the kitchen, giving you the perfect view of his tight muscles and cute ass.

“Well, I showed you mine, so you gonna show me yours? Never played this game before?”

“Yeah, but in a different setting. Don’t worry, I’ll wash my boxers later.”

He went to the bathroom, and you headed to the laundry room, tossing his clothes in with yours, which were just starting to wash. You were acting calm, like it was no big deal, but seeing him like that had messed with you way more than you wanted to admit. Maybe it was time to speed up your plans with your new little “friends with benefits” situation.

You grabbed your phone and shot a text to Changbin, asking if he’d be free later in the week. You made sure to let him know it needed to be something quick since you had a busy day ahead, and he replied that he’d be more than happy to help with that.

Alright, that was one thing taken care of.

You figured you should get started on cooking since you’d need to make double the usual amount. You prepped everything and set a timer. Jeongin had finished showering by then, so it was your turn. The bathroom was still foggy, and his scent lingered from the products he used. It was annoying how nice he smelled. 

It was still a little surreal that you were living with him now. You’d grown up together, but you were never close, and somehow, it felt easier to build some kind of relationship now, even if it was forced by circumstance. You didn’t really see him as family, despite all the jokes about him being your “little brother,” so no, you didn’t feel bad about what had happened the night before. Not even a little.

After your shower, you purposely picked out a short dress—and of course, you ditched the panties. It was hot, and you usually walked around the apartment like that anyway. Why should you change just because he was there?

Not that your intentions were entirely innocent. You were definitely up to something, you just didn't know what yet.

When you got back to the kitchen, there he was, messing with the food you’d already set up.

“Hey, hands off! I’m the one cooking here.”

“It was about to burn. You’re welcome.” 

“It was not! Now, move.” You shoved him out of the way and took over. You hated when people messed with your stuff once you’d already started.

He didn’t move far, though—just stood there next to you, watching you stir the food. You could feel his eyes on you, specifically down your dress. Typical. You rolled your eyes, too on edge to really tease him back. Looked like you’d need to get used to him hovering around and butting into your business.

Once the cooking was done, he helped you portion everything into meal preps, so it went faster than expected. Not bad, actually.

“So, what do you usually do on Sundays?” he asked, putting some dirty dishes in the sink.

“Cook and watch TV. And just so you know, you’re on dish duty.”

“No places to go out tonight?”

“Well, there are some bars, but they close early. Why?”

“I’ve got a date.”

You blinked, that little comment hitting harder than you’d like to admit, but you kept it cool, pretending like you didn’t care. You watched him wash the dishes—way too slow for your taste—before you got the urge to just do it yourself and had to walk away. Sitting at the table, you scrolled through your phone like his words didn’t just annoy the hell out of you.

“Date? On a Sunday? And she said yes?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t she?”

“If a guy asked me out on a Sunday, I’d assume he had nothing better to do.”

“Well, I set it up before I even moved here. I’ve got my ways.”

“Smart, huh?”

“Now that I can actually bring a girl back to my room, I’m making the most of it.”

“If you couldn’t do that at home, where were you doing it?”

“In my car, in public, or at their place. You know how it is.”

Oh, you definitely knew.

You started laughing, because your brain immediately pictured him awkwardly fumbling around during a hookup. For as good-looking as he was, you couldn’t help but wonder how clueless he might be.

“What’s so funny?” He frowned.

“I just imagined you… you know, doing it. Sorry.”

He dried his hands and came to sit across from you, narrowing his eyes in mock offense.

“And? Still not seeing the joke here.”

“The joke is… in my head, you’re still kind of a kid, and I can’t imagine you know what you’re doing.”

“Hm. When I think about you having sex, it’s the complete opposite.” He rested his elbow on the table and propped his chin in his hand. “And I like older women, they teach me a lot. I'm not that clueless.”

You ignored the first part of that sentence for the sake of your own sanity, but your body didn’t let you forget that you were, in fact, not wearing any panties—and you were already getting wet.

“How much older?”

“Up to about 35, give or take.”

“But that’s almost twice your age. That’s practically a crime.”

“I don’t care. Most of them are casual, and I never see them again.” He grinned, still leaning on his hand. “Are you worried?”

“Of course not. Just hope you don’t make too much noise if you bring some woman back here. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, and I need to sleep.”

“Probably won’t bring anyone. I’ll have to settle for the car again. By the way, it smelled like condoms this morning.”

“Oops.”

“You’re way too laid-back about this. You owe me a proper car wash.”

“Maybe I’ll pay you back someday.”

“You can pay me however you like.” That suggestive remark caught you off guard, and you shot him a look, trying to figure out what he meant.

“I’ll pay you back by letting you bring your dates to the apartment.”

He didn’t break eye contact, licking his lips and smiling in a way that, unfortunately, made you press your thighs together. He noticed. Of course he did.

You both stayed silent for a few seconds, still staring at each other. You thought about saying something to change the subject, but he beat you to it.

“I bet you’re not wearing any panties under that dress.”

How did he know?

“Not that I’d ever make a bet with you, but now I’m curious. What’s on the line?”

“If you were willing to bet, and you’re wearing panties, I’d have to do something you want. And if you’re not, you’d have to do something I want.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“So, are you in?”

It was stupid to even consider agreeing to a bet you were bound to lose—since, yes, you weren’t wearing panties—but your curiosity was getting the better of you. You were dying to see where this would lead, and besides, your body was already responding to him, to the way he looked at you, the way he talked to you. Your rationality was slipping away and you couldn’t fight against that. You had to know how this would play out.

“Alright, I’m in. What do you want?”

“If you’re not wearing panties, you’re gonna sit on this table, hike up that dress, and show me everything. Legs wide open.”

“That’s it? Didn’t you see enough last night?”

“It was dark.”

“You’re shameless.”

“Not as much as you.”

He probably wasn’t wrong, and once again, you were caught off guard by the way he was seeing you. Maybe you hadn’t expected him to act this way, but you were clearly enjoying playing with him.

“Fine. I’ll play.” You stood up from your chair and sat on the table in front of him, forcing him to move back a little to give you space. “You can never say I’m not nice.”

Slowly, you spread your legs, still covered by your dress, and you noticed how mesmerized he already was. You made eye contact as you gradually lifted the fabric, and he couldn’t decide where to look. His eyes settled on your thighs as more skin was revealed with every inch you pulled up.

This was going to be so fun…

You bared yourself completely, leaning back on the table with one hand while holding your dress up with the other, spreading your legs so he could see your pussy just the way he wanted. Jeongin went still, and you could see him breathing deeply, trying to keep his cool. Were his heartbeats as out of control as yours? You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“You’re wet.”

“Yeah…” You let your fingers glide down, brushing over your folds before slipping them to your entrance, coating them in your arousal, then spreading them in a V to give him a full view. “You like that, huh?”

You could see he was already hard—his shorts doing nothing to hide the bulge between his legs—and that was definitely not helping to keep your head in place.

You touched yourself a bit more, completely soaking your fingers in your wetness and you stopped so you didn’t lose it. Slowly, you closed your legs and leaned toward him, purposely giving him a nice view of your cleavage, but not enough to show everything.

“Nothing to say? Then maybe you can use your mouth for something else.”

You pressed your wet fingers against his lips, and he grabbed your wrist roughly, forcing your fingers into his mouth as he sucked them clean, tasting your juices, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt your body heat up, your pussy becoming even wetter, to the point where you thought you might drip onto the table.

You weren’t sure what stopped you from jumping on him right then and there, but you froze, just feeling how badly your body ached, how desperately you needed something inside you. It was driving you insane.

You pulled your fingers from his mouth, standing up and leaning close enough to pinch his cheeks in that way he hated.

“Next time you see it, you’re gonna have to lick it.”

With that, you turned and headed for your room, legs trembling, thighs slick with arousal, and your whole body burning. As soon as you locked the door, you immediately searched for something, anything, to relieve the ridiculous amount of tension you were feeling. But after looking through your options, you ended up just using your hands.

You lay back on your bed, legs spread, both hands sliding down to touch yourself, thinking about the way he sucked your fingers before you so easily slipped them inside. You’re wet, sensitive, trembling... like you hadn’t had sex not that long ago.

What’s he doing right now? Was he as worked up as you?

You think about the way he smiled at you, the way he looked at your pussy like he wanted to eat you out right there, and you start moaning on the bed while trying to satisfy yourself with your fingers. He could probably hear you, if he had gone to his room. You’re hoping he can hear you, hoping he’s doing the same thing, thinking about you. You don’t think you’ve ever come so fast in your life. You’d probably have kept going, chasing another orgasm, but then you suddenly remembered… he has a date. And that annoys you way more than it should. The moment’s gone, and you roll over in bed, pissed off at yourself.

Why the hell were you so bothered by this?

You’ve known for a while that you find him attractive, since forever, really. Something you took way too long to admit. But this? Jealousy over him taking all your mom’s attention made sense, but jealousy over him going out with other girls? That’s just crazy, right?

With nothing to do and way too frustrated, you end up sleeping the whole afternoon. By the time you wake up, it is dark outside, and you head out of your room to find something to eat, realizing you’re alone in the apartment. It’s almost 9pm, so he’s probably already out on his date, maybe even on his way back.

You take a quick shower and throw on an even shorter pajama set than what you had on last night, and then settle down on the couch. You were watching TV, but not really paying attention.

When the front door finally opens, you stretch your neck to check him out, and right away, you notice his hair is a mess, drenched in sweat.

“Well, looks like it went well.”

It came out way more bitter than you meant it to. Oh well.

“Not as well as I’d hoped.”

“Your appearance says otherwise.”

He heads to the living room and sits down in the chair next to the couch, crossing his legs and staring off, thinking about something before he speaks again.

“Isn’t it weird? We spent our whole lives barely talking, and now we’re like... this?”

“Like what?”

“We’re close now. I even know what you taste like.”

“If we’re close like this , it’s your fault for insisting on moving in with me. And when you look at it like that, it’s not really fair. I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What are you studying? Why’d you come here? Why didn’t you react when I used to pull all those stupid pranks when we were kids? Basic stuff.”

“I’m studying business. I came here because you’re a free person, and I’ve always wanted to be like that. And I never reacted because I was afraid of you. Anything else?”

The only thing that surprises you is that he admired you in some way. The rest? You kind of knew. You’d never asked, but you knew. Even the degree—obviously, he was going to study something that would help him manage his dad’s business.

“Why do you try so hard to put up a front for them?”

“Because I saw how much they hassle you, and I didn’t want to go through the same thing. I’m not as patient as you.”

“Smart. Congrats, Jeongin.”

“And you?”

You sit up and cross your legs, trying to figure out what exactly he’s asking. You wait for him to continue.

“Why did you see me as a rival? I was just as lost as you were. We could’ve been closer.”

“That’s a tough question. I'm not answering that.”

You saw him as a rival because your mom made you see him that way, and you two weren’t closer because you never saw him as a brother. And you didn’t want him as a brother. Besides, if you had been closer back then, none of what’s happening now would’ve ever happened.

“Do you still hate me?”

“Of course not. I stopped hating you when we were teenagers. It was childish, and I realized that.”

“Are you going to keep torturing me while I live with you?”

“It’s in the plans, yeah. Does that bother you?”

“No, I just think that, at some point, we might take things too far. And I don’t want you to regret it if it happens.”

“You’re talking like you’re all responsible. I almost forgot you’re just an 18-year-old brat. And my conscience is clean. We’re not siblings, we’re not friends. We’re just two people forced to live together.”

“We could be friends.”

“Sure. But I still know too little about you to consider you a friend.”

He smiles at you, the same way he did earlier, licking his lips suggestively, uncrossing his legs and spreading them wide as he leans back into the chair.

“So, what else do you want to know?”

What you really want to know is what you’re too afraid to ask yourself. Why is he affecting you so much? You’re not about to dive into that, though, so you change the subject.

“Do you have any kinks?”

“Is that what you talk about with your friends?”

“Of course, along with other stuff. Don’t you?”

“Not really.”

“What a sad life. So, do you?”

“Anal, I think.”

Thank God you're still wearing panties because otherwise, your pajama shorts would be soaked in no time, and you’re just talking. It isn’t fair that you feel this attracted to him. No matter how much you try to figure out what’s happening to you, you can’t. Honestly, you’re kind of scared to understand.

"That’s it?"

"That’s all I can think of right now. Do you have any?"

"Hmm... I like a lot of things. Can’t really think of anything right now."

"You’re so slippery. Got me answering everything, and you’re not giving me anything."

You laugh and stand up from the couch, stretching in front of him, fully aware that his eyes are taking in every bit of skin available.

"You’ll figure it out. Goodnight, Jeongin."

You head into your room and check if you still have your anal plug in your stash of toys. That little detail would take the teasing to a whole new level. And once again, you have no idea what’s really holding you back, but whatever it is, it’s probably coming to an end soon.

[vidavalor]

@kayleefansposts Thanks for the addition of the possible symbolism, especially that bit of Genesis that my recovering raised-Catholic brain had completely forgotten lol. The bits of The Bible chosen to be satirized here are always top notch. I worry sometimes because I see some people say things like 'it's Bible fanfiction' and god, no, no no no no no lol. It is not. It is skewering The Bible every which way to Sunday...

@unforgivable-thatswhatiam Thanks for sharing your theory! I appreciate you taking the time. It was a very interesting read! I love hearing other people's interpretations of things. I agree with some bits of yours and see the story a bit differently in other ways. Some are thoughts below if you have a few moments & want to indulge me. 🤗

TW: same as Kaylee's message above-- mention of Satan harming Crowley.

From thinking about your reply, I guess that I think what you and Kaylee are calling a True Form, I see as a mind/soul/essence-- basically what Beez called "all your you" when they were talking about what Gabriel had put into The Fly. Not just his memories but the essence of who he is, of which memories are a part. I don't see this as another type of body, exactly. Not in a way comparable to a human body, anyway. More like a human mind/soul/essence.

I don't really think that it has physical matter in the way that we see a human body as having. One of the visual puns I love in the series is around the word matter-- how the file marked 'Re: the matter of Gabriel' in S2 doesn't have matter for Muriel, whose hand goes through it when they try to open it. But the other way to use the word is that something that matters is something that is important.

The matter of Gabriel is about the recurring theme of the mind-body connection and it's something that I think matters a lot in the story.

I guess I see the point of the story as being more about human living and a True Form as more of a soul/mind/essence than a separate type of body that could be physically injured in battle. An angel can exist with just that True Form in anti-body, anti-consumption Heaven, where they have less of a need for a physical body but...

Well, nothing matters Up there. There's no living. There's no way to experience anything. It's the white bright light of death, which is why it doesn't really matter if you have any matter Up there. You don't matter and nothing matters and it's just an endless void of misery.

I didn't take The Quartermaster saying "you were issued a body" as indicative of only some angels being issued one. It could be the case but I sort of see The Quartermaster as almost like... he is a separate character but he represents Aziraphale's inner dialogue, in a lot of ways. He's chewing Aziraphale out for being careless with his body and helping him to express the core conflict that Aziraphale has, which is that he's supreme archangel-- meaning: he's supremely over and above being an angel.

Aziraphale doesn't truly believe in Heaven's definition of an angel because Heaven is oppressive and oppressing and Aziraphale's idea of God is that she wouldn't want everyone starving to death in every which way there is, which is what's happening Up there. If The Quartermaster is Austro-Hungarian, it's that he's hungry lol.

The Quartermaster seemed angry that Aziraphale had arrived for battle without a human body to me, implying that one is considered needed to successfully fight the war. This would make sense to me because war requires stakes. A group of all-powerful beings can't fight to the death effectively when they all have basically the same powers. Having human corporations would mean they were all vulnerable to injury as a result of their celestial selves being fused with their human corporations, as we saw in the threat to Aziraphale during The Bullet Catch that Furfur explained.

I think that the humans are basically angels with the immortality and some powers turned off. They were made in the image of the angels as, let's face it, not all of the angels are terribly creative 😂, and it was definitely the angels who came up with the humans because there's no god the way that the angels think that there is. There's just The anti-body, anti-consumption Metatron.

Frances McDormand is a voice that chats with Aziraphale sometimes-- as she's marvelous and definitely wouldn't approve of The Metatron's shenanigans-- and these angels and demons are all about to have the very human experience of having no real idea where they come from, imho.

I agree that Aziraphale was ghostly and basically dead when he was discorporated-- because the point, to me, is exactly that-- he was basically dead when he was discorporated. He was effectively a ghost without a human body because his human body is his body. His All Your You was there, matter-less, in Heaven, like how some humans envision death is like for human beings, and he was cut off from his ability to experience anything because he was cut off from his body.

Because of this, I don't think that Aziraphale's limp is an injury to his All Your You/True Form because that's the same bit of him that was in his human body before he was discorporated. It's all one thing-- like how we are. I think they all fought the war with human bodies so the same body that Aziraphale took to battle in The Great War is the body that he lived in on Earth and discorporated in S1.

I don't think Aziraphale needed to be injured to be promoted to leading the platoon during The Great War. Gabriel was in charge of the army then and we've seen enough to know he's been a secret subversive the whole time. Just like he did with assigning Aziraphale to Eden, he would have put Aziraphale in charge of a platoon, knowing that Aziraphale was capable, yes, but also not a warmonger. He could be trusted to defend as necessary without causing undo damage to demons.

It's obviously all really interpretable but I think that the fact that it is and that we know not that much about life pre-Earth is because the story isn't about that. It's about being human and all of these celestial beings are human and all of these humans are star children. They're all just people.

Platoon was also an interesting choice of unit to mention in the discorporation scene because platoon comes from the French peloton, which means small detachment, which is arguably what the discorporation plot itself is in the overall story but, even better, both words come from the Middle French pelote which means... little ball. The discorporation plot is the S1 petite version of Aziraphale's epic meltdown in the last episodes of S2. It has the same themes, which I see as all being related to human living.

The gif where Aziraphale is holding his stomach that you included is from the tail end of his limping. He's clutching his thigh for the first part of the scene while he makes his way across the floor. Maybe it's meant to be making him feel nauseous, too? I don't know but my point is that I don't think that the pain is really real because he's been discorporated-- literally, dis (without) corporation (body)-- and I don't think that the story is concerned with The Great War so much as it is concerned with how the loss of Aziraphale's physical body is affecting him in the present in the scene.

The disc in Discworld relates to the mind so a discorporation is a separation of mind from body. To me, Good Omens is about the business of living and it's about mental health. The Apocalypse is a metaphor for a mental health breakdown. This is why the story doesn't care about much of anything prior to the beginnings of the creation of Earth. Nothing happened. Nothing mattered until they all had matter because no one can really live without it.

I do think that all the angels had human bodies for at least a bit of time pre-Earth and fought The Great War with them but it also feels kind of immaterial if they did or not. Aziraphale transformed into a human form when he joins Crowley, also in human form, in Before the Beginning so it seems they did at least by then. The angels had a concept of sexual desire, based on Crowley and Aziraphale's mutual attraction when they met.

There's also quite a bit of suggestion in both the show & the novel that Crowley was sleeping with Lucifer before The Fall and that he was being harmed before he ended up in Hell. Yeah, this all could have been going on in some kind of Celestial Form but I don't really think it was. There might have been a time when they didn't have human forms and then they did? I don't know but I think the story is mostly fairly unconcerned with it and isn't going to really address it because the story just wants to use these angels to talk about being human.

To me, Furfur was implying something really interesting in 1941 by suggesting that, should Aziraphale be shot in the head, that Heaven might not be able to fix him. If damage to a physical body like that can damage a mind/soul/essence/True Form for an angel the way that it can to a human, then that angel is as human as we are. Those ideas tie more into what I think the story is saying.

Crowley and Aziraphale's fear of discorporation that we see throughout the series seems a very valid one. As it was, The Quartermaster wasn't in a hurry to assist Aziraphale with a body and there might have been some implication that he couldn't. That, at least as far as Heaven was concerned, Aziraphale got the one body and that was it. "I count them out and I count them back in again," The Quartermaster was shouting. We never hear mention of there being an angelic hospital, ya know?

Even Adam didn't exactly give Aziraphale his body back exactly so much as just manifested Aziraphale's body back into reality as a result of saying that he and Madame Tracy should be two separate people again. Adam was a loophole to a problem that might not otherwise have been solved.

What happens, though, if you're an angel or a demon who is discorporated but there's no Adam around, musing about your state of being, to make sure you get your body back? Do you ever get a body again? Not to get all Sister Mary here but... where would it come from? 😂

Yes, the supernatural characters can change their appearances all they like. Get a new face. Swap up their efforts. Take on the look of random people on the street. But they all have their own, individual, core bodies that they are changing and those bodies are really, really human, and they're all really unique to them. What gives the story stakes is that things can happen to those bodies, despite their magic.

But if a character lost their body, it would require someone remaking a body. Adam didn't even do that. He basically told Aziraphale to re-manifest his own into being by it being necessary to separate himself from Tracy.

To me, that's one of the best moments in this series because of the symbolism of a kid-- a non-judgmental child, representing the progress that can be passed from generation to generation (like all the mention of these kids being the products of their decent parents) telling this older being who has struggled why are you two people? and the world of that kid and his friends and the promise of that kind of future being symbolically what gives that older person who suffered hope and another chance at life.

Heaven/Hell is a patriarchal, fascist regime and the loss of human bodies to Crowley and Aziraphale would mean putting their ability to live in the hands of people who do not believe in their bodily autonomy. A physical body is living. It's through the agency and choice having one gives them that they're able to know any freedom at all. Their fear of discorporation shows that they have the same relationships with their physical bodies as we do with ours.

Even if we all have things we might not like about our bodies, they're still our bodies and when and how and if we change them is for us to decide. Just as we'd be terrified at the idea of something happening to us that meant modifications to our bodies that were beyond our control, they feel the same way.

While Aziraphale's story is about dealing with the anti-consumption mentality of Heaven, Crowley's parallel story is that of a rape survivor. Aziraphale is the one who discorporates for the story in S1 because Crowley's story is one of suffering traumatic mind-body disconnect and learning how to heal from that as best he can. His parallel is his burning ring of fire M25 breakdown and literally willing himself to keep his body and mind intact and together to keep himself free.

In the process, he and The Voice of God tell us that Crowley's never discorporated before. Oh, he has, for sure, melted down something fierce a thousand times before, and is in the moment we're watching. He's absolutely losing it and convincing himself that this ton of burning metal, rubber, and leather is a fully-functioning car and that's not just about the literal car around him that is literally on fire. He's really the car that's on fire.

But, as The Voice of God pointed out, Crowley had started his journey in his Bentley and he was going to be damned if he wasn't going to finish it in his Bentley. If he was going to die, he was going to do it in style in his own damn body because it was his body and no one else's.

The character who suffers as the result of his mind being assaulted, who was rendered incapacitated behind the wheel of the-car-that-is-symbolically-him in the first episode is gripping the wheel and driving through a burning ring of fire mantra-ing to himself about how no one's taking his human body from him.

You are my car. I've had you from new. You are not going to burn.

This is a story about being a human being and those angels and demons are human beings.

That is why I think that the show doesn't care that much about The Great War or what Crowley's angel name was (that's also b/c it's a deadname in a trans allegory) or what life was like in Heaven in the before times to Before the Beginning and why none of that will ultimately be relevant to the story they're telling. We can all headcanon away but they're not going to tell us much because it's immaterial to their story. It doesn't matter because nothing happened. None of it mattered until the angels had matter.

Matter is a human body and a human body is the opportunity to experiencing living and experiencing living is freedom and freedom is coffee and, as the sign says in front of Nina's shop? Life begins after coffee.

But, you know, that said? They're definitely clearly fine with dropping little world-building tidbits they won't ever address just to make you go all WAIT WHAT? and start theorizing. 😂😂 To me, the most wild thing The Quartermaster said was that they'd dock the flaming sword from Aziraphale's "celestial wages." They have a *monetary* system??? They don't even have an economy?!?!? lol

They aren't supposed to consume anything? Do they have it to differentiate work from slavery, maybe?... but then what... do they have celestial bank accounts sitting there with unspent funds? What the devil are the angels even buying Up there?!?! 😂 Most of them don't even have chairs... I have so many questions...

Phantom Pain

In the moments before Aziraphale realizes that he's been discorporated in S1, he is seen clutching the thigh of his right leg and limping forward. He's having trouble walking as he tells The Quartermaster that he didn't mean to be there and was still sorting things out back on Earth.

As we know, the entire point of what's going on is that Aziraphale, in this moment, no longer has a body, which means that the pain that he is experiencing in what he perceives as his leg in this ghostly moment is actually a very real human experience-- phantom pain.

For anyone who doesn't know, phantom pain is when a person experiences a perception of pain in a part of their body that is not present. It can be someone experiencing pain that feels like it is occurring in a limb or organ that they no longer have. It can also be pain experienced in a part of their body that they were not born with but which their mind experiences as being part of their corporation.

But why is Aziraphale experiencing phantom pain in his right leg when he gets to Heaven?

Why is the first thing he's feeling Up there without his body a sensation of pain in his leg so severe that has him clutching his thigh and struggling to walk before his mind begins to process that he no longer has a body? Why is it that Aziraphale is processing the shock of the sudden loss of his body in this particular way?

It is interesting when you consider that, while we've never seen Aziraphale have any injury to his right leg in the story before or any other particular significance to it, we have now had more than one scene showing us that Crowley does with his.

In 1827, Satan turns up unseen to drag Crowley to Hell. Crowley loses control of his speech, experiences nausea, and steps backwards with his left leg in an effort to try to balance himself after starting to lose control of his right leg on account of Satan grabbing him. He's dragged to Hell by his legs seconds later, separated from Aziraphale.

Back in S1's present, there's another scene like this when Satan arrives at Tadfield Air Force Base. Crowley grabs his right thigh in pain as he loses control again over his right leg and is dragged to the ground by it by Satan in an effort to make Crowley prostrate himself.

The suggestion of these scenes seems to be that Crowley's right leg, especially his right thigh, is a source of chronic episodic pain for him related to Satan's abuse. The show choosing his leg for this also goes along with its theme of living as the metaphorical walking the Earth-- a physical injury that flares up to impact living for Crowley representing how the psychological trauma related to it does the same.

Crowley's chronic episodic pain is what Aziraphale experienced as phantom pain in his leg when he discorporated because his mind immediately processed the loss of his own body in relation to how it also meant that he has lost the ability to share it with Crowley.

Without having his own body intact, Aziraphale couldn't touch Crowley. He lost the ability to bring him pleasure and comfort and that's how the loss of Aziraphale's own body manifested in his mind to him. Physical death meant the inability to experience not just his own body for himself but the loss of the safe one that Crowley consents to experiencing and enjoys to Crowley.

Aziraphale's physical death wasn't purely his own in his view because Aziraphale doesn't view his body as purely his own. Technically, it it's Aziraphale's bookshop, just as it's Crowley car, but it's really always been their car and their bookshop.

They've been so intertwined for so long that Aziraphale experienced the physical death of his own body as the trauma of being separated from Crowley's. Pretty romantic stuff. 💘

[brainrot-jikan]

no one needs this im sure but just u know, citing my work (for my upcoming sunday/welt brainrot)

sunday, upon being caught by welt (still so polite?? boy ur killing me)

welt, upon confirming his suspicions (the most blunt/rude ive EVER seen welt be, and for very good reason but hot damb if the heel turn didn't do something to me)

welt, self assigning himself sunday's personal escort/guard/warden

welt, sTICKING UP FOR SUNDAY IN FRONT OF HIS COMPANIONS

i am so normal. i am super, super normal about this.

[feroluce]

For reasons to be expanded upon at a later date (because I love the little bits about Boothill and possible paranoia/betrayal canon gives us so very dearly HNGH) I think Boothill like... He won't let himself fall into disrepair or anything of course, but he reeeeeeeeeeally does not like letting other people poke around at his body. It's a necessary evil to him. He does whatever maintenance and repairs he can himself. He started out with a massive knowledge deficit, simply because he didn't really have any exposure to that kind of technology until he left Aeragan-Epharshal, but he's taught himself a lot since then, he worked really hard at it!

Anyway, the point being, Boothill generally isn't super trusting of people.

But I think he would come to make an exception for Himeko, since he trusts Dan Heng a lot, and Himeko is one of Dan Heng's once-in-a-lifetime dearly beloved companions.

Himeko is so unflappable, I don't think she would even bat an eye about anything he throws at her, either. Like she enters the Parlor Car one morning (she's always the first one up) and Boothill is already there, waiting for her.

"Mornin', Madam Navigator."

"Good morning, Mr. Boothill."

And despite the fact that he blatantly broke into the Express (Pom-Pom is NOT happy about this JDKSAJDSKL), Boothill tips his hat, greets her politely, and is nothing but respectful when he says he has a favor to ask of her. Except it won't stay a favor long, of course- he has every intention of paying it back.

Himeko never agrees to things blindly, but she does bring up that all the knowledge Boothill contributed during the Charmony Festival was essential to preventing the universe from being pulled into Ena's Dream. And they were able to hold onto the Jade Abacus because Boothill used Tiernan's burial relic to summon the Galaxy Rangers instead. The Astral Express owes him a debt of gratitude, and besides, he's a friend of Dan Heng's. Of course she'll try to help him.

Boothill fidgets a bit, quickly brushes off the thanks, and tells Himeko he's having a problem with error codes. He keeps getting the same one, seemingly at random times, but the darn thing has no obvious cause. Dan Heng mentioned Himeko had been the one to rebuild the Astral Express. He knows it ain't the same, but it's not like he's askin' for any major repairs or nothin'. He was wonderin' if she could just take a look, maybe offer him some insight, since she seems to be somethin' of a mechanical wonder.

So Himeko walks him back to a another car, where she goes to tinker with machines without them crowding her bedroom. It's all neatly laid out and organized, and it only takes a second for Himeko to locate some specific device with a long cord. Instead of plugging it in herself, she holds the end of it out to him, like an offer rather than a demand, and Boothill visibly relaxes a bit. He still eyes it just a little warily for a second, but he accepts and plugs it into the port on his side.

Himeko pulls up the list of all recent errors, and they really are all the same. Boothill has had multiple temperature alarms over the past couple of weeks since the Charmony Festival, and they know it's not the environment, because Penacony is mostly dreamscape and kept mild year-round. The long-forgotten natural deserts are too far away.

Boothill is staring from the corner of his one good eye, so Himeko turns the hologram to let him see what she's doing easier. They don't appear to be false alarms. His internal temperature spikes and then slowly lowers again, high enough that if it lasted it would eventually cause damage.

One option is for her to start rooting through personal data, figuring out what he was doing at the time of each code, and tracing cause and correlation.

Instead, Himeko reads out the timestamps, and asks Boothill if he minds sharing what was happening around him when it occured.

Two weeks ago: He and Dan Heng went to explore Dreamflux Reef and found a bar- nice place, good atmosphere. Woman runnin’ it was a doll. Boothill left fer not even two minutes to get them drinks (Dan Heng knows like nothin’ about liquor, Madam Navigator, can you believe this guy) and when he came back, someone had already stolen his seat and was hittin’ on Dan Heng! Dan Heng didn't even care, just shooed ‘em off. Boothill laughed and said not to let him get in his way if he wanted to meet someone. Dan Heng looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Why would he want to leave with someone else, when he came here to be with Boothill?

Twelve days ago: While laying low- er, just rustlin’ up some grub- in the Moment of Blue, Boothill passed Dan Heng with March and Caelus playin’ on the beach, buildin’ sandcastles and the like. When he passed by again almost two hours later, they were still out there, with Dan Heng pullin’ March through the water on her inner tube and Caelus hangin’ off the back of it. He swam so fast! You'd think he was part water snake or somethin’. He looked happier ‘n a cat in a sunbeam… He has a nice smile, doesn't he?

Eleven days ago: Boothill was killin’ time in Dreamflux Reef when he turned the corner down a shady alley and saw Dan Heng, surrounded by three men demandin’ “protection money.” None of ‘em stood a chance, they were all on the ground before Boothill even blinked! So cool! Boothill wants to see that spear of his closeup- Anyway, Dan Heng stepped on one of ‘em on his way out, hahaha! Boothill stepped on the same guy a second time as he hurried to catch up.

Eight days ago: Here on the Express, actually. Boothill had mentioned bein’ curious about the archives, and Dan Heng personally invited him.

(“I remember that day, I saw you in the hall.” “Was there any problem with the heating that day?” “No, none. I don't think the temperature has anything to do with these error codes. I have a different theory, keep going.” “If ya say so.”)

Boothill was fascinated by an entry on aeons, and from a single question he asked about Lan, the two of ‘em ended up talkin’ fer hours. About aeons and Paths and Emanators, Acheron and Self-Annihilators, the Sea of Nihility, Tiernan, the Nameless and the Galaxy Rangers, their burial relics and their customs. Dan Heng finally just started writin’ and editin’ the entries in real time, with Boothill pointin’ things out and tellin’ him what to add in. They were at it so late that Boothill ended up sleepin' on a couch in one of the cars.

He'd figured there had to be something to make Dan Heng chatty- he'd caught just a glimpse of it that first night they met, sittin’ at the bar in the Reverie together. He'll have to ask about the archives more often, if it gets him all revved up like that.

One week ago: After that night of energetic discussion, Dan Heng was apparently hyped up, because after he'd downed some of Himeko's coffee (“You had some too, right? What did you think of it?” “It was great, even better'n chewin’ bullets!” "Thank you! That was my newest brew, I can't wait for everyone else to try it.") he actually asked Boothill to go hunting with him. Boothill asked who their target was, and was surprised when Dan Heng pulled out photos that looked like they were from March's camera, of all things, instead of a bounty or wanted poster.

And as he sat there, studying these pictures, Dan Heng explained that he wanted to hunt down these specific memory zone memes to record them into the archives. Planets with so much memoria are a rarity, especially with the Stellaron's activity thrown into the mix, which has surely affected the local “wildlife.” He might not get another opportunity like this for a long time. And Boothill had talked last night about his extensive expertise in tracking and hunting, so he should have plenty to offer here, Dan Heng would like to learn from his experience and see how he does things!

And oh, Madam Navigator, by the time Dan Heng was done speakin', his eyes were practically sparklin'! Just lit up like the sun! Boothill could scarcely believe it! The two of them couldn't even wait another day, they set out that very morning. It had been a long, long while since Boothill had tracked someone- er, somethin’- without the intent to capture or kill. It was…actually really nice. Nostalgic, but in a good way. It might even have been his favorite day on Penacony…so…far…

Boothill trails off as a couple of realizations crash into him. All the temperature alarms he's spoken about thus far- they've all happened in the company of Dan Heng. And now that he's thinking about it, he's pretty sure even the ones he hasn't yet talked about were with him, too. Dan Heng has been responsible for all of his error codes, every. single. one.

The screen in front of Himeko suddenly refreshes to the top of the list, displaying a new notification for the current time. Alert! Core temperature above normal range.

Himeko's knowing smile is sly as a snake.

Wwwwwelp, would ya look at the time, Boothill has some errands to meet, people to run, y’know how it is, he should really get goin'-

“Oh, Mr. Boothill? About that favor.” And Boothill jolts to a stop in the doorway because fudge, he can't just leave without hearing her out. He'd given his word. He has no problem running out on someone he thinks deserves it, but Himeko really had been kind to him to try and help him out. Her voice is just as knowing as her smile, Boothill can't turn around to look at her, or else he knows he won't be able to disguise the sound of his cooling fans kicking on.

“Don't make Dan Heng wait too long, ok~?”

“Y-Yes, ma'am.”

[tetzoro]

the day the earth stood still is the day i felt your presence leave it, and then every day after that.

[kuratm]

learning recently about a guy who singlehandedly destroyed his MARRIAGE over a fucking furina rerun banner on ge/nshin (i'm talking SIX HUNDRED BUCKS on the couple's shared credit card) makes me more glad i dropped ge/nshin.

[unma]

So I've calmed down. After today's events I find myself even more vindicated in my hatred for my family, but that's neither here nor there. I'm not trying to vent so often on this blog (feels too oversharey), so instead I'll let y'all know that my birthday is in two weeks! Specifically the 24th. So that's cool.