#Zero Speed Switch

[aria0fgold]

Having an Umbreon is the best. He's such an insane tank and ever since playing some Pokerogue, I finally learned to strategize enough to start using status moves instead of always attacking so a tanky Umbreon with screech is just amazing support.

[ijustwant2ride]

Motorcycle News: Vehicle Kill Switches and Speed Limiters

I am always looking at motorcycle news. Sometimes it is good news, sometimes it is not so good news. Here I give you a quick synopsis of the news story that caught my eye and then my take on that story. Down Shift – Vehicle Kill Switches   Under the Biden Infrastructure Bill “provision requires such technology to “passively monitor the performance of a driver” and “prevent or limit motor…

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react to you randomly throwing yourself on the floor and yelling "I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!"

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

The very moment your body hits the floor, he’s already in motion—no hesitation, no thought, just pure, unfiltered chaos. He throws himself down beside you with a level of theatrical commitment that would make a seasoned Shakespearean actor weep.

"BABE?!? BABE, NOOOOOOOO!" he cries out, his voice cracking mid-scream like an overworked opera singer. With all the grace of a man who has never known the concept of subtlety, he dramatically shakes your shoulders as if he's trying to reset a Nintendo 64 cartridge.

The situation escalates immediately—because, of course, it does. One second, you're lying there in mild inconvenience, and the next, Gojo has fully committed to the bit. He cradles your head in his lap, clutching you like you’re a fallen soldier in a tragic war film. He tilts his head back, gazing up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, and suddenly—he's monologuing.

“Oh, cruel fate! How merciless you are to steal away my one true love in the prime of their youth!" His voice trembles with emotion as he strokes your hair, his other hand clutching his chest. "What good is my power if I cannot protect the one I hold dearest? Am I even worthy of the title of strongest?"

You stare up at him, absolutely dumbfounded. Somewhere in the background, you swear you hear the faint echoes of tragic violin music (probably playing from his phone).

Before you can protest, Gojo takes things to an even more unnecessary level. He yanks out his phone, thumbs moving at light speed.

"WE NEED A HEALER—" he bellows into the receiver.

Your brain short-circuits. “Gojo, what the—”

"SHOKO, YOU HAVE TO COME QUICK!" he cries dramatically, pacing now, as if the weight of the world is crushing him. "IT'S BAD. IT'S REALLY BAD."

You sit up with a sigh, rubbing your temple. “Gojo. I literally just dramatically fell for attention. I’m fine.”

There’s a long pause. A suspiciously long pause.

Then, like a switch flipping, his entire demeanor immediately changes. His teary, grief-stricken expression vanishes in an instant, replaced with his usual mischievous grin. He blinks down at you, casually ending his fake emergency call like he didn’t just cause emotional devastation for fun.

“Oh.” He dusts off his pants, completely unfazed. “Okay, cool. So, like, wanna go buy something wildly unnecessary and stupidly expensive to heal your soul?"

Before you can even process what just happened, he’s already pulling out his Black Card, holding it up like a golden ticket to financial irresponsibility.

You exhale sharply, placing a hand over your heart. “Gojo, I think I actually am dying now.”

“See?! I knew I wasn’t overreacting.”

And just like that, you’re being whisked away for a completely unnecessary shopping spree because, in Gojo's mind, retail therapy is a legitimate medical treatment.

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

You collapse onto the floor like a dying swan in a tragic ballet. Geto, currently sipping his tea like a man who has mastered the art of serene detachment, watches your performance unfold with the emotional range of a houseplant. He doesn’t react—not immediately, anyway. He just tilts his head slightly, blinks once, then takes another slow, thoughtful sip.

“Rough day?” he asks, as if your corpse-like sprawl isn’t deeply concerning and like this is a normal Tuesday for you (which, to be fair, it kind of is).

“Yes, actually,” you groan, face-first into the carpet.

Geto hums, a low, considering sound, like he’s analyzing the weight of human suffering itself. And then—with absolutely zero hesitation or context—he drops to the floor beside you. “If you’re going down, I’m going down with you.”

Now, you’re just two bodies on the floor, lying side by side like the world's most exhausted crime scene victims.

For a second—a very brief, fleeting second—you feel touched. This is kind of romantic in a weird, stupid way. He could have ignored your suffering, but no. He chose to join you in it. “That’s sweet.”

“I know,” he replies. Then, completely deadpan, he adds, “Shall we hold hands and ascend to the next realm?”

You’re laughing before you can stop yourself, and Geto just smirks, clearly very pleased with himself. He’s not the type to make a huge fuss, but he is the type to match your energy, even if your energy is currently Existential Crisis via Floor™.

Eventually, he pulls you up and forces you to drink warm cup of tea because, “If you’re going to suffer, at least be hydrated."

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

Nanami is in the kitchen, minding his own business, making his morning coffee like a responsible, tax-paying adult. And that's when you dramatically fling yourself onto the floor like you’re in an overacted soap opera. He doesn’t react immediately—he just stands there, silently stirring his coffee.

You wait.

And wait.

A full thirty seconds pass before he finally exhales, long and suffering, like a man who has already lived through a thousand lifetimes of nonsense. “Do I even want to ask?”

“I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE,” you wail, the sheer agony in your voice so theatrical it deserves a standing ovation.

Nanami takes what might be the longest, most exhausted sip of coffee in the history of mankind before muttering, “Neither can I.”

This is a man who has fought for his life against special-grade curses. A man who has endured the unrelenting chaos that is Gojo Satoru’s existence. A man who has spent years dealing with the absurdities of Jujutsu society. And yet, somehow—somehow—you, sprawled out on the floor, being extra—seems to be what breaks his spirit.

He crouches down next to you, his tie slightly loosened, looking so tired. “You say that often. And yet, you persist.”

“Yes, because I’m suffering.”

Nanami sighs then reaches over and gently peels your arm away from your covered face. "What happened?"

You sniffle. "I just remembered that my favorite childhood snack got discontinued."

Silence.

Not just silence, but Nanami silence—the kind that could make even Gojo rethink his life choices. Nanami stares at you for a long, long moment. Then, without a word, he gets up, walks to the kitchen.

You peek over the couch like a guilty dog. “You’re not even gonna roast me?”

“No,” he says simply, grabbing his phone and pulling up a search page. “If I did, I would not be a man worthy of you.”

You clutch your chest like you’ve just been struck by divine intervention. “NANAMI, STOP, I’M GONNA CRY.”

Completely unaffected, he continues scrolling. “What was the name of the snack?”

You whisper it reverently, as if speaking its name too loudly would make the grief too real. He nods once and, within seconds, finds a recipe online with the efficiency of a man who probably filed his taxes in January.

The next thing you know, Nanami is moving with the focus of a Michelin-star chef. He’s measuring ingredients, mixing them with precision, his expression unreadable but his actions entirely sincere. You can only watch in shock as he moves around the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, brows slightly furrowed.

This is the Nanami experience: a man who will not entertain your nonsense, but will also go to ridiculous lengths to support it in his own methodical, devastatingly attractive way.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

The moment you throw yourself onto the floor, Choso looks genuinely alarmed. His entire body tenses, his eyes immediately scanning the room for threats. This man has spent most of his life fighting, so his immediate instinct is that you’ve been attacked. He’s already prepared to throw hands, use his Blood Manipulation, and avenge your fall.

“Who did this to you?” he demands, voice laced with deadly seriousness.

You peek up at him from the floor. “Capitalism.”

Choso frowns, staring at you like you’ve just uttered the name of an ancient, malevolent entity. “Is that a curse?”

You sigh, the weight of the world pressing against your soul. “Basically.”

He stands there, actually considering fighting 'capitalism' for you. In this moment, you are not just his beloved—you are a victim of an unseen force, and he must destroy it. You see it in his eyes—the sheer, genuine concern. You have to clarify that you are, in fact, just being dramatic.

Once he realizes this, he crouches beside you and with an almost painfully stiff movement, he gently—oh-so-awkwardly—pats your shoulder. It’s the kind of stiff, tentative touch you’d give a traumatized pigeon you’re trying to befriend.

"There, there,” he says, voice unnaturally formal, like he’s reading dialogue from a handbook titled 'How To Human: Basic Comfort Edition.' “It will be okay.”

You stare at him. His movements are so mechanical, so stiffly rehearsed, like he’s performing a first-aid procedure on an injured bird he has no idea how to care for but really, really wants to help.

You want to laugh, but honestly? You’re touched.

Choso doesn’t always understand human emotions, but what he does understand is that you are sad, and that makes him upset. He cannot let this stand.

So, in the only way he knows how to truly show solidarity—he joins you.

Without hesitation, Choso lowers himself onto the floor, lying beside you. He takes your hand in his, his grip firm, and grounding.

"If you need anything," he says, voice low and sincere, "just tell me. I will do my best to make the world a little less exhausting for you."

And that? That’s when you actually start crying.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

Toji is sitting on the couch, one leg stretched out, scrolling through his phone like a man with zero responsibilities and even less motivation to gain any. He’s so relaxed it’s almost an art form—the pinnacle of bare minimum energy.

And then, in a move so dramatic it could win an Oscar for Best Overreaction, you collapse onto the floor like a medieval peasant who just got diagnosed with the plague and a tax increase in the same breath. Arms sprawled, face pressed to the ground, you release a noise that is one-third sigh, two-thirds existential despair.

Toji’s response?

The barest flicker of an eyebrow raise.

He gives you a long, considering glance, the way someone might look at someone's spilled drink in the room—mildly aware of the issue, but not entirely convinced it’s his problem. Then, deciding it is not, he calmly resumes scrolling.

You lift your head just enough to squint at him. “Wow. Not even a little concern?”

Toji doesn’t even pause. “Did you die?”

“…No?”

“Then you’re fine.”

You groan louder, rolling onto your back like you’ve been emotionally sniped. “I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE.”

“Then don’t.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, narrowing your eyes. “That’s not how life works, Toji.”

He finally, finally looks up from his phone, just enough to make prolonged eye contact while lazily shrugging. “Sounds like a you problem.”

You are so close to throwing something at him.

Toji is absolutely not the comforting type. If anything, he finds your suffering mildly entertaining. You can practically see the amusement glinting in his eyes every time you get extra like this. He thrives off it.

And yet.

Despite his lazy indifference, despite his refusal to play into your dramatics, despite every ounce of his cold-blooded energy—

He nudges you.

With his foot.

Like you’re actual roadkill, and he’s checking if you’re still breathing.

“C’mon, get up,” he mutters, like he’s doing you the world’s biggest favor. “I’ll buy you food or whatever.”

Your soul immediately resurrects.

In less than a second, you shoot up from the floor like a zombie reanimating in a horror movie. The promise of food has restored you.

Toji smirks, fully aware of what just happened. He knew exactly what he was doing. Food is the one thing that can drag you back from the depths of despair.

So, yeah. Toji absolutely won’t give you some deep emotional pep talk. He won’t hold your hand and whisper encouragements about your worth and potential. But he will bribe you with food to make you stop being dramatic.

And honestly? You’ll take it.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

It's pretty easy to cut $2 trillion from the federal budget, actually

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. THIS IS THE LAST DAY to pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

If Elon Musk wants to cut $2t from the US federal budget, there's a pretty straightforward way to get there – just eliminate all the beltway bandits who overcharge Uncle Sucker for everything from pharmaceuticals to roadworks to (of course) rockets, and then make the rich pay their taxes.

There is a ton of federal bloat, but it's not coming from useless programs or overpaid federal employees. As David Dayen writes in a long, fact-filled feature in The American Prospect, the bloat comes from the private sector's greedy suckling at the government teat:

https://prospect.org/economy/2025-01-27-we-found-the-2-trillion-elon-musk-doge/

The federal workforce used to be huge. In 1960, federal employees were 4.3% of all US workers; today, it's 1.4%. Zeroing out the entire federal payroll would save $271b/year (while beaching the US economy!), a mere 4% of the federal budget.

On the other hand, zeroing out the budget for federal contractors would save over a trillion dollars – the US spends 4 times more on private sector contractors than it does on its own workers, and while some of those contractors are honest folks giving good value for money, the norm is for federal contractors to pick the public's pocket and then use the proceeds to lobby for more fat contracts.

One key job we ask our federal employees to do is root out private sector fraud in federal contracting. We should hire more of these people! Private contractors steal $274b/year from the public purse – nearly enough to pay for all the employees in the federal government:

https://www.gao.gov/assets/gao-23-106285.pdf

Musk doesn't know any of these, and he doesn't care to know. As Dayen writes, he's doing "policy by anecdote." Take Ashley Thomas, the director of climate diversification for the US International Development Finance Corporation. Musk sicced a mob on her, decrying her for doing a "fake job" that was somehow related to "DEI." But Thomas's job isn't employment diversification – it's crop diversification.

If Musk wanted to run DOGE as a force for waste-elimination, he wouldn't be attacking the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and PBS (whose budget accounts for 0.012% of federal spending). He wouldn't be attacking federal fiber subsidies (he's mad that he can't get more subsidies for his dead-end satellite service that caps out at one ten-millionth of the speed of fiber). He wouldn't be attacking high-speed rail (which competes with his Tesla swasticars). He wouldn't be fighting with the SEC (which defends the public from costly stock swindles, which is why they've been investigating Musk for seven years).

He could, instead, go after private sector Medicare waste. 33 million seniors have been suckered into switching from federally provided Medicare to privately provided Medicare Advantage. Overbilling from Medicare Advantage (whose doctors are ordered to "upcode" patients to generate additional bills) costs the public $83b/year:

https://www.medpac.gov/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/Mar24_ExecutiveSummary_MedPAC_Report_To_Congress_SEC.pdf

Medicare Advantage patients are, on average, healthier than Medicare patients (Medicare Advantage giants like Unitedhealtcare cream off the cheapest-to-service patients). Yet, this healthy cohort costs more to treat than their sicker cousins on the public plan – the fraud costs us about 11-14% of the total Medicare bill, and we could save $140b/year by zeroing that out:

https://pnhp.org/system/assets/uploads/2023/09/MAOverpaymentReport_Final.pdf

Zeroing out Medicare Advantage overbilling would pay for "an out-of-pocket spending cap, a public drug benefit, and dental, hearing, and vision benefits" for every Medicare patient with tens of billions to spare.

Of course, as Dayen points out, the guy in charge of Medicare is Dr Oz, who has spent years shilling for Medicare Advantage, while holding massive amounts of stock in Unitedhealthcare, the nation's largest Medicare Advantage provider, and the worst offender for Medicare Advantage overbilling.

Then there's Medicare itself. Rates for Medicare doctor reimbursement are set by committees of specialists, who award themselves sky-high rates while paying rock-bottom wages to the frontline general practitioners who do the heavy lifting. Lowering specialists rates to match the rates paid in Canada and Germany would save the federal government $100b/year:

https://cepr.net/rfk-jr-physicians-pay-schedules-and-the-elites-big-lie/

Then there's Big Pharma. For years, Congress legally forbade Medicare and Medicaid from negotiating drug prices, which is why the US government pays the highest rates in the world for drugs developed in the US, with US federal subsidies. US drug prices are 178% more than other wealthy countries, and many drugs are sold at 20-30x the cost of production:

https://aspe.hhs.gov/reports/comparing-prescription-drugs

A few of these drug prices are going to come down in the coming years, thanks to timid, but long overdue action from the Biden administration. To really tackle a source of government waste, the US government could use its "march in rights" to federalize production of the most expensive drugs:

https://prospect.org/day-one-agenda/force-drug-companies-to-lower-prices/

One possibility floated by economist Dean Baker is for the US government to invest $100b/year in clinical trials, keeping the patents for itself and licensing multiple manufacturers to compete to produce these publicly owned drugs, which would save an estimated $500b/year:

https://cepr.net/financing-drug-development-what-the-pandemic-has-taught-us/

Then there's price-gouging, useless middlemen like Group Purchasing Organizations who soak the public purse for $20b/year – a "moderate" enforcement action could cut that to $10b. Speaking of eliminating middlemen, community health centers are a way cheaper source of care than big hospitals – $2371/year cheaper per patient, per year. By subsidizing these, the US government could save another $20b/year:

https://www.ohiochc.org/news/310956/Landmark-Study-Confirms-Medicaid-Cost-Savings-at-Health-Centers.htm

Next, Dayen moves onto the Pentagon, which pulled in $841b last year but has failed seven consecutive audits:

https://thehill.com/policy/defense/4992913-pentagon-fails-7th-audit-in-a-row-but-says-progress-made/

The DoD firehoses money over private sector contractors, like the $3.6b it hands over to Musk's Spacex every year – a number Musk hopes to grow through Spacex's participation in a new consortium:

https://www.ft.com/content/6cfdfe2b-6872-4963-bde8-dc6c43be5093

Military contractor wastage is the stuff of legend, like the $2t F-35 Joint Strike Fighter, a lemon that has over 800 outstanding defects and was just greenlit for another year's worth of full funding:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2021-07-13/lockheed-f-35-s-tally-of-flaws-tops-800-as-new-issues-surface

This kind of wasteage isn't merely shameful, it's illegal. The Nunn-McCurdy Act requires that these large-scale boondoggles be reviewed with an eye to shutting them down. But when beltway bandits like Northrop Grumman’s produce expensive lemons like Sentinel, the DoD continues to hand public money to them, citing "national security":

https://www.defense.gov/News/Releases/Release/Article/3829985/department-of-defense-announces-results-of-sentinel-nunn-mccurdy-review/

The DoD contracts out so much of its essential functions that it literally doesn't know what it has. It pays contractors and subcontractors to produce parts for its systems, but has no way to know if those parts have actually been produced. Meanwhile, private equity rollups like Transdigm have merged every single-source aerospace supplier and jacked up the price of spare parts for existing military systems, pulling down 4,500%+ markups:

https://theintercept.com/2019/05/28/ro-khanna-transdigm-refund-pentagon/

To estimate the easy military savings – the ones that won't require shutting down jobs programs scattered in every key Congressional district – Dayen takes the CBO's estimate and cuts it in half, to get an annual savings of $150b/year.

Then there's general prodcurement, where the GAO estimates the US loses $150b/year to bid-rigging and another $521b/year to fraud (the USG also spends $70b/year on management consultants who do no discernible useful work). Dayen estimates the annual savings from "stringently enforcing fraud and abuse, insourcing operations, and no longer paying for bad advice" at $150b/year.

Then there's tax cheating. The IRS estimates that it undercollects about $606b/year in taxes. The top 1% account for $163b/year of that (Elon Musk's own effective tax rate is just 3.27% as of the five years preceding 2021, the year for which we have his leaked tax return; he paid no taxes in 2018). Every dollar the IRS spends on auditing brings in $2.17 in tax, and every dollar the IRS spends auditing the wealthy generates $6.29 in tax. A dollar spent auditing the top 10% brings in $10:

https://www.timesfreepress.com/news/2024/dec/01/opinion-the-irs-shows-what-government-efficiency/

Audits are durable sources of tax. People who've been burned by an audit are far more honest in the decade after that audit.

The GOP has zeroed out Biden's IRS increases. The CBO estimates that a fully funded IRS could easily increase the taxes it collected by a net figure of $200b/year.

There's also new sources of tax. Dayen likes Dean Baker's proposal for taxes on stock returns: just add dividends and stock appreciation at the end of the year, then multiply by the tax rate. Baker says this is a loophole-free way to bring the effective corporate tax rate up from 20% to 25%, generating $65b/year:

https://cepr.net/winning-the-tax-game-tax-stock-returns/

This would be especially hard on heavily financialized companies with "impossibly high stock price/earnings ratios" – e.g. Tesla.

Dayen also proposes rejigging the tax rate on retirement and health insurance plans, where nearly all the tax breaks are scooped by the highest earners. The Tax Policy Center has $1.12-$1.38t/year worth of other tax reforms that would shift the tax burden from working people to the idle rich:

https://taxpolicycenter.org/briefing-book/what-are-largest-tax-expenditures

Dayen says, "let's ask for about 20% of that" and ballparks the tax income at $200b/year.

How about subsidy cuts? $10b/year in fossil fuel subsidies. Eliminating the notorious sources of fraud in crop insurance would save $5b/year:

https://www.gao.gov/assets/gao-06-878t.pdf

There's $7b/year in subsidies to the Home Bank Loan system and $5b/year lost to pass-through entity loopholes.

Add it all up and you're saving $1.4215t/year without even breaking a sweat, just by tacking (some of) the country's worst looting and tax evasion. Dayen points out US expenditures will fall even more than this, because it won't be paying as much T-bill interest if it doesn't spend this money. We could also just make the Fed stop using the blunt, expensive tool of interest rate hikes to manage inflation. There's plenty of scenarios where interest payments result in the remaining $580b/year in savings, bringing the total up to $2t.

Now, sucking $2t/year out of the US economy all at once – even $2t in waste and fraud – would not be good for America! That kind of economic shock would bring the US economy to its knees, for years to come. All that money still fuels the demand side of the economy. But a slow rampup, and more public spending on useful programs (say, climate resiliency and retrofitting), would strengthen the economy while still bankrupting the fraud sector.

DOGE is wildly unpopular with the American electorate – even large pluralities of Republicans think its stupid. Campaigning on cutting fraud and profiteering would be a wildly popular way for Democrats to separate themselves from Republicans. Few Democrats are rising to the occasion, though.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/27/beltway-bandits/#henhouse-foxes

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/jurvetson/52005460639/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[i2sainz]

when an angel returns

What happens when the line between winning the championship and risking your life becomes blurred?

pairing : lando norris x redbull driver!fem!reader

warnings : main character death (reader), a crash, angst, panic attack, mentions of blood, profanity, brief mention of a coma (lando), no happy ending.

wc : 5.22k

inspired by : Let Down by Radiohead & this tiktok

It was harder than usual to ignore the blistering heat grappling up from beneath your palms. Your sweat felt almost too comparable to liquid lava as it dripped down from your heated navel, enabling your fireproofs to sit snug against your bare torso.

Your chest burned with the air that your lungs refused to breathe— your heart beating in tune with the small, barely noticeable, bumps along turn three of the Yas Marina circuit. 

It would've been an understatement to say that you were tense. Your jaw was nothing if not locked in place, matching your eyebrows furrowed tight beneath your slightly fogged visor. 

"Zero point six gap to Norris. He’s within the DRS zone, fight with everything for your position. This is the last lap." Even though your radio stayed silent in response, you were anything but. Small, barely audible, sounds left your lips on their own accord. Absentminded profanity sang from beneath your balaclava before being soothed over by an equally loud prayer. 

This wasn’t only a race for victory, no— it was much, much, more. It was a race for legacy, a championship that could potentially signify something that you’ve worked your entire life for. 

It was your chance to be the first woman to win the WDC, and you’d be damned to let anyone take it away from you. Even if it was at the stake of the love of your life losing.

But this was also his moment, his time to prove to everyone that he deserved his seat. That he deserved to win. The only thought racing through his head was that he needed to pass you, to make a point to everyone watching- everyone including himself.

This win was detrimental in a way that had the ability to take everything from either one of you. The media had spat venom disguised as hope, they said that the loss of this win could cost either one of you your entire career. 

And now that the two of you were point to point and wheel to wheel, you both refused to give up. 

Your lips stilled the exact moment you clocked Lando’s DRS opening from your mirrors. You’d known that this sport didn’t slow down for anything, but at this moment, you wished it would. 

Your fingers worked faster than your head— a harsh few fingers pressing against the backside of your wheel as you switched out from gear three, having used it a few seconds ago at turn seven, to gear up to a four. 

Lando’s front wing was inches away from your rears, but it was quickly becoming clear that even with his DRS enabled, it wouldn’t be enough to overtake you on the next turn. 

Your soft tires were fresher than his warn mediums, with you having a two-stop pit after a safety car on the forty-fifth lap—  one that lasted for five laps, before resuming on the fiftieth, with you landing p10 after the race resumed back to normal. Though it was a risky call, it was clearly the right one. 

Even with most of your attention on Lando, you were quick to gear down to gear two, your foot pressing harder against the accelerator to turn onto turn nine’s sweeping banked curve effortlessly. The turn left Lando even closer than before— your wheels now side to side rather than front to back. 

Both you and your long-term boyfriend accelerated up in gears after you managed to keep him behind you. You went for gear five rather than seven, which Lando was quick to select. 

As much speed that gear seven gave Lando, it wasn’t ideal considering the distance between his car and your own— especially considering the slightly damp track from the rain that came down hard for the first twenty-five laps. 

Lando tried to overtake you once again, his confidence higher than before due to his influx of speed. However, Lando was a second too short to note his tire's grip, or rather, its lack of grip. 

The McLaren’s front tires were almost too close to the Red Bulls, the air electrifying in a wave of smoke between the two competitors. 

You saw the impact before it happened, your frantic hands turning your wheel as fast as you could, but it was inevitable.

Time seemed to slow the second Lando accidentally understeered on his attempted overtake— his tire making contact with yours within seconds. 

The impact was powerful. It was a sickening mixture of grinding metal and burnt rubber— a combination of puffed smoke and leaked gas that changed the trajectory of the race within seconds.

Your car lifted from the track, the underside of it sliding across Lando’s halo before your tires clipped once again— and then you were airborne. 

Your body was tossed from left to right as your car spiralled in the air. You didn’t make a sound whilst in the air, your hyperventilated breaths coming out loud enough to echo in your ears. 

You barely had a second to brace before your car hit the ground head-on, your stomach dropping as your halo sparked against the track. But then it happened again. 

Your blurred eyes saw nothing but everything at once. It didn’t see the way your car crunched under the impact, nor the way your halo flew off after the third spin, but you saw the sky. 

You saw the buildings that almost disguised themselves as stars, their colours coming together in a bright array of flashing lights. Then you saw the moon, the reflected light glistening along your irises and mixing into the void of your pupils. 

You didn’t know it then, but at that moment, the moon had chosen you. It mirrored your pupils, full and clear. Perhaps the lights were your own stars, as they too shone beautifully across your eyes. 

And just like the moon, you too had to rise before going down. 

The sweat from earlier now felt cool, the change of temperature soothing the burning sensations crawling, no— bubbling, across your skin. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it. 

The car spun one last time, your head slamming once more against the barriers before you unlimitedly landed sandwiched between it and the surrounding fence.

You were blinking in and out of consciousness since the last hit against your head. You tried to move your arms but were unable to due to the numbness that crawled along them. 

You couldn’t tell if you felt nothing, or felt too much. You felt like you were burning from head to toe, throbbing in places you haven’t even considered. You were too out of it to panic— too tired to pick up on anything other than the moon shining down on you. 

Your eyes closed on their own accord and your head lolled to the side at the same time a loud boom echoed from your car. A lick of fire ravaging the sides of your car, the broken metal mending at its will. 

But even though you were no longer aware of what was happening, it didn’t mean everyone else wasn’t. 

If the deafening silence in the paddock meant anything, everyone was aware. And for the first time in what feels like years, the paddock was completely silent- excluding the few panicked racing engineers in their assigned driver's ears. It seemed that everyone’s eyes were drawn toward the kaleidoscope of red, blue, and papaya. 

It wouldn’t take a genius to realize that the crash was bad— possibly the worst in years. Everyone’s fears were confirmed after the cameras went black, televisions around the world being forced into a loading screen— for those who were watching your onboard view.

Your racing engineer since Formula Four, Santiago, was blubbering in a panic. He was raised from his chair, one that he was quick to kick out after he jumped to his feet at the first spin, his lower stomach pressed against the table in front of him. 

“Yn? Can you hear me?” He shot question after question, each new one coming out faster than the last. His voice broke with every second word, his ears ringing from the silence coming from your end.

His fear was evident from the way he struggled to stand still, his entire body practically vibrating on the spot. He barely managed to catch Christian Horner's worried eyes before shaking his head once, letting him know that he wasn’t getting a response.

“Fuck-” Santiago carelessly swore on the radio, his hot tears racing down his reddened cheeks. “Please, kid. Tell me you’re alright, give me anything. You don’t even have to talk, just press the button, please-” His pleas were once again met with silence, forcing him to talk to himself. 

He barely registered a hand pressing against his back before someone else started talking through the team strategist’s radio, the voice unmistakenly familiar. 

His head snapped to the side, his headphones sliding off, only to be met with Max Verstappen’s sullen face, his mouth moving— saying something to you that Santiago couldn’t hear anymore. He knew how much the older man meant to you, and how close the two of you were. 

If Santiago was like your grid-father, then Max was like your grid-brother. He was quick to take you under his wing from your first race, and he hasn’t let you go since. He was just as attached to you as you were to him, having spent many hours together flying around the world whilst simultaneously looking through your data.

He saw himself in you and gave a piece of you to someone who he’d helped bring into the world. His daughter’s middle name was your first, her small fist curling around one of your fingers as you sobbed into Max’s shoulder at her birth. 

Back then, Max thought the three of you had forever to spend together. He hadn’t rushed any meetings between the two of you, even though you were already at his shared house with Kelly almost every few days. But now, hearing nothing but the silence speaking back to him, Max wishes he had. 

His daughter would carry your name as a legacy, but she’d hold no memories. You would be a ghost following them their entire lives, your presence missing in every small, or big, moment. 

But right now, none of that mattered. Nothing would until he pulled a response from you. His glove-cladded hand trembled as he absentmindedly fiddled with his overalls collar, his bottom teeth rattling with anxiety as your silence bored on.

But when he opened his mouth to question you again, he was stopped by his own engineer pressing a solid hand against his shoulder. Max’s eyes snapped over towards the man standing still beside him, his eyes searching the other man’s for some sort of positive emotion. Instead, he was greeted with a red-cheeked frown and glazed eyes, a sight that would permanently engrave itself into his mind. 

“The marshals existigusted the fire and got her out-” Max’s head was spinning, the last few words repeating through his mind like a broken record. Got her out, they got her out, she will be okay. 

But before Max had a chance to grow hopeful, it all came crashing down with the following statement. “But Max, it’s not looking good. She wasn’t moving when they pulled her out—” 

Max swayed in spot, his eyes fluttering behind his heavy eyelids as the light suddenly got brighter in the center of his vision— the swarming blacks closing in around the edges. The only thing Max could feel before welcoming the numbness was the rapid beating of his heart, his chest burning with each pump. 

—

A creeping force of exhaustion, which was quickly followed by an equally as powerful wave of pain, rushed through Lando’s entire body the second his eyes started blinking open. 

A small moan of pain left his cracked lips when his hand twitched by his side, his fingers clenching into a fist as he tried to gain control of his body. 

Everything from his head to his toes throbbed. His chest heaved upon itself as he gently twisted his neck in a small gesture, attempting to twist around in discomfort.

His eyes were slower to open, his tiredness still pressing down heavily against him. But when he finally got his eyes to open, he will forever wish he never had. 

The first thing he saw was his mom who was sitting on a chair beside his bed, both her pale hands holding one of his in a tight grip. Her head was pressed down against their entwined fingers, her cheek damp against him as gentle breaths left her sleeping form. 

For a minute, he slightly smiled at the sight. It’s been a while since he’d seen his mom in person due to the triple header and short in between getaways with you. 

His smile brightened at the thought of you, and his eyes were already searching the room for your presence before he could reminisce any further. But after seeing that the room was empty sole for himself and his mom, his eyebrows furrowed. 

It wasn’t often that you were away from him, the two of you usually attached at the hip whenever you weren’t forced into your own garages pre-race. Which is why it was confusing for him to see no trace of your presence in his private room, there wasn’t even a sight of your lucky blanket that you’d brought everywhere with you— the one he’d bought with his first paycheck. 

Before Lando could ponder more, the door swung open. At first, Lando thought you’d be the one walking through the door, but upon seeing your teammate, Max Verstappen, a confused frown graced his lips.

“Max? Where’s Y/n?” Max’s head snapped towards Lando, who was cringing at the dryness of his voice, in record time. Lando’s heart dropped at the sight of the man standing before him. Max, who was usually fairly composed, looked like a man whose world crashed down around him. His eyes were bloodshot, but his mouth was what threw Lando’s mind for a spin. 

His lips were pulled up in a heartbreaking scowl, the lines around his mouth appearing more shadowed than ever upon the hospital's harsh lighting. 

Even though Lando’s entire body was sore, the sight forced him into a straighter stance. His back cracked in protest as he pulled himself into a sitting position, a small wince showing on his face when he put too much weight onto his free hand when pushing himself up. 

Max stood still at the door, his back taut as he stared into Lando’s eyes with a look the other man couldn’t decipher. Max’s silence continued as Lando adjusted his bed as best as he could with one free hand and a few casts sprawled across his body.

“You killed her.” Lando’s entire body froze at Max’s statement. His heart fell in his chest and his mouth dried even further within seconds. He blinked his widened eyes at the angered man standing across the room from him. Lando’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to force himself to speak, his words begging to leave his mouth but refusing to speak. 

“W-what? Killed who?” Max’s face crumbled the slightest amount at the genuine fear and confusion radiating from the tattered man on the bed. His hands shook by his side, which Lando also seemed to notice. 

“Killed who, Max?” Lando was growing more and more anxious as the man stayed silent, his lips curling into his mouth as the shakiness spread from his fingers to his knees. 

Lando was growing more irritated by the second. He tried to rake his mind for any indication of what Max could possibly be talking about, but he came up blank every attempt. The only thing he could remember was laying in bed with you this morning, your bare legs tangled together in the mess of sheets and morning light. 

He could still smell your body wash that he stole from you last night, his mind racing with the memories from bed last night when your bodies bent together in a pile of mango-scented soap and quieted giggles as you begged him to laugh quieter. 

He couldn’t remember why he was here, or where you were. And the lack of your presence seemed to heighten his emotions. Lando ignored his hands protest as he leaned his weight against it once again, his body tilting to the side in an attempt to look behind Max and into the hallway, to see if he could see you standing behind him.

Max’s heart stuttered in his chest when he noticed that Lando was looking for you, his eyes watering once again. “Lando-” The boy in question interrupted Max before he could finish his sentence, his voice coming out panicked. 

“Where’s my Y/n? Why isn’t she here? Is she stuck in traffic, or?” 

“Lando, what do you remember?” Max tried to steer the conversation to another topic knowing that if Lando kept asking the same questions, he’d break down again. 

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed, his top lip pulling up in a confused expression, “what do you mean? I remember everything?” Lando finally looked back at Max after he didn’t respond to his question, his eyes finally leaving the door. 

“I don’t think you do-” Lando clocked the choke of Max’s voice mid-sentence and paused once again, his hand becoming clammy in his still-sleeping mom's hand. “Max, what are you talking about?”

“Mate, you’ve been in a coma for eight days.” 

Lando shot up, his hand slipping from his mom's hand before it slapped over his mouth in horror. His eyes were wide when he stared into Max’s, his heart racing. “Did I miss the race?” 

Lando’s voice shook with the amount of adrenaline that shot through his body at the reminder of the race, his thoughts spinning from different scenarios of what could’ve possibly landed him here. 

But then you entered his mind again, and he blanched. If he missed the race then that means you won. You either won the race or spun out at some point. Even though the two of you were tied in points, you had more p1 finishes. Your season was overall better, which would have granted you the win if by chance you also weren’t able to finish the race. 

Lando wasn’t sure how he felt at the thought of losing. Sure, you were his girlfriend— one who he’s been with since the both of you were kids. But this wasn’t as simple as a single loss, it was more. 

“Did she win?”

Max’s face fell even more at the question, his resolve crumbling just as face as it first appeared. His lip quivered between his teeth, his eyes burning as his tears forced their way out. Max couldn’t get himself to verbally respond, and so he just nodded once— then once more as if he needed to solidify it for the both of them. 

Lando rested back down against his bed with a puff of air. He could feel his heart breaking, but he could also feel the warmth of your success blooming in his chest. He allowed himself to feel sad for a few more seconds before a small smile peaked upon him. She did it, just like he knew she would. 

“So where is she? She’s too good to come to see the losers, or what?” Lando tried joking with Max to lighten the mood. His voice came out a little too loud than respectful for the woman sleeping beside his bed. But he didn’t seem to notice, not when he was too busy basking in your win. 

Lando’s smile fell the smallest bit at the silence that followed, his head lifting back up to face towards the third-place champion. His eyes widened even more at the sight of Max crouched against the wall with his head in his hands. 

Lando didn’t know what to think whilst watching the older man’s shoulders shake with each heavy sob that left his mouth. The negative thoughts crept in through a small part of his mind, the darkened tentacles wrapping around his brain as they tried to pull him down into the depths of his thoughts. 

Images began flashing through his mind, colours that clashed together and formed an image of your car flipping over his. He tried shaking the thought away, cursing at his mind for putting such an image in his head. That didn’t happen, there’s no way it did. It must’ve been a fevered image, something that his brain tried forcing him to make-believe. 

“Is Yn okay?” Lando’s voice barely came out louder than a whisper, but still loud enough for Max to hear. Lando felt like a cold bucket of water was dumped over him when Max’s muffled cries only grew louder at the question.

Lando’s ECG machine’s beeps only grew more frequent the longer Max stayed silent. “Max? Is she okay?” He was fully panicking now, his body already moving from his bed with silent protests as Lando reached down into a bag that he found beside on a random chair by his bed. 

Lando didn’t care for anything attached to him, mindlessly ripping them out as he clumsily tumbled around as he pulled on a pair of jogging pants that he’d taken from the bag. 

Max barely looked up at the man in front of him before another person came barreling into the room. His dad. 

All it took was one look at the expression on his dad's face for Lando to realize what happened. His weak body stumbled between the bed and the wall beside him as he forced himself to walk towards his dad, tears streaming down his face as he broke down in front of everyone.

“Lando-” 

Lando barely noticed his now awake mom reaching over the bed, her hands missing his arm by a few inches. Lando finally reached his dad who was standing between him and Max, his father's hands coming down to rest against him. 

His father’s eyes never left his son's face as he watched him break down into himself, his face red and blotchy. His heart sank even more at the sight of his heartbroken son. “Lando, you need to calm down”

Lando flinched back from his dad, a mean look replacing his heartbroken one for a moment. “Don’t tell me to calm down, just tell me where she is!” Lando wasn’t sure if he was yelling at his father or not, not when he could barely hear over the deafening sounds of the crash that were paired with the memories that came rolling into his mind. 

“She’s dead, Lando.” Everyone in the room’s head snapped towards Max’s devastated one. His eyes were closed with his head rolled back against the wall, his hands still pressing against the sides of his head as if his palms could keep the sounds out of his mind. 

“She died on contact, she wasn’t even given a chance to fight.” Lando’s body moved before his mind did, his feet bringing him past his father and out of the room. He couldn’t think, he just ran. 

Lando barely noticed Santiago walking down the hall, his hands carrying a tray of warm coffees. He barely noticed his teammate, Oscar Piastri, trailing behind the older man with his hands in his pockets. He didn’t notice anything. 

“Lando?” Oscar’s voice barely reached Lando’s ears when he passed them, his entire body shutting down on itself. The only thing he could hear was your voice calling out to him from somewhere too far, from somewhere he couldn’t reach. 

The only thing he needed right now was you, but that wasn’t possible. And so he left everyone else, running away in an attempt to find a place where he could be by himself— where he could lose himself in his thoughts without anyone intervening. He wanted to cry, to feel the pain, he wanted to suffer. He didn’t deserve for them to help him, not when he did this to himself— to you. 

He didn’t care that he didn’t have shoes on when he pushed the emergency door open, didn’t care when his feet scraped against the ground as he carried himself into the hospital's back garden. 

He felt out of body when he lay against the soil, his chest rapidly rising and falling. The ground was damp where he laid out, the wet grass entwining through his hair in a cool hug. 

His arms were wrapped around himself— overlapping at his chest with his fingers digging into his shoulder. The cast on his leg was ignored, as was the one on his waist, and arm.

His eyes were staring up at the dark sky, the tears spilling down and mixing with the raindrops. If you were the moon, then he was the clouds. They cried with him, the entire sky mourning and sharing his pain.

The sky was full of clouds, the weather matching his very existence. Sobs left Lando’s mouth as the walls of your future home collapsed around him. The giggles of your future kids faded into background noise as their image faded into nothing more than an image of what once was. 

His life with you suffocated in his lungs, your loss sucking the air out of him. He knew he’d be heartbroken when one of you inevitably gave into time, but he thought he had forever left. He thought he’d still have you. 

And even outside, he was still just as alone as he was when he woke up. Life felt like a cruel joke, the clouds covering the entire sky when he wanted nothing more than to see you. 

Sure, you weren’t actually a star, nor were you the moon, but you were his. You’d once told him that when you died you’d become a star, a line you’d stolen from some cheesy movie that the two of you watched after a particularly difficult race for the two of you.

You said that all he had to do was look up, and he’d see you again. But you lied, or maybe you were just punishing him. But still, he needed to talk to you— to apologize and plead for you to come back. 

He shakily raised onto his knees, his hands staying in their position as he rose to his feet. He walked towards a specific flower that was sprouted beautifully amongst the withered ones beside it. One of his hand’s fingers untangled from his chest to graze one of his fingers gently against the petals with the utmost delicacy, the water from the rain collecting on his fingertips. 

“You won,” Lando spoke to you through the flower, his voice barely louder than a whisper, his voice trapped in the chambers of his throat. “I mean, of course, you did. We all knew you would, even though I still hoped for a chance…” His other hand twitched uncontrollably against his shoulder, his casted arm getting undoubtedly more irritated by the second. 

But none of that mattered, nothing did. Not since he found out he lost you for good, and he wasn’t sure if anything ever would anymore. His throat itched as the burning behind his eyes grew hotter, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to keep his tears at bay. He didn’t want you to see him cry, not when this might’ve been his last chance for you to forgive him. 

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry.” His knees hit the grass before he had time to catch himself, not that he would’ve tried to. His voice broke as he pleaded with your ghost, begging for forgiveness. His hand left the flower to wrap back around himself, his body needing the extra warmth.

Naively, he thought that if he begged enough, wished upon every lucky number, the world would bring you back. That he could go back in time, to Abu Dhabi, to stop himself from ever getting into the car. From killing you.

Lando’s eyes, which closed without him realizing, opened after a particularly harsh cough— his hand moving down to rest against his chest as it caved into itself. But instead of seeing his familiar scratched hand, he saw a pool of blood.

His eyes widened in fear as his eyes deceived him, torturing him to see something that wasn’t there. He knew he wasn’t seeing his own blood, but yours. Frantic breaths left his lips as his body gave up once again— his lungs refusing to inhale enough air to get let out. “N-no, p-please! M’sorry, i-i didn’t mean to—“ He was spiralling through bated air. His bloodied hand reached up to claw at his neck, his eyes forced closed due to the amount of tears leaking from his eyes. 

His lips were salty as they trembled against each other, mouthing each repetitive plea. But nothing changed, you were still gone. His panicking was getting worse by the second, his knees aching due to the bruises surrounding them. 

He surrendered to the ground beneath him, his back meeting the hug he’d earlier departed from. Warm air suddenly caressed his cheek in a fluttering goodbye, a fallen leaf following the current and landing on his cheek. 

His eyes opened as he tried to blink away the pain in his eyes, but his entire body melted at the sight above him. 

In the clouds, there was a small opening. A pocket of sky. And in the pocket, there was a singular star, one brighter than any he’d ever seen before. It was you, it had to be— you promised. You promised. “I love you so much, please come back to me.” His voice broke between every world, but he’d never lie to you. 

He loved you so much that when the clouds covered the star once again, he continued lying there, hoping you’d feel bad enough to come back to him and force him back inside. But you didn’t come, you couldn’t. And even if you wanted to, it wasn’t possible. And there was no one to blame but himself.

Instead, he was forced up by two rough hands pulling his soaked body up and into a tight hug. A jacket was wrapped around his body, his head lolling into the neck of whoever was holding him. 

“You can’t do this to yourself, Lando.” The voice was undoubtedly Oscar’s, the gentle tone as soft as always. “She wouldn’t want you to be like this.”

Lando didn’t answer but instead wrapped his hands tighter around himself. “Your parents are worried, come back inside with me.” It was more of a statement than a question.

But Lando, once again didn’t respond, but he allowed the younger man to pull him up. He didn’t talk the entire way back into the hospital and barely reacted to anything anyone said. 

The only sign that he was conscious was the small look back to the garden, the flower that was sprouted earlier now appearing just as dead as the others. 

A small smile kissed his lips, even when you were gone you were still looking out for him. And for now, he’ll do the same. Now that his angel has returned, he’ll have to hold onto your memory forever.

[millie-multifics]

Miles to Go

Jack Abbot x f!Attending!Reader

Jack got you to the ED, now he has to get you in the ED.... only things are a little more complicated between you now.

Warnings: Mentions of violence and injuries, medical inaccuracies, yearning and a slight jealous Jack.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Previous (Hour 0) | Next

New Readers: This is technically Part 2, view Hour Zero first.

Comments are always welcome, encouraged even.

Edited: 05/24/25

x x x

Hour One: Not Calm, Cool, Nor Collected

4:00am

If anyone asked Jack what was happening between you two, what had happened- he would be honest when he said he did not know. It had snuck up on him, something he did not particularly like as he was a man of planning and being prepared. He had not felt it right away; it had built overtime under a harsh layer of denial and excuses.

He could vaguely recall you walking into the ED as a cautious third year Medical Student. A rotation you had originally greeted with skepticism as it was the opposite of the calm pediatric and family rotations you had most recently completed. He did not recall seeing you much, a few shared comments on cases during shift change, nothing significant. You had fallen in love with the chaos of the ER and were ecstatic when you had been matched for residency with the very hospital that had lit the spark.

Jack’s recollection of the start of your residency was clearer in his memory. One of three new doctors ready to practice on a lengthening leash. He was naturally a calculating person, inspecting the group of fresh-faced Doctors as he finished his charts for the night.

John Shen sipped on an iced coffee, much too large and sugary to be consumed on shift without causing a shaky hand or excessive bathroom breaks. Leo Bryant seemed to have the energy of a puppy, speaking a million miles a minute to get introductions out of the way. Then there was you. Eyes already studying the board, searching for your name as Dana assigned patients to the dayshift. Cool, calm, and collected- or so it seemed until Jack spotted the slight shake of your fingers as you adjusted the newly printed badge hanging from your scrubs.

You were dedicated; any shift, any day, coming in early and working late, weekends and being the first to volunteer to work any holiday. Robby had to pull you aside about six months in, advise you to relax and accept your days off. Balance would be the only way to survive with the high intensity demands of The Pitt.

You had experience plenty of mentorship from Doctors Robby and Abbot, which was one of the reasons you had switched to the night shift during your third year of residency. While Robby was a great doctor and dedicated teacher, Abbot encouraged residents to learn with a more hands-on approach. The switch was not a move that Abbot would complain about; he had discovered that despite the nervous shake of your hands on your first day, you were indeed cool, calm, and collected. You were able to assess patients with speed and ease, not shying away from any case that seemed intimidating or unusual. You did what was necessary when it was necessary and always asked questions to better understand procedures and treatments.

The proximity brought new understanding between you and Jack. Trading medical journals and articles to in depth conversations about patient care became teasing remarks and buying an extra coffee on the way to work. You knew that he preferred his coffee black and near scolding while he always handed over your sweeter, luke-warm coffee order with a disapproving shake of his head.

He had originally been scheduled to work on your first night as an Attending, but due to his abundance of overtime, Gloria had him take the night off.

When Robby had called him in the morning with the news of your injuries, his overlooked feelings became unbearably known as the fibres in his chest tugged tight with panic and worry.

You could feel Jacks eyes on you, calculating your body in a way only a doctor could. It was like you could feel his pupils fluctuate as his eyes sweep over the slight crook in your nose along the bridge where it had broken, drifting over your scrub hidden clavicle and ribs to inspect whether you still hunched from their uncomfortable ache then to your shoes to see whether they would be good support for your leg throughout the long shift. He might have missed the scar along your brow if you had not turned to look at him, the brightness of the healed tissue contrasting your natural skin tone under the lights.

You met Abbot’s stare, catching a split second of vulnerability in his eyes before he looked away, needing to look anywhere other than your sad eyes. His chest tugged uncomfortably as he recalled your last encounter.

It had been in your apartment about a month ago. Bodies close, pupils glazed and frantic with heaving chests - but not in the way either of you secretly wanted. You had yelled first, finally losing your cool after weeks of keeping the tidal wave of emotions at bay. He had not meant to, but his voice raised to meet your volume, and you had flinched.

“I’m sorry.” The words were quiet as they left your lips, hanging in the silence of the ambulance bay.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was deep with a slight roughness, just like you remembered. “Like I said then, just because it’s expected of us to be okay, doesn’t mean we have to be.”

His words were gentle, softer than anything you had ever heard leave his mouth. Soothing in the way he had intended them to be a month ago in the morning light of your apartment. Before he had left to give you space, too much space that you had not asked for. A month with no calls and no texts after two months of him spending more than half his days at your apartment.

“There’s fresh coffee in the staff lounge. I know you refuse to turn on your coffee maker if you have a guest over.” His gaze challenging, wondering if he had imagined the potential in the quiet moments shared in your apartment as you healed. “You’ll start in triage today.”

“How did you-?” Your brain scattered, wondering how he knew you had an overnight guest. “Wait, triage? Isn’t that a resident’s job?” You scoffed, hiking the strap of your bag further on your shoulder as you followed him through the automatic doors.

“If you seen the amount of people in chairs right now, you would understand that I’m not trying to baby you.”  He paused, “Besides, in this ED you should know by now that every task is important.”

A wave of shame washed over you at the slight scold, that had been one of the first lessons taught as a medical student. No matter the task, the case or the patient, nothing was beneath you. You sighed as you watched him walk away, leaving you standing in the centre of the Pitt.

His plan seemed to be working so far; get you to the ED and into the ED. He was not surprised to find you standing outside, caught in the purgatory that was physical and emotional turmoil, something he was all too familiar. Though you did not hate triage, you would just rather be working cases and clearing beds than suturing fingers from the dull blade of a kitchen knife, telling a flu patient that hydration and rest would be their best friend or sending away disgruntled patients that google had convinced they were dying. He knew assigning you to chairs would push your buttons, aiming for it to distract you enough to lure you inside the building unnoticed.

x x x

Tags: @nosebeers @eugene-emt-roe

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Dumbass

Synopsis: You hired a technician. She showed up with zero skills, too-big sleeves, and a stubborn need to impress you. Somehow, you’re both fixing the mess—wires, sparks, and maybe your heart, too.

Word Count: 1,350

Karina X M!Reader

was a slow, uneventful afternoon. You were sprawled across your bed, doom-scrolling through social media with the emotional range of a dying phone battery. One of your friends had posted beach photos from the Bahamas—sunset shots, fruity drinks, and not a cloud in the sky.

Must be nice.

You tapped the heart button and scrolled on, but before your thumb could get into a rhythm again, the doorbell rang downstairs. You blinked at the sound, then groaned. Who even…

Oh. Right.

You sat up. The technician. You’d booked someone to fix the busted light switches you may or may not have “accidentally rewired” last weekend trying to be a man of many skills.

You jogged downstairs, fully expecting a guy who looked like he could bench press a refrigerator and speak fluent electrician.

But when you opened the door, you froze.

There stood a girl. Barely 5’5”, long dark hair, a jumper two sizes too big, sleeves half swallowing her hands. She looked more like someone here to sell cookies than fix dangerous wiring.

“Hi! Are you Y/N?” she chirped, smiling like this was totally normal.

You blinked. Then stared some more.

“…Yes? Are you lost, kid?”

She furrowed her brows.

“Let’s find your mom, okay?” you added, patting her gently on the head like she was a stray puppy.

She smacked your hand away with surprising speed. “I’m not a kid! I’m the technician you hired, sir.”

You nearly choked on air. “Huh?!

“Huh?!” you repeated, still stuck somewhere between laughing and panicking.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, huh. Can I come in or are you gonna keep standing there like you just saw a ghost?”

You stepped aside awkwardly, letting her in. She walked past you like she owned the place—well, more like skipped, her boots squeaking slightly against your wooden floor.

“Sooo,” she said, looking around curiously, “where’s the, uh… issue?”

You cleared your throat, scratching the back of your neck. “Right. Follow me.”

You led her into the kitchen. It looked mostly normal at first glance—until she noticed the cover of the fuse box on the counter, a screwdriver still lodged in it like a murder weapon. A single bulb flickered above like it was barely hanging on to life.

“Oh,” she said slowly. “This is… a crime scene.”

“Technically,” you said, “it’s called DIY.”

“Mmm. Looks more like D-I-Why?”

You shot her a look, but she was already grinning.

“Anyway,” you continued, ignoring the jab, “this switch here started sparking when I tried to turn the kettle on. So I opened it up and, y’know, tried to see what was wrong.”

She crouched next to the wall socket, staring at the exposed wires. “…And what did we learn?”

“…That I should never try to impress girls by saying I can fix things.”

At first glance, she nodded slowly. “Alright… yeah. Yeah, I see what happened here.”

You watched as she walked over, crouched in front of the panel, and tilted her head like she was examining ancient ruins. She squinted at the tangled wires poking out like spaghetti.

“Fuse box open. Wiring exposed. Screwdriver still… inserted. Classic short circuit situation.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You know what that means?”

“Of course I do,” she said confidently, rolling up her too-long sleeves. “This is basic… uh, Level 2 circuitry. Easy fix.”

She grabbed the screwdriver with intent—way too much intent—and began poking around. A spark shot out.

“GOT IT.” She flinched, snatching her hand back like it bit her.

“Got what? Electrocuted?”

“No-no,” she said, shaking her hand and trying to recover. **“Just testing the, uh, voltage. It’s fine. Normal reaction.”

You tried to hold back a smile. “You okay?”

“Of course. Minor shock. Happens to the best of us.” She stood up and wiped her hands like she did something monumental.

“Sooo… fixed?”

“…No.” She cleared her throat, refusing to meet your eyes. “I was just… prepping. Yeah. You don’t just fix things. You analyze.”

There was a pause.

Then she sighed, shoulders drooping. ��Okay, fine. I don’t know what I’m doing. I panicked. I saw wires and just started guessing.”

You bit back a grin. “So you’re not actually a technician.”

“I’m actually a barista.”

“You make coffee?”

“I do! Really good ones too.”

“That’s… wildly unrelated.”

She crossed her arms, cheeks puffing out in embarrassment. “Listen, the listing said good with hands. I assumed coffee counted.”

you know what-

You pulled out your phone and tapped on a tutorial titled “Fixing a Kitchen Light Switch Without Burning Your House Down – Beginner Friendly.” The thumbnail was some old man pointing at a wire like it owed him money.

“Really?” Karina raised a brow as she leaned over your shoulder. “A YouTube tutorial?”

“Unless you’d prefer actual flames, yeah.” You scrolled through the video timeline. “Not all of us are born electricians.”

She scoffed and backed away, folding her arms tightly across her chest as she leaned against the counter. “Please. I could’ve figured it out if you just gave me time.”

You shot her a look. “Time to do what? Negotiate with the wires?”

“Time to analyze the circuitry, obviously.” She pushed off the counter and walked toward the fuse box again, crouching dramatically like she was investigating something mysterious. Her oversized jumper sleeves dangled dangerously close to the open wiring.

You took a step forward, frowning. “Yeah, how about you analyze your life choices first?”

She spun around, eyes wide. “Wow. I’m being judged by a guy who thought rewiring his kitchen was a ‘fun weekend project’.”

“It was supposed to be,” you muttered, crouching next to her. “Until I touched that red wire and nearly got flashbanged.”

“That’s because you don’t touch the red one first, rookie mistake.” She pulled the jumper sleeves up like she was getting serious. “This is child’s play.”

You stared at her, amused. “You sure about that? You looked like you were about to cry after one spark.”

“I did not cry!” she snapped, though the blush on her cheeks betrayed her. “That was a flinch. A dignified one.”

“A dignified electrocution?”

“You’re impossible,” she huffed, sitting cross-legged now, refusing to look at you. “I was just trying to impress you, okay?”

That made you pause.

She fiddled with a loose wire, but her fingers hesitated.

“You… wanted to impress me?” you asked, voice lower now.

Karina didn’t answer right away. She gave a half-shrug, still staring at the mess in front of her.

“You opened the door and immediately called me a kid. I panicked. I wanted to prove I wasn’t useless.”

You stared at her, caught off-guard by the shift in her tone.

Then you knelt down beside her, close enough for your knees to bump.

“Hey,” you said quietly. “You’re not useless. You’re just not… an electrician.”

She finally looked up, cheeks a little pink, bottom lip slightly jutted out in a pout. “Still feels stupid.”

You grinned, gently taking the screwdriver from her hand before she could stick it into the wrong slot again. “Then let’s be stupid together.”

She blinked. “What?”

You held up the phone with the paused tutorial and offered her the other earbud.

“Come on, let’s follow the old guy’s instructions and see if we can at least get the lights to turn on without setting the kitchen on fire.”

Karina stared for a second, then smiled, soft and reluctant.

“Fine,” she said, nudging your shoulder. “But if we die, I’m blaming you in the afterlife.”

“Deal, Dumbass.”

[roolette]

MK1 Guys Giving Head

Characters: Johnny Cage, Syzoth, Smoke, Subzero, Kenshi Takahashi

CW: Nsfw, gn!reader, afab! reader

Johnny Cage

What he lacks in technique, he makes up for in just how damn eager this man is

He asks you to sit on your face and practically makes out with your pussy, kissing and tongue-fucking you, holding your thighs in place. When he tells you to sit on his face, he fucking means it.

Runs his hands up and down your thighs while he eats you out, loves to feel you tremble underneath him.

Looks up at you during it, pussy drunk and grinning like an idiot. Will wink at you and ask if you come here often. No matter what you say in return, he says you'll be coming here soon.

His fingers are thick, and he uses them while he eats you out, curling up just right inside you

Syzoth

When I TELL YOU this man can use his tongue

Flicks his tongue against your clit until you're shaking, he's relentless. Murmurs praise against your cunt in between eating you out

Has a firm grip on your thighs, you aren't closing your legs until he's done

Wants you to watch him while he does it. Eye contact is big, he wants you to know who's giving you all this pleasure, to not forget the feeling of his tongue all over you. He wants to ruin you for everyone else

Smoke

PLEASE praise him, tell him how good he's doing, how good his tongue feels on you. He'll moan against your pussy and pick up the pace

Loves when you pull his hair, pushing his head down further. Fuck his face, he'll love it. He could stay between your legs forever if you let him

Occasionally goes up for air, and immediately kisses you, swirling his tongue around in your mouth to make you taste your own juices. He'll wrap his arms around your waist as he does, he just wants to be close to you

He'll initiate eating you out, practically begging to get a taste of you. Takes everything you give, he loves it.

Sub-Zero

TEMPATURE PLAY. BLINDFOLDED.

Loves to use his powers while he eats you out, pressing ice against your clit, making you shiver and moan. You'll be blindfolded too, and he loves the surprised noises you make when the cold hits you.

Basically, he loves to take control when he gives you head. He'll tie your hands above your head and hold you in place so you don't squirm, taking every bit of pleasure he gives you.

Don't be shy about grinding your hips on his face. Actually, that's what he wants. He wants to see you submit to your desires, to give every inhibition away for him.

Switches paces when you least expect it. He'll be going fast, and you'll be close, and then he'll suddenly slow down, drawing out your pleasure, making you whine his name and beg

Which, by the way, begging might help your case a lot

Kenshi Takahashi

He's going to go slow, and he's going to make you work for it.

Could spend hours between your thighs, pressing his fingers into your pussy, slowly swirling his tongue around your clit.

Don't try to speed him up, you'll only make him go slower.

"Aww, you really want me, don't you? Well, I'm sorry love. You're going to have to wait."

He doesn't just eat you out, too. He'll press kisses on your neck, swirl his tongue along your nipples, run his hands along your body. He wants you to feel good, and he's going to work to make you feel the best you can, and maybe more.

[fortunxa]

Blue hair, blue eyes, blue lights

Jinx x fem!reader / modern AU

summary: The chances of a blue-haired girl being chased by the cops and hopping in my car, simply yelling “Drive!” are low, but never zero.

author’s note: It’s my first time publishing a Jinx one-shot of mine, I hope you enjoy! This is a relatively new blog, so if anyone wants to become mutuals I’m definitely open to the idea! :)

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Fourteen days.

A mere two weeks stand between me and move-in day for my freshman year of college. In other words, summer break is slowly coming to an end, and I’ve done fuck all to make it memorable.

I can feel life passing me by as I watch like a bystander. Usually, the clock is my enemy—a constant reminder of my youth running out, and, shit, I’m too young to feel that way. This time, it serves as a way to free me from the shackles of the evening shift as a front desk worker at our local gym.

The clock strikes midnight, and, like a modern-day Cinderella, I jump up from my seat and make a beeline for the exit, hurriedly clocking out. I simultaneously greet and say goodbye to the night shift going in, already halfway through the small yet relatively empty parking lot. The smell of sweaty ‘gym bros’ is long forgotten as the breeze engulfs me, my dirty sneakers thudding on the concrete. The rust on my beat-up jeep shines in the moonlight as I approach—so seductive, I snicker to myself. I toss my duffel bag in the trunk, hop behind the wheel, and start the engine. I take this moment to commence my connect-phone-to-car-or-die-trying mission and thank the universe for its successful outcome. I browse a bit through the plethora of playlists before settling on the usual one, the sound of Arctic Monkeys filling the space as I leave the parking lot.

I don’t want to go home—not yet, at least—so I settle for a late-night drive. The cookie-cutter, upper-class houses pass me by as I mindlessly cruise through the clean streets—a stark contrast to my neighborhood, where you either learn to stick up for yourself or go home crying to your mama. A place where there is more sewage sludge than trees. A place where I grew up and one I learned to love.

In the midst of it all, I don’t notice the particularly nasty bump on the road that makes my song abruptly cut off. I take a right, pulling over in an alley with an annoyed groan as I resort to phase two, also known as connect-phone-back-to-car-before-I-impulsively-crash, of my initial mission. As I fiddle with the settings, showing my inner cheek no mercy as my teeth dig into their feast, a hissing and spritzing sound comes through my open window.

I think I’m imagining things at first, that post-shift fatigue surely getting the best of me, but I spot the source of the sound rather quickly: a figure, hidden almost out of sight between the fancy houses, switching between various colors of spray paint as she defaces the picture-perfect facade with her graffiti. The sheer speed of her actions makes it look like she’s juggling.

How do I know it’s a girl? Well, although she is wearing a hat to shield her face from any surveillance cameras, a neck warmer up to her nose, and a black, oversized tracksuit already covered in pink paint splotches, her disguise was blown the moment she decided to leave her blue, ankle-length, twin braids out. I twist my neck and reach over the dashboard to try and get a better look at her work. I can barely make out the shape of a green monkey’s face before moving on to the next element. ‘Get ji-’

My reading is interrupted by the sound of sirens piercing the air and blue lights illuminating the area. Instinctively, I turn my headlights off and duck, watching the girl as she hastily packs the cans into her backpack. I swear I can see her eyes twinkle with excitement as she takes one last glance at her—presumably—finished artwork and takes off running through the gardens. Her faint giggle reaches my ears, and a bewildered smile graces my features. I wanted fun, and now it’s right in front of me. I definitely couldn’t get a clearer sign than this.

I observe as one of the cops chases after her as the other drives away, seemingly trying to cut her off. Lightbulb moment. I put the car into gear and waste no time following them from the comfort of the dark alleys, reaching the mysterious girl first through the shortcuts. I catch her contemplating her next move and, without hesitation, quickly flash my high beams at her twice. This seems to grab her attention, and I signal for her to get in with a simple nod, tapping the car door as confirmation.

To my surprise, she actually runs over and hops in the backseat, her back lying flat as she takes a swift peek through the window, and holy shit, I didn’t think that she actually would.

“Drive!” she yells through her panting, and I do. I feel my heart beating wildly against my ribcage as the blue lights appear once again in my rearview mirror. Don’t fuck this up, I think before taking a sharp left. I hear her elated squeals as I visualize the district’s roads and plan the perfect getaway.

Right.

Right, once again.

Left.

Straight down the street.

Sharp right.

I can hear the sirens getting closer as I speed through the familiar routes. It doesn’t matter that I know this area like the back of my hand; the cops probably do, too. There is only one thing left to try, and, albeit risky, it should work. They hadn’t spotted my car yet, and we were quickly approaching a busy intersection—the perfect distraction.

The tires squeak as I harshly pull into an empty driveway, turning the engine off in hopes of blending in.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the blue-haired girl grumbles with brooding eyes. I don’t reply. Instead, I shush her as I grab her waist and roll her off the seat, pushing her into the legroom before ducking underneath the steering wheel. We fall silent, holding our breaths in as the police car passes us by. I watch as they get lost in the dense traffic, a sigh of relief escaping me as I throw my head back. I climb into my seat again and take a peek at the tagger in the back, confusion crossing my features as I watch her stuff her face with candy. My candy. “Hefty stash you got back there.” Her mouth twists at the sour taste of a Warhead she picked. She seems completely unfazed by this whole situation.

I notice that she had discarded her hat and neck warmer and take the opportunity to get a better look at her: blue eyes matching her hair, light freckles splattered across her straight nose and rosy cheeks, pouty lips, her dark and expressive brows… She truly is breathtaking. I feel a blush creep up my face as she climbs over the console, wiggling her way into the passenger seat. She takes her hoodie off, revealing her black tank top, and fuck me, she has tattoos.

She faces me with a curious look herself, seemingly analyzing me too. Her gaze is difficult to decipher as her eyes trail over my figure, and I stiffen. She shoots me a knowing smile before throwing her hands around my neck and placing a kiss on my cheek. “You’re a lifesaver, toots,” she muses into my ear. The pleasant smell of paint and bubble gum hits my nose making me lick my lips. “Name’s Jinx, by the way. Stands for Jinx,” she cackles to herself, drawing her lower lip between her teeth awaiting my introduction.

I blink a couple of times, realizing how silent I’ve been throughout this whole ordeal. I can get awkward, sure, but I’m not timid, so I muster up the courage and consciously relax, trying to project a nonchalant attitude. “I’m Y/N.” I shoot her a smile of my own.

“Y/N. Hmm…” Jinx gives an approving hum as she repeats after me, my name rolling off her tongue like honey. “What made you help little ol’ me?” New observation: she’s a teaser.

“I need some excitement in my life,” I answer truthfully and she perks up with a spark in her eyes.

“Toots, you’ve just made friends with the perfect candidate to help you with that.” Her giddy attitude returns as she beams at me.

“We’re friends, huh?” I tease at her choice of words, my eyebrows raised in a cocky manner.

“Sure we are! I feel like running from the cops together is the perfect bonding experience, don’t ya?” She gives me a once-over before her mouth curves into a smirk. “Unless you want to be more than friends. That could work, too.” She winks. Her straightforwardness should make me turn crimson, but instead, it makes my confidence grow. I give a low chuckle as I shake my head in disbelief.

“Tell you what,” I begin, starting the engine and trying to connect my phone back to the car for the third time already, “let me get you home safely, and we’ll see what tomorrow brings to our friendship. Deal?” I extend my hand toward her, and she ponders my proposition. I can practically see the cogs turning in her head, her facial expressions jumping from sour to doubtful, as if she were battling her thoughts before settling on a satisfied grin.

Her soft hand reaches mine in a princess handshake, and I try not to look at her manicured nails for too long. “Deal.” The blue-haired girl snatches the phone out of my hands, adding her number to my contact list and sending a quick text to herself. Just when I think she’s giving it back, she picks a song, and I hear Arabella playing through the speakers. How fitting.

As I leave the stranger’s driveway, I sense her shuffling in the passenger seat, throwing her legs out the window. She puts her head on my lap freely, toying with the colorful charms on my keychain. In the spur of the moment, I gingerly brush her bangs behind her ear, revealing her side profile. Her gaze catches mine, and I see her eyes soften before I turn mine on the road again.

Jinx tells me her address, and I realize how close to me she lives—the perfect circumstances. I feel her lightly bobbing her head to the music as her left cheek strokes my thigh, her fingers tracing mine as they sit on the gear stick. Her demeanor feels different from the badass tagger who willingly hopped in a stranger’s car. She looks peaceful and content now.

My shoulders slump in disappointment as I park outside her house. She clicks her tongue and lazily lifts her head from the comfort of my lap. She looks around the empty streets of her neighborhood and hums, her curious eyes now shifting to mine. As we take each other in, I can’t help but gravitate toward her—her presence feels almost intoxicating, and I don’t want to part ways just yet. To my surprise, she copies my actions. She’s so close I can feel her minty breath mingle with mine. Instinctively, my gaze drops to her lips as she tentatively licks them. I let out a faint sigh, and she slowly closes the distance. I can hear my heartbeat as I wait for our lips to meet.

But they never do. “I don’t kiss on a first date,” she murmurs in my ear, and my face flushes. Jinx pulls away as she flashes me a toothy grin, and before I can even react, she’s already skipping to her front door, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. Wha-? When did she grab her stuff? I stare in disbelief as she turns around, her braids flailing behind her. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings,” she teases and blows me a kiss before disappearing into the dark hallway of her home.

Fourteen days.

Give me two weeks to make her mine.

╰┈➤ sequel – ‘Fourteen days’

[yuwuta]

love f2l where he’s already hopelessly in love with you and pining in a way that’s so obvious to everyone else but you, but also love the moment in f2l where it clicks that “oh shit… i think my friend just turned me on.” even better when one person doesn’t realize they’ve turned the other one on and they’ve just gotta live with the memory replaying in their head for a few days. friends keep saying they’re distracted and they just nod their head like yeah uh sorry… was uh… sorry what were we talking about? bc these days if it’s not about that moment, zero processing has gone on 

megumi and satoru are the worst at coping with this. 

for megumi, it’s such a 180, a switch has been completely turned on when it happens, that it makes him upset. he can’t even tell if he’s angry that it happened in the first place, that he couldn’t tell he was attracted to you before, that he can’t stop thinking about it now, or that it’s possible that other people could have already had this realization and be thinking of you like this too. every option brings a mean scowl to his face. and it’s embarrassing above all because you were just trying to take off your shoes. when lifting your leg and holding onto to his bicep wasn’t enough, you crouch down to struggle with the straps instead. megumi sighs—all he wanted to do was get your drunken ass home in one piece and now you’re crouched down in the middle of the street, and when he looks down to see what’s taking so long, that’s when it hits him. you bent down like that, looking up at him and groaning and pulling on his shirt and whining for him to help you does very terrible things to him. and it shouldn’t, you’re only calling for him because you lack the hand-eye coordination (and clearly critical thinking because this is the middle of the road and you cannot walk barefoot) right now to undo your shoes, but it’s your blown pupils and pout and the calling for him—you have to stop whining. and saying his name. immediately—not to mention the angle and tilt of your head to look up at him. megumi can barely help himself, much less you, which is why he grumbles, hoists you up by the scruff of your neck so you’re standing up right. you giggle in your haze but megumi just hisses his teeth, tells you “stop looking at me like that,” and before your mind can catch up, he grabs you by the waist and hoists you over his shoulder because looking at your face is not an option right now. and this is for the best for everyone—now your feet don’t hurt, you’ve stopped groaning, there’s no more eye contact, and megumi has the rest of the walk back to your apartment to contemplate what the fuck just happened to him 

for satoru, it’s actually partially his fault, because not only is it so far from sexual and yet turns him on anyway, but he’s so annoying that his actions lead to a cascade of other terrible turn-ons that and now it’s a cyclical problem. you’re just borrowing something of his for the convince of it—his glasses because it’s sunny, or maybe his jacket because it’s cold, something small and innocent—but it ignites such a strong flame in him that his visceral reaction is to snatch it right back from you, and run away like some school girl. “hey—satoru what the fuck, come on, you weren’t even using it!” you call, but your voice is already an echo at the speed he’s scurried away from you. the flash vision of you in his belongings was terrible, but it’s the memory of it that makes it worse, brings a blush to his face, and leave him shaking his head like a crazy person because what the fuck this is insane. you didn’t even do anything so he has no reason to act like this, there’s no way the slightest insinuation of you thinking of him/his belongings as something to borrow, or hold, or have should make him react this way, but it does. and he hates it. and he’s not normal about it at all, and it takes you confronting him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him back and forth, asking him what the fuck is wrong with him, which is warranted, but worse because that also leaves him red from his face to his check with Awful Realization Numbers 2 and 3: (2) you usually just Deal with him being strange, but right now you’re mad and you’re really hot when you’re mad, and (3) you’re very close to choking him out right now and if you did, he wouldn’t stop you

yuuji is the one who has had this effect on more people than he knows, which is hilarious to think about because he’s either completely oblivious, or using his charm to play innocent. and when you have that moment, you’re definitely left stunned. you were just fishing for more snacks for your self-care night—a tradition that used to between you and nobara, but now includes megumi, and most times yuuji, but tonight, he had plans with todo, which you were grateful for because there’s no way you could have been around him after what happened. in a hurry to grab his water bottle from the fridge, yuuji doesn’t bother you with words to maneuver through the cramped kitchen, just mindlessly puts his hands on your hips, lifts you, pivots, puts you down, grabs his water bottle, puts it on the counter, lifts you again, pivots, and places you right back where you were, flashing you a million-dollar smile, before grabbing his bottle and rushing out to catch the bus. you’re left blinking, body on autopilot as you finally reach for the chips, and zombie-like when you make your way back to the living room where nobara’s putting a sheet mask on megumi. when you’re finally seated on the couch, you blink for the first time, blurting out to nobody in particular, “is… is itadori hot?” and it’s comedic how quick, blasé, and autonomic the in-sync replies from both megumi and nobara are, “yes”, “unfortunately.” oh. well that’s reassuring you suppose. you might have been the last to realize it, but at least you’re not alone. 

if you told yuuta he had the ability to seduce anybody he would probably just laugh awkwardly and think it’s some kind of joke. the great irony is that rooming with him has left you with many instances to confirm that he is attractive, but the defining moment is when you realize just how much yuuta has grown in his year abroad. your apartment is nice and relatively modern, but there are still some tight spaces. usually you and yuuta just giggle while shuffling around each other, but today, you feel like you’ve gotten between a rock and another rock because when did yuuta—your scrawny, awkward, endearing yuuta—gain fifty pounds of muscle? it’s a terrible moment for you to be squished between him and the tiny enclosure of your storage closet and even worse that he’s the one who apologies, and smiles, and carries on reaching for the spare napkins while you’re left with the filthy thoughts about your best friend. 

[robynhoodwrites]

˚｡❆ Rivals to Lovers ˚｡❆

Request: "Can I request a rivals to lovers fic (with smut if you will) about Zayne and MC where they live in a normal world, and they're both in med school?"

This will be written from the reader (aka the MC's) point of view. The MC will be AFAB, but will be referred to with they/them pronouns.

Minors DNI! This writing contains the following: smut, vaginal penetration, medical discussions, blood (in a medical setting), rivals to lovers, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, fellatio, switch!Zayne and switch!reader.

My heels clack loudly against the clean, tiled floors of the hospital. The sound echoes down the hallway, and I cringe internally at the fact that I’m practically announcing my presence. I hear a yawn sound from one of the receptionists behind me, hoping that the coffee now coursing through me is enough to keep me awake.

“Morning!” One of the nurses, Tara, smiles at me. She stops where she’s walking, seemingly trying to start a conversation.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t have time right now!” I breathe, my heart pounding as I pick up the pace. She frowns slightly, her chest deflating. “We can meet for lunch later! Promise!” I yell behind me, and she just laughs and continues walking to where she’s going.

This meeting isn’t necessarily important, but I haven’t earned the title “overachiever” for nothing. If I make it earlier than everyone else, it shows initiative. And initiative means I’m better than the others, which means I get the internship, which means I get a good job in the future, which means-

I’m almost at the door when I notice Zayne across the hallway. We had been in the same medical program for the last year, but only recently has he become such a pain in my ass. It seemed like no matter what grade I got, he matched it (or, God forbid, his was higher). It had become somewhat of an unspoken competition between us to see who would end up on top.

He seems to notice me, his eyes meeting mine from the other side of the hall. He looks at the door and then back at me before speeding up, his eyes now sporting a determined glare. I do the same, the clacking of my heels reaching insane speeds.

Even with the newfound speed, I am nowhere as fast as Zayne. Screw these stupid heels and Zayne’s long ass legs. I’m right behind him when he throws open the door, letting it start to close behind him as he enters the conference room before me.

“Wow, what a gentleman,” I mutter, and he seems to hear me, chuckling to himself.

“Zayne, nice to see you here bright and early,” our boss, Dr. Jenna says. Her eyes then flick to me, smiling. “Oh, and good to see you here early, too. You two have some real initiative.”

I silently thank the universe that coming in second has not put a blot on my record. It’s then that Zayne puts down his backpack, producing a coffee from the cupholder sewn to the side of it. “You like the cold brew, right?” he asks, handing her the coffee.

“Aw, Zayne, you shouldn’t have!” Jenna smiles, grabbing the drink from his hand and taking a sip with a content look on her face. Fuck, that’s genius. Why didn’t I think of that?

“Of course, Doctor Jenna. I cannot imagine how tired you must be, considering the fact that you’re working and taking the time to teach us. I don’t know how you do it,” Zayne gushes, and Jenna just smiles wider and thanks him before going back to writing on the whiteboard.

Zayne turns back to where I am standing, a stupid smirk lining his face. He sticks up two hands, one making the shape of a “zero” and the other creating a “one”.

Zayne: 1. Me: 0.

He winks as he goes to sit in his spot in the front row. Other students finally begin filing in, and I rush to take my spot in the front next to Zayne. “Really laying it on thick, huh?” I mutter, and he chuckles again.

“Maybe if you did the same, you wouldn’t be losing,” he whispers back, reclining in his chair nonchalantly.

“I don’t need to kiss ass. My superior doctoring skills will get me that internship,” I tease, mockingly reclining like him. He shows no sign that he’s noticed, instead deciding to unpack his notebook and pencil from his backpack.

“The points are saying otherwise,” he responds, opening his notebook to a fresh page. He writes down our names at the top of the page, putting a tally mark next to his own.

“That’s what this is to you? A game?” I ask, huffing out a breath of frustration. “There are 5 spots for the internship. We can both get it! There’s no need to fight me for it.” I am thoroughly enjoying the competition, but it’s not as fun when I’m the one that’s losing.

“I am not going to settle for mediocrity. I want to get chosen for the internship not just because she wants me there, but because she needs me there,” he tells me, stating it like it’s a fact. I suppose I understand that, but I am never going to let him hear me admit that.

“Where did this vanity come from, Zayne? I swear, you seemed so docile when I met you last year,” I tease. Rather than answer me, he looks down at the paper in front of him. “Or do you only act vain when you’re threatened? Am I a threat to you, Zayne?”

He doesn't respond. In fact, he acts like he hasn't heard me. Instead, he sticks out his hand, seeming to be asking for a handshake. “May the best doctor win,” he says confidently, and I grasp his hand firmly. It’s strangely warm, his long fingers holding my own tightly.

“I will,” I say back, letting go of his hand and turning to face the board. Before he can say something in retaliation, Doctor Jenna clears her throat and the class goes silent.

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By the last 10 minutes of class, I’ve nearly filled three pages with notes, front and back. The notes are nowhere near clean or pretty looking, but they’ll work for when I’m studying later. Dr. Jenna has started reviewing some of the information from the last class, which means I can zone out for a moment and let my brain take a break.

I spin my pen in my fingers, my eyes blurred as I think about absolutely nothing for the first time in a while. The peace doesn’t last, though. I hear a small rustle in front of me and look down to see a folded sheet of notebook paper.

I turn to look at Zayne, the most likely suspect. However, he’s looking straight ahead at the board in a focused manner, his eyes not meeting mine. I look back down at the paper curiously, finally relenting and unfolding it in front of me.

The paper has a messy stick figure drawing on the top, showing a tall man with dark hair and glasses holding a trophy. It’s nowhere near artist quality, but something about it makes me chuckle. I glance over at Zayne, who can’t help the smile now spreading across his face.

I click open my pen, drawing my own stick figure masterpiece under his. I surround his drawing with a thought bubble before drawing a picture of Zayne sleeping soundly underneath. Under his sleeping stick figure, I write “In your dreams!” before folding the paper neatly and handing it back to him.

He hesitates for a moment, waiting until Jenna’s back is turned before carefully unfolding the drawing. He snorts, covering his mouth with his hand quickly. I just keep looking forward at the whiteboard, listening to him hastily scribble on the paper before sliding it back to me.

I roll my eyes, unfolding the paper yet again. Zayne’s familiar, neat writing lines the page underneath my drawing. “You’re one to talk about dreams. What are you daydreaming about over there while Dr. Jenna teaches?”

He noticed that?  I feel a weird flutter in my chest, but I push it down as I write my own message underneath his. “Just plotting my victory,” I write, checking to make sure Jenna’s back is turned before handing it to him.

A moment passes before the note lands back on my desk, the paper filled with more of Zayne’s neat, looping letters. “If you spend all class thinking about how to beat me, you’ll never pass your tests.”

I write back quickly, my messy scrawl in stark contrast to Zayne’s clear writing. “And if you spend all class staring at me, you’ll never get the internship.” I pass the note back to Zayne, keeping my eyes glued to the board as he takes in a sharp breath. He hesitates, slowly writing his next response before going to pass it back to me.

“Zayne, no passing notes in class. Put it away,” Jenna snaps, and I see Zayne’s face go pale. He crumples up the note, throwing it into his backpack. He mutters an apology under his breath, his pale face now growing a deep shade of red.

“Yeah, Zayne, I’m trying to learn,” I say, loud enough for Jenna to hear. She nods, throwing Zayne another sharp look before turning back to the board. Zayne shoots me a glare, his jaw clenched in annoyance. I wink at him, before shooting a quick glance at the board to see if Jenna is looking.

When her back is turned, I lean in closer to him, delighting in the quick breath he sucks in. I bring my pen to the top of his paper, adding a point under my name. “One to one,” I whisper, before leaning back and letting my focus return to the board.

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I yawn as I put some quarters into the vending machine, watching as it shoots an energy drink down towards the bottom. I grab it, quickly opening it and gulping down as much as I can. It was nearly the end of my shift, and a long day of shadowing doctors has left an ache in my feet and a pain in my back. I can’t wait to go home and sleep…

“Hey,” I hear a familiar voice say from behind me, and I turn to see Zayne standing impatiently behind me. I gulp, pulling the energy drink away from my mouth and thinking of what to say to the intimidating man in front of me.

 In class, he is just like any other student. But, when working in the clinic, he’s… different. His lab coat perfectly frames his tall figure, his glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. He’s always sitting when he's in class, but during clinic duty, he towers over me.

“Listen, I’m sorry for throwing you under the bus. I didn’t-” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“I’m not here about that. Well played, by the way,” he admits, and I feel that flutter in my chest again. “Jenna wants us in her office. Wants our opinion on something before we clock out.”

I nod, unable to stop a relieved breath from leaving my lungs. I chug down the rest of my energy drink, crushing the can in my hands before throwing it away. He chuckles and turns to walk towards the office. I follow close behind, not too keen on letting him beat me to something again.

When we finally reach the office, he pauses a moment before going in. Then, much to my surprise, he holds the door open for me. I just stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he could possibly gain from this.

“It’s not a trick,” he says reassuringly. “I just want to be a bit kind to you before I wipe the floor with you in this consult.” There it is. I stick out my tongue at him, not caring how childish I look. He shakes his head as I walk past him, muttering something about good sportsmanship.

Jenna is waiting for us in her office, a whiteboard standing on stilts in front of her as she chews on the end of her pen. When we enter, she turns to us with a smile on her face. A few more students pile in behind us and Jenna begins writing on the whiteboard.

“Alright, students. We had a patient come in with a hurt leg. She presents with hypersensitivity to touch as well as tendonitis and high calcium,” Jenna explains, writing the symptoms on the whiteboard in front of her. She pauses, turning back around to face us. “What do we do?”

“It could be an adenoma,” Zayne offers, and I curse myself for not being quick enough.

“That’s true, but it could be a multitude of things. Maybe kidney problems or a vitamin D intoxication?” I offer, and Jenna writes all of our suggestions down on the whiteboard.

“True, but I think the adenoma is still the best option. If not that, it could also be hyperthyroidism,” Zayne shoots back, and Jenna writes hyperthyroidism on the board. I begin to hit him with another response, but Jenna interrupts before I can.

“I believe an adenoma is the most likely cause. Good work, Dr. Zayne. What should we do with this information?” Jenna asks us, and I nearly punch Zayne when he speaks before I can.

“We’ll have to test her blood for PTH, phosphorus, and ionized calcium.”

“Very good, Zayne,” Jenna says, before turning to me. “And if those tests come back normal, we’ll start on your theory. Good work to you both,” she says, circling “adenoma” on the whiteboard. Zayne shoots me a sly smile, now holding up a two on one hand and a one on the other. I flip him off, and he chuckles to himself.

“Since the labs are closed for the night, they’ll have to process the blood in the morning. I’ll page you guys as soon as I get the results,” Jenna says, waving a hand to dismiss us. “Get some rest, and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

We all file out of the office, and I pause in the hallway for a moment. If I test the blood tonight, it will get her the results faster. And, more importantly, it will make me look amazing…

I turn down the hallway, my heels clacking against the tiled floors once again as I quickly make my way down to the lab. I scan my card against the door, sighing in relief when I notice that the lab is empty. I throw my backpack down on a chair, hurrying to the refrigerator at the back of the room and quickly scanning for the right vial.

The door swings open behind me, somebody else rushing in before pausing in shock. “Shit!” The voice mutters, and I turn to find Zayne in front of me, his eyes narrowed. “I should’ve known you would have the same idea,” he seethes, and I smile at the annoyed look on his face. He throws his backpack down, his notebook and a few papers spilling out onto the ground as he moves closer to me.

“You may have had the same idea, but I came up with it first,” I tell him, clutching the vial of blood in my hands. I turn and close the door to the fridge and when I turn back around, Zayne is much closer than before. I attempt to move away, but he blocks me in with his arms.

“Give me the vial,” he practically orders, and I can’t help but scoff at him.

“Wow, you really are a sore loser. Whatever happened to ‘may the best doctor win’?” I ask, and he doesn’t react. Rather than relent, he just sits there with his arms trapping me against the refrigerator. “Zayne?” I ask, now breathing a bit heavily under the man's piercing gaze.

In a moment of courage I did not know I possessed, I lean forward on my tiptoes until my mouth is next to his ear. “You lost this round. Let it go,” I whisper, and I swear he isn’t breathing as I lower myself back to my original position. He stays for a moment longer before finally letting his arms fall to rest at his sides.

I exhale a breath that I didn’t know I was holding, finally relaxing my tense shoulders. Zayne walks over to one of the counters, quickly putting on gloves before walking over to the machine sitting in the corner.

“Zayne, what are you doing?” I ask, and he doesn’t look up as he begins removing tools from the drawer next to him.

“Oh, just cleaning the centrifuge. It’s been a while since anyone has really given it a good scrub down.”

I pause, biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from cursing him out. “Zayne, that’s the machine I need to use,” I say through gritted teeth. Zayne looks up at me from where he is disassembling the machine, false shock covering his face.

“Oh, is it? What a shame. Looks like you’ll have to do those tests tomorrow, instead.” He goes back to disassembling the centrifuge, a small (and annoying) smile now spreading across his face.

“You absolutely childish-” I begin, stopping to take a breath before I say something worse. I let out a sigh, rubbing my temples as I let my temper cool. “We’ll do the tests together. Share the credit. Is that good enough for you?” I groan, and he stops what he’s doing to face me.

“That’s an incredible idea. Can’t believe I didn’t think of it,” he says mockingly, and I nearly spit on him out of anger. This manipulative, conniving… He starts putting the machine back together, and I walk over to where he is standing to put the vial on a stand next to him.

“This is so incredibly unfair,” I whine, and he chuckles to himself. He turns to face me yet again, his eyes staring daggers into me from only inches away.

“You started this when you threw me under the bus in class, you know.” I suppose I deserve that. He finishes reassembling the machine, putting the vial in and pressing a button on the front. The centrifuge starts with a beep, and the blood begins spinning in its vial.

 I don’t say anything, moving away from him to grab some supplies from the cabinet above me. My attempt to reach the pipettes on the top shelf is in vain, and I stand on my tiptoes as I try to reach it. I hop slightly, barely reaching the corner of the box and coming back down empty-handed.

Zayne moves next to me, reaching up with ease and grabbing the box. He grabs a pipette and returns the box, holding the pipette out in his hands for me to take. Before I can touch it, he grabs my wrist tightly. I gasp, and he drops my arm almost instantly. Damn… wait, why did I enjoy that?  I push these strange feelings down, instead looking up at him inquisitively.

“Gloves,” he explains, and I curse under my breath. “You’ve been in this program for two years, yet you forget something as simple as gloves.”

“I was a bit distracted, Zayne. It’s not every day I am cornered in the lab by another doctor,” I say, and he smiles as he throws me a box of gloves.

“If I don’t keep you on your toes, then this competition will be boring. If I’m going to win so easily, I might as well have a bit of fun.” He turns back to the centrifuge, which has now stopped spinning.

“Prick,” I mutter, and he chuckles as he pulls the vial from the machine. He hands me the vial and the pipette before grabbing the microscope down from the cabinets above us. I carefully pipe out a few drops of blood before handing him the vial to put in the next machine.

I drop the blood onto a slide, placing it under the microscope before peering into it. I start to adjust the settings, the blood coming into focus as I turn each knob. I feel warm breath on my neck and flinch slightly at the sudden intrusion. I didn’t even hear him walk over here.

“Well?” He asks, his voice soft as his breath continues to dance across the skin of my neck. I don’t respond, the fluttering in my chest getting worse. Any attempt to pay attention to the blood in front of me is abandoned, my attention instead drawn to the warm presence looming behind me.

“Let me look,” he mutters, and I move out of the way quickly to let him peer into the microscope. I exhale a shaky breath, steadying myself against the counter. Why did that affect me the way that it did?

Zayne hums under his breath, moving the dials on the side of the microscope with intense focus. “Grab me my notebook, will you?” He asks, and I mutter something about not being his servant before turning around and doing exactly what he asked.

His backpack, having been thrown in his rush to beat me, is lying on the floor. His notebook is on the ground, as well as several papers that had come flying out during the landing. I bend down to pick them all up, my eyes catching on a crumpled ball of paper lying near his notebook. Is that…?

I quickly unravel the paper ball, staring blankly as I realize what it is. Our notes from class. My eyes scan over the paper, smiling to myself as I think about my victory over him in that class period. My eyes reach the bottom of the paper, realizing that I never got to read the final thing he wrote to me.

“And if you spend all class staring at me, you’ll never get the internship,” my messy writing reads. His beautiful, loopy letters are lined underneath it, and I gasp as I finally process the words.

“How could I not spend the class staring at you? You’re so beautiful when you’re lost in thought.”

That now-familiar fluttering returns to my chest, this time with a thundering rhythm. I somehow feel both excited and nauseous at the same time, my head swirling with so many emotions. I definitely like him, don’t I?

I gulp down some air before picking up his notebook, letting our notes sit on the top as I walk nervously over to where he is standing. His eyes are still on the blood, but he lifts his head as he hears me approaching. I hand him the notebook, our notes being the first thing he sees as he looks down.

He pauses, his breath seemingly caught in his throat. “You think I’m beautiful?” I ask, and he looks back up to me with wide eyes. “Or are you just saying that to ‘keep me on my toes’?” I ask, and he pauses for a moment before responding.

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that.” I feel a warmth spread across my cheeks, and I pray that I’m not blushing as much as I think I am. I push the notebook into his arms, not saying anything as I turn back to the microscope.

I attempt to keep my focus on the task at hand, trying to ignore the rampant pounding of my heart. Zayne drops the notebook onto the table next to us, his breath now resuming its place on the back of my neck. I can’t help but lean into his warmth, and he puts his arms on either side of me to rest on the counter.

“What do you see?” He asks, his voice husky in my ear. I try to focus, not wanting to let him know how much control he has over me. If he knows how affected I am, he’ll win. I inhale a shaky breath, bringing my eyes down to the blood in front of me.

“I-it looks… normal. To me, at least,” I mutter, and he moves back a bit so that I can turn around and face him. His sharp gaze never leaves my face, glancing slowly from my eyes to my lips.

“I noticed that, too. Looks like you might have been right,” he hisses, and despite the frown on his face, another emotion seems to glimmer in his eyes. The air between us is thick, his face mere inches from mine. His breath smells sweet, with light notes of peppermint dancing across it.

Heels clack, somebody quickly approaching from down the hallway, and Zayne quickly moves away from me as the door to the lab opens. Jenna enters, her eyes wide as she notes our presence in the room. Thanks for moving, Zayne.

“You two? I should’ve known you would be here. Such hard workers,” she praises, and I smile nervously as my blush grows deeper.

“Thank you, Doctor. We wanted to get a head start on that blood for the patient with the hurt leg,” Zayne tells her, and I nod along with him. Jenna nods, placing her purse down on the table by the door.

“I’m here for the same reason, actually. Any news?” She asks, seemingly unaware of the tense scene she had walked in on.

“We’re still waiting on one last test, but it appears that they were right. No adenoma,” Zayne admits, and I am floored by how easily he has admitted defeat. Jenna just nods in response, taking a sip out of her coffee mug before putting on some gloves of her own.

“Great work, you two. I’ll wait for that last test. Go home and get some rest,” she tells us, and Zayne opens his mouth to argue. “No, I insist. You guys don’t get paid for overtime, and I do. It’s better for everyone,” she winks, and Zayne concedes defeat. We grab our backpacks, thanking Jenna profusely as we leave the lab and enter the hallway.

Zayne doesn’t say a word as we walk down the hall, and I consider several different things I can say. “I win?” No, maybe “I told you so?” Or should I just leave it alone? I open my mouth to say something, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me into a dark room before I can begin.

“Zayne-” I begin, but he shushes me as locks the door behind him with a click. We are in one of the empty patient rooms, a clean and perfectly made bed sitting in the center of the room. He quickly shuts the curtains to the room, leaving only the small lamp in the corner to illuminate us.

I open my mouth to ask him what he’s doing, but he’s on me before I can get a single word out. His lips press against my own, almost hungry as he bites my bottom lip. I can’t help but moan into his mouth, my lips moving aggressively against his as he pushes me against the door behind me.

One of his hands finds my hair, pulling slightly on my ponytail, which coaxes another moan from my mouth. His other hand finds the side of my face, pulling me even closer to him as his tongue sweeps across my bottom lip. I part my lips, letting him search my mouth with a ferocity I’ve never seen from him before.

I pull away for air, and he groans impatiently. “Zayne, where is this coming from?” I ask as he begins moving his lips down my face and onto my neck. A mewl escapes from my parted lips as he finds a particular spot in the crook of my neck, sucking on it roughly. “Zayne!” I say again, practically breathing out his name.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now,” he whispers in between his kisses on my neck. “I love how aggressive you get, and how competitive you are... And- fuck- the way you talk to me? So bratty,” he moans out the last word, nipping at my neck with his teeth. I let out a yelp, and he licks the bite apologetically.

He pauses, looking up at me from where he is kissing my neck. “This is okay, right?” He asks, his eyes almost pleading. I scoff, pushing his head back towards my neck.

“Better than okay, Zayne.”

He groans against me, kissing me once more on the neck before tearing the lab coat off of my shoulders. He takes his off as well, licking along the column of my neck as he throws it to the floor. Without warning, he puts his arms around my bottom and lifts me in the air. I gasp, and he walks us over to the hospital bed as he presses another aggressive kiss on my lips.

He lays me on the bed, hiking my skirt up until my entire lower half is exposed. My underwear is now soaked, and he seems to notice almost immediately. A grin spreads across his face as he feels me through my underwear, the friction of the fabric against my clit making me hiss in a breath.

“We’ve only just started, and you’re already so wet for me,” he murmurs, a hint of pride in his voice. I try to think of something snarky to say, but his finger feeling me through my underwear sends another jolt of pleasure through my body.

He chuckles darkly, pulling his hand away. I let out a whine of protest, but his hands move up to his neck as he begins to loosen his tie. I watch the tendons in his hands flex, the beauty of just this small part of him enough to captivate me. He notices me staring, slowing his movements as his long, dexterous fingers untie the knot around his neck.

“I want those in me so bad,” I admit, and he smirks as he finally takes off his tie. He begins unbuttoning his shirt, each release of a button showing me more and more of his toned torso. He doesn’t take the shirt all the way off, instead choosing to let his lay open against his chest.

“Your turn,” he mutters, eyeing my clothed chest with impatience. I take the hint, quickly moving my fingers to unbutton my shirt. I manage to get most of them unbuttoned, my bare breasts finally exposed to the cold hospital air. Before I can finish unbuttoning it, though, Zayne pounces.

His thumb finds my nipple, already peaked due to the chill of the hospital room. He tweaks the tip of my nipple, sending a shiver down my spine as I arch my chest up into him. “So eager,” he moans, doing the same to the other nipple.

He lowers his head, taking one of my nipples in his warm mouth as he kneads my other breast with his hand. I curse as his tongue circles my nipple, the pleasure rippling through my body in waves. I almost beg him to come back when he finally pulls away, but he moves too quickly for me to get a word out.

His thumb hooks on my soaked underwear, pulling it down my legs before throwing it in the pile of lab coats next to him. He pauses, slowly rolling up his sleeves as I lay utterly bare before him. The sight alone sends another wave of pleasure through me. His eyes never leave me, finally rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and exposing his toned forearms.

He bends down on the floor in front of me, gripping my legs and pulling me towards the edge of the bed. I yelp in surprise, attempting to close my legs. He forces them back open with ease, positioning himself in between my legs as he looks up at me.

“Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He smiles, lowering his head down until his warm breath is dancing across my exposed pussy. I shiver, and he finally licks up my vagina until he reaches my clit. I shudder out a breath as his tongue swirls circles around it, moving torturously slowly. He brings his hand up to where he is working, slowly pushing a finger in and letting it curl inside me.

“F-Fuck, Zayne,” I moan, my hand coming down to find his hair and grabbing tightly. He just moans in response, the vibration against my clit sending me reeling. He puts a second finger inside me, massaging my walls with delectable pressure. I pull harder on his hair, which only makes him thrust into me with more intensity.

“You’re doing such a good job,” he moans into me, before resuming the work of his tongue on my clit. I feel my orgasm finally begin to build, the tension in my lower half beginning to reach its peak.

“Zayne, please,” I mutter, but my pleas are not enough. He pulls away, leaving me feeling empty as the cold air hits my exposed cunt. “Z-Zayne,” I whine, and he just makes a tsk noise.

“So needy,” he tells me, and I whine again as I feel my orgasm start to retreat. I hear the clink of metal and watch as he begins to unbuckle his belt, pulling the leather from the loops of his belt and letting it fall to the floor. He quickly unbuttons his slacks, letting them hit the floor at his feet.

All that’s left are his boxers, the only thing keeping me from what I want. When he doesn’t take them off, I sit up and move to take them off myself, kneeling down on the ground in front of him. He just grabs my wrists, making that tsk noise yet again.

“Patience is one of the most important traits a doctor can have, you know,” he murmurs, taking a moment to rub his thumb over my swollen lips.

“Says the guy fucking me in a doctor's office instead of asking me on a date first,” I answer back, taking his thumb in my mouth and sucking on it teasingly. He rolls his eyes, but he can’t quite hide the hunger now sparkling in them.

He pulls down the boxers, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side impatiently. His length is now fully exposed, and I almost start to feel nauseous just from the idea of it going in me. “There’s no way,” I whine, and he seems to think this is hilarious.

He pushes the tip of his dick towards me until it is tapping against my lips, rubbing teasing circles until I finally take him in my mouth. I take in just the tip, letting my tongue catch the small dots of precum and swirling my tongue around teasingly. He twitches at each rotation, and I can’t help but smile onto his cock.

I start to move slowly down the shaft, but there is no way I am fitting it in its entirety down my throat. Instead, I bring my hands to the bit left over and massage it roughly, my head bobbing faster as his hands reach my ponytail.

“F-fuck,” he manages to groan, his hand grasping my ponytail tightly as he helps move me up and down his length. His movements get sloppier, his legs shaking as his release approaches faster and faster with each bob.

Before he can finish, I pull my mouth off of him with a sinful pop. I stand back up, staring directly into his eyes as he looks down at me. Sweat is dripping from his hair now, a few shivers still racking his body as he stands bare in front of me. His cock is throbbing, and I watch as his pleading eyes turn to pure lust.

He pushes me back onto the hospital bed, and as I turn to try and escape, he manages to catch me around the waist. My back is now to him, my ass pressed firmly against his rigid length behind me. I can’t help but moan, letting him tease me by grinding into my backside.

“Please,” he whispers, his lips touching my ear as he pleads into it. He pauses for a moment, biting down lightly on my earlobe. “I can’t wait any longer. I need to feel you now,” he mutters again, letting one of his hands move back to my clit.

I lift my head over my shoulder, managing to reach his lips with my own as I give him a small peck. He presses his finger down harder on my clit, and I let my head fall again as I grow weak from pleasure.

“Say it,” he pleads again, his finger rubbing circles on me with a delectable pressure. I struggle to find the words, breathless from his length still grinding against my backside.

“P-please, fuck me. Oh G-God,” I manage to mumble out, and he doesn’t wait a second longer before he bends me over. His dick finds my folds, rubbing against them teasingly before slowly sliding into me.

He starts with just the tip, easing in and out a few times before finally pushing himself in fully. I have to bite back the scream that threatens to escape from me, the sensation of suddenly being so full of him almost too much to handle.

His thighs slap against my ass as he thrusts in again, his fingers digging into my hips as he moves me on him. I can already feel his fingers leaving bruises on me, and I suddenly feel grateful that the lab coat covers so much of my body when I wear it.

One of his hands finds its way up to my ponytail, yanking back on it roughly and sending my face upwards. He groans again, using my hair to help him thrust in even deeper than before. His cock rams over and over again into my G-spot, the release in my stomach building more with every thrust.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his hand leaving my hair and instead moving around my waist. It presses down on my stomach, making my walls even tighter around him. He shudders, his arms wrapping around me in something close to a hug as he continues pounding into me.

I’ve nearly reached my peak when he brings his hand back down towards my clit. Rubbing quick circles around it as he thrusts even faster. It hits me, nearly blindingly, and I feel my body start to spasm. My legs are shaking, my orgasm making me clench tighter around his cock.

He lets out a curse, nearly whimpering as he finally falls apart. His grip around me tightens as he finishes, shooting deep inside me and somehow filling me up even more. He continues thrusting, his cock now throbbing as he finally slows down.

We let the spasms run their course, each of our bodies twitching from the sheer pleasure of it all. I finally collapse, his large body moving to cradle mine in the twin-sized hospital bed below us. Our foreheads touch as he presses a soft kiss to my lips, sweat dripping from both of us as he smiles stupidly at me.

“I’ve never seen you so disheveled before. You’re usually so well put together,” I mumble, marveling at the way the top student in our class heaves out a shaky breath and caresses my face with his hand. He kisses my lips again before trailing the kisses back down to my neck.

As he kisses the bruised spot on my neck, I lean down and put my mouth right next to his ear.

“Zayne: 2. Me: 2,” I whisper, and he stops kissing my neck immediately. He looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine with a deadly seriousness.

“Looks like we’ll need a tiebreaker then, huh?”

“What did you have in mind?” I ask, and he just gives me a devilish grin before trailing the kisses back down my neck, moving lower with each one.

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THANKS FOR READING GUYS! And thank you to the person who left this ask. I had so much fun researching for this one and ended up texting my biochemistry major friend to ask for help (hiiiiiii Rich, if you're reading this).

I'll have the other asks I've received posted soon, I promise!

-Robbie

[we-love-lando-norris-over-here]

Since I’m just a "fangirl" with zero motorsport experience and a dangerous amount of free time, I’ll go ahead and submit three images into evidence (see below) to explain—slowly, for the folks in the back—why Lando Norris has objectively better racecraft than PRstri, in a car built to PRstri's driving style.

I'll keep it short-ish.

Both drivers are aggressive and confident under braking, slamming that 100% brake pressure at all the major corners like it’s their job. But here’s where it gets fun: Lando tends to ease off the brakes just a bit earlier and smoother in some key zones. Sounds minor, right? But that tiny detail is everything. A smoother release means the car rotates better into the corners and holds onto more momentum. Translation? Lando’s more in tune with his car’s balance, meaning he can carry more speed through turns without overworking the brakes.

____________________________________________________________

Here’s where Lando really shows off. He’s got that smooth, progressive throttle application, especially after those heavy braking zones, while Oscar’s over there doing a few sharp throttle stabs like he's trying to turn the car into a switch. These little on-and-off bursts? Probably a sign that the rear end of Oscar's car isn’t as stable or he’s having to correct some oversteer. Meanwhile, Lando's smooth throttle control is doing way more than just saving tires; it shows his precision. He’s feeding in power just right, keeping everything glued to the track.

____________________________________________________________

Both drivers might hit similar top speeds, but Lando’s got that smooth, fluid acceleration curve down. He’s not just fast in a straight line—his speed trace shows he’s linking corners like he’s got a personal invite to every apex. It’s the kind of racecraft that isn’t just about the raw numbers; it’s about making every corner work for you. Lando’s all about that efficiency.

____________________________________________________________

What does all this mean?

Both drivers are obviously talented, but based on these three charts for the Miami GP 2025, Lando was a step ahead in racecraft. His earlier brake release, smoother throttle inputs, and more consistent speed trace paint the picture of a driver who actually gets his car. Oscar? Sure, he held his own and wasn’t far behind, but Lando’s data screams calm, confident control—the kind that separates the great from the good.

And once again—the car is tailored to Oscar’s driving style. Meanwhile, Lando, who's been battling the car's comfortability, might finally be finding his footing.

Side note: I pulled this info from Fastlytics, a site that uses the FastF1 Python library to pull data from publicly available F1 timing, weather, and session info. Of course, the accuracy depends on the quality of those upstream sources, but given how the numbers line up, I'm pretty confident in the insights.

[leclucklerc]

Hard Carry CL16 - 00.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: When you're talking about one of the greats in Formula One, y/n is up there.

Word Count: 1.3K

Masterlist Next

Drive to Survive, Season 1 Episode 3

It's all about Porsche

"There's just something about Porsche that attracts you."

The scene cuts into Porsche's jet black F1 car zooming pass the screen in a top speed. The sound of the loud roar from the engine, as well as the checkered flag that was being waved as the car glide through the finish line is a sight to behold.

"Their team is new in Formula one," said Will Buxton as he leaned back on his seat. The pitch black backdrop is almost poetic considering which team they're discussing right now. "They debuted in 2012, and never looked back ever since."

At this, the scene cuts into a compilation of Formula one announcer announcing many of Porsche's achievements. From the constructor championships, to the world driver championships. An intimidating music can be heard playing in the background before it switches back into the interviewer room. Though, this time, it's not Will Buxton who sat there.

A man with greying hair and pitch black shirt could be seen. There's a small logo of Porsche on his breast pocket. Besides that, the shirt is void from any decoration. Just like how the man expression is void from any emotions.

"Hello," started the man, eyes zeroing straight towards the camera. "I'm Herman Muller, the team principal for the Porsche Royale Formula 1 team."

The scene changed into Porsche's Formula One garage. The pitch black theme with golden accent could be seen everywhere as the mechanics and engineers huddled along the car that they had created for the past year.

"We are a German based team," said Herman as many compilations appeared on the scene. Many of those, are the team celebrating their wins. "A fairly new player in the game, but a tough one, certainly." His English is loaded with German accent, though it only made him seems a bit intimidating.

Constructor championship.

Driver championship.

Many trophies could be seen lining the wall of their factory back in Leipzig. Pictures of their Formula One cars too could be seen littered around the wall.

"When Porsche came, it brought a lot of excitement," said Will as he gripped his hands together. There's excitement evident on his eyes as he began the tale. "There are a lot of buzz here and there about the team. After all, it was the first time FIA had decided to expand the sport." As he said this, clips of articles and old interviews from back in 2012 can be seen playing.

The decision that FIA made to add one more team in the sport after decades. It's for the fans, they had said. To add more excitement and enjoyment for the sport.

"I think our team motto is the reason why we can become like this," said Herman as the camera switched back to him. "Complete domination."

Sounds of machine whirring could be heard as a clip from recent grand prix could be seen. It's a fight between Porsche and Red Bull. A fight, that the pitch black car wins easily.

"Porsche managed to become one of F1 top team during their debut year, and they only ever skyrocketed ever since then," continue Will, he sounds every bit amazed at that. "Every year, without fail, they will always become a favorite to win the championship."

"It's a rocket ship," said Herman as the scene changed towards mechanics and engineers did their adjustment towards their car in the garage. There's a serious air around them as they continue their job. "I like to think that we're building a rocket ship, and not cars."

A compilation of the pitch black car zooming in front of the camera could be seen.

"Besides the complete monstrosity that they call car," said Will, eyes full of amusement. "Their driver lineup is, is simply incredible."

Two people could be seen walking through the grid in a dramatic slow motion. Only their bottom half could be seen, both wearing dark colored pants and sneakers. 

"We have the most amazing driver lineup in the grid," mused out Herman as the scene changed back to him, letting out a small laugh. His previous lack of emotions has changed as a clear mirth could be seen shining through hid eyes. "A really unique one."

Well, unique is an understatement.

Will laughed, head nodding. "Their number one driver is probably the favorite driver is most definitely the favorite driver on the track-"

The scene changed into many race compilations, as a pitch black car with the number 1 could be seen overtaking Ferrari's familiar deep red car as well as Mercedes's during their highest height. Checkered flag could be seen waving around as the car zoomed past it, as it was announced as the winner of the race.

"And the favorite off the track."

Kring! Kring!

At the familiar sound of a bicycle bell, many turned their gazes towards the source of it. Almost immediately, their faces broke into smile as they laid their eyes on the person riding the vehicle. The camera is positioned at the back, showcasing long hair with dark Porsche hat on top of it.

As she made her way, many people greeted the woman in a friendly greetings. Some drivers like Daniel Ricciardo or Lewis Hamilton too could be seen waving or trying to make small talk with the rider of the bicycle. With those small interactions, it's clear that she's a popular face here in the grid.

The scene changed towards the interview room where a woman could be seen sitting on the chair. She looks oddly comfortable. As if there's no whole production crew staring at her just beyond the camera.

"Can I start?" she asked, voice soft. Long hair styled perfectly and bright eyes could be seen staring straight towards the camera.

"Yes, yes, start when you feel ready," voiced out the producer.

Said woman laughed, eyes crinkling and cheek rosy. "Well, hello, everyone, Netflix, and new Formula One fans, hopefully," grinned the woman as a round of small laughter rang through the room. Pearly white teeth could be seen under the painted lips. "I'm y/n l/n and I drive for Porsche Formula One team."

"Please say the full team name," said the producer.

Y/n blinked, before the grin on her face widened. "Ah, I completely forgot what it is. Better call Herman, no?"

After that introduction, a camera that was being placed on top of Porsche's garage as the car did a pitstop could be seen showcasing the Drive to Survive opening. 

The scene cuts back towards the dark colored interview room. The name y/n l/n now could be seen besides the female as the title as Porsche's driver could be seen underneath it. Besides that, another addition also can be seen.

Three times world champion.

It's a title that many would salivate at the mere thought of. The very dream of every driver that ever graced Formula One.

Various news outlet appeared at this. News anchor announcing y/n's debut back in 2012. Of her, being the first female formula one driver in decades. Of her, as the youngest person to actually managed to snagged one of the most coveted seats in motorsport. Of her, breaking many unseen boundaries and limitations that the sport had put.

A photo of her on the cover of Times Magazine could be seen. Posing comfortably in front of her Formula One car as she holds her helmet.

"Y/n is probably the biggest star that F1 has ever produced," said Will as the screen shows Y/n's instagram page with a whooping 50 million followers. And counting. "She's completely charismatic woman-"

A scene where y/n is mingling with people in the paddock was seen. Laughters could be heard as a response to whatever she said. They seems magically charmed and completely fixated on the woman.

"- a fashion icon-"

Y/n now can be seen in Paris Fashion Week, sitting front row with various celebrities near her.

"- life of the party -"

A ecstatic y/n could be seen spraying champagne to other fellow drivers. The atmosphere is light and full of teasing and banters.

"- And of course, a damn good driver."

The scene changed into a dramatic turn that the woman made in one of the corners. The screeching sound of tires meeting gravel could be heard as she propelled into full speed, easily overtaking cars that stood in front of her. A scene where she was crowned as that year world champion also can be seen as she celebrated with the team.

It changed back to the interview room, where the woman could be seen completely relaxed as she smiled. 

"Do you think you're a good driver?" asked the producer.

Y/n tilted her head before various clips appeared.

"AND Y/N L/N IS THIS YEAR WORLD CHAMPIOOON-!" She could be seen spraying champagne.

"TWO YEARS IN A ROW! Y/N L/N IS A WORLD CHAMPIOON-!" A clip of her spraying champagne once again was shown.

"AND YET, SHE MANAGED TO TAKE BACK HER CROWN AS A WORLD CHAMPION!" And another clip of her spraying champagne towards other fellow drivers could be seen.

The loud scene full of euphoria and loud yells are cut as y/n appeared back in the interview room, a small smile on her face. The sudden change into a tense silence is a bit shocking.

"Well," she started, laughing. "I guess I'm a pretty good driver?" y/n stopped a bit. "Can definitely become an Uber as a side hustle."

[niluffa]

tw : subby sukuna, praising, really ooc | cw : 0,8k

“you wanna cum?” you whisper into sukuna’s ear. his back was firmly pressed against your chest, your bicep barely brushing past his waist as you stroked his cock from behind.

this was embarrassing. he was the king of curses, you were supposed to be the one begging for release, not him. guess the tables have changed a bit too quickly.

“y-yeah,” sukuna whines, voice and throat raw from the amount of times he screamed his lungs out─how many times did he cum again? sukuna can’t remember, and if you asked for the number, he would be screwed.

“yeah, pretty boy?” you chuckle, slowing your hand down on purpose. he has been through so many orgasms, he can take a small break, can’t he?

according to him, the answer is no.

“no!” sukuna sobs out at the lack of sensation on his cock, and he knew you did it to play with him─taking your one and only chance to mock and toy with the ryomen sukuna himself.

but how can he think of himself as mighty when he’s begging for your hand to start moving again?

“what do we say when─” you get cut off.

“p-please!” sukuna cries, hands aggressively itching to just grab you by your throat and force you on his cock─which, he doesn’t, since even though he’s the strongest, he’s a bit scared of you, (he’ll never admit it.)

“oh?” usually, you would slap him for cutting you off, but for now, you took your time to admire your two hours of hard work.

sukuna’s entire body was covered with sweat, his muscles gleaming under the orange tones of the sunset that peeked from behind the curtains.

tears, drool, and snot ran down his face. the normal sight of a crying person was a red face─which sukuna couldn’t dodge. the angry red colour dusted his cheeks, matching the current state of his cock.

the shade of red his poor dick held was so unintentionally gorgeous, it almost brought tears to your eyes.

in reality, it didn’t─your face holding zero amount of pity.

“good pet,” you praised him as if you trained a dog─telling him what things he did correctly and what he messed up. taming the king of curses wasn’t easy, but you did notice minor changes in his behavior.

your hand sped up. yes, you could stay at the painfully slow pace and watch sukuna cry himself to another orgasm. but he’s been such a sweetheart lately, and how could you deny his pleasure when he looks at you with those glossy crimson eyes of his?

“yes, yes, yes,” sukuna babbled at the sudden change of speed. his sharp fangs sunk into his bottom lip in an attempt to hide his moan─which failed as he still managed to choke out a few weak whimpers.

you’ve seen sukuna in many states, and his superhuman stamina never failed to amaze you, whether it was in a fight or during your intimate times in the bedroom.

but even then, you could see that sukuna was slowly reaching his limits. his throat was raw, only able to create the same pair of weak whimpers and whines.

it was visible on his face too. the way his eyelids struggled to stay open, and his mouth opening and closing like a fish. he kept switching between biting his lip to hide his moans and letting his jaw drop so he could gasp for air.

nevertheless, he was close.

“p-please,” sukuna chokes out again. the back of his head rested against your shoulder as he brutally failed to keep his spine straight─it’s not like he wanted to look at his cock being stroked either.

“i know, ‘kuna, i know,” you whisper and for the sake of ending his suffering, your wrist moves faster. sukuna felt the soft pad of your thumb brush against his tip every time your hand went up and he yelped.

“f-fuck!” sukuna cries, mouth hanging open to let out the most hot-blooded moans you’ve ever heard. damn, if only you had recorded him, you were sure his onlyfans would pay your rent for months.

“g-gonna cum─” sukuna gets cut off by his own moan, which was rather high-pitched and almost too feminine for the way he looked. the familiar burning feeling inside his tummy rose every second, tears and snot pouring down his face.

“‘s okay,” you coo at him, thumb circling around his hole every now and then─sukuna sob, and you grin, “you can let go, hm?” sukuna doesn’t argue, he doesn’t growl, hiss, or yell like he always does.

he listens and comes. and when he does, he comes hard.

the overwhelming feeling of release washes over him, thin and watery ropes of cum, that were caused by the unknown amount of orgasms he had before, landing right on right on his chest.

“you did so good,” you hum and continue to milk his cock to help him get rid of every last bit that was left of him; even against his protests of “too much!”

but in the end, he got his release, so who is he to complain?

[muletia]

Every time you post headcannons or drabbles about merformer guppies I faint three years of life btw 

Anyway, loving the recent guppie ask! Ratchet can never seem to catch a break or get some sleep in any au poor guy! While everything guppie centred has been very wholesome…I can’t help but wonder just how protective the first time parent merformers get. Their guppy or guppies playing some ways from them, still in sight but still pretty far, and then either some seagulls start diving at them and pecking at them, or maybe some regular ocean predator like a shark starts snapping at them, oooor…some fishermen manage to snag them in their nets 

For Megatron since he’s freshwater and wouldn’t have to worry about sharks/fisherman I can instead maybe see some other forest predator. Like a bear or even a moose (moose are fucking terrifying they’re too damn big), his guppy goes up to the shallows to explore managing slip away without papa noticing, but then some other big animal tries to swat them and they start chirping in distress for their parents 

Happy Mermay, everyone! <3

I think I’ve answered a similar ask before, but the one above is definitely true. I also believe that some newly minted mer parents wouldn’t distance themselves from their guppies even for a millimeter. They stay by their side constantly, watching over them, making sure nothing happens to their little ones, only switching shifts when one parent needs to hunt for food or try to get some sleep. Even harmless fish are banned from coming close. All it takes is one to swim a little too near, and it either ends up in the mer’s jaws or is chased off at lightning speed with a flick of the tail.

Things are different with predators as that depends on the mer. Megatron would have zero hesitation or remorse about killing the attacker. Even if they already managed to drag his guppy slightly out of the water, leaping onto dry land to rescue his child and destroy the predator wouldn’t be a challenge for a several-ton ex-gladiator mer. The guppy would, however, get a stern scolding afterward for straying too far from their parents. For the next several years, Megatron stays close to his offspring at all times. Maybe he even starts teaching them how to fight?

Optimus, on the other hand, would take a deterrence-based approach, as he still respects the lives of other creatures. If he has no choice, he will kill, but only in extreme situations.

But at the end of the day, your guppies are the most protected offspring on the entire planet, no matter which mer is their parent

[reverie-starlight]

just some quick suna fluff bc I’ve been having strong feelings for him as of late.

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. fluff fluff fluff!!!! slightly lovey-dovey. still getting used to writing him so it might feel a bit choppy but he’s fun to practice dialogue with <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“rin, quick- what colour are my eyes?”

he looks up from his phone to see you covering your eyes with one hand. in the other is your own phone, screen lit up with some paused video.

“why?”

you click your tongue and his mouth twitches. “because I want to see how well you know me, obviously.”

he raises an eyebrow at that. “do you really think after all these years I don’t know your eye colour?”

“just go with it!” you plead, and then continue with a “please, rin?”

with all the confidence in the world and zero hesitation, he says “pink.”

the speed at which your hand comes down to hit the bed you’re both sitting on forces a sly grin onto his pretty face. your face is priceless and your eyes are as stunning as ever. it makes his heart skip a beat.

“I swear-“

you look completely done with him, so obviously this means he can’t help but mess with you some more. he puts on a bewildered expression acts like he’s surprised.

“no, seriously, I think you have pink eye or something, babe. I thought you knew already.”

you blink and the annoyed look on your face turns into worry. he watches you switch to the camera app and examine your eyes. “RIN!”

he can’t help but snicker and beckon you over to cuddle into his side. you do, despite being cross with him, and he soothes you with a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry baby, it was too easy. of course I know the colour of your eyes.”

you roll them and nod a bit, sulking.

he blinks and tries to figure out what’s happening in front of him before realizing there‘s probably something else going on. he thinks back to the paused video he saw on your screen earlier and recalls that it was one of those street interviews that tests couples.

he’s seen them, of course, and has always made fun of the guys who don’t even know the most basic shit about their partners.

and then something clicks in his brain. are you scared he’s like them? you should know by now that he’s not, but he knows that sometimes doubt and insecurity creep in against your will, so he holds you tighter and flicks your forehead.

“I know you like the back of my hand, eye colour included. I’m always paying attention to you, even when you don’t realize it.”

you nod again, but you don’t look completely convinced yet. he scratches his chin as he thinks some more of how to make you feel better.

plan A is to flirt, because as much as you deny it, he knows you secretly like the attention and compliments he gives you.

he tilts your chin up to look at him and smiles a little, examining your eyes. “yup, still the prettiest shade I’ve ever seen. I never get tired of looking into them.”

you can’t hold the eye contact for long (you never can and he absolutely adores it) and gently pry his hand off so you can turn away.

“stoppp,” you say in a voice that makes it clear to him you don’t mean it.

because he knows you and all of your cues and he’ll spend every day proving it to you if he needs to.

“getting shy on me? you were so fiery earlier, what happened?”

you knock your forehead against his shoulder. “shut up.” there’s a smile in your voice now and he doesn’t even need to look at you to confirm that fact.

“nah, I’ll keep going. I hate to say it ‘cause you need to be humbled sometimes, but you’re, like, really hot or whatever.”

your head shoots up and you gape at him. “I need to be humbled?” there’s the hint of a laugh at the end of your sentence and he just shrugs.

“hey, I’m not the one who gets off on messing with their partner.”

you gasp and do let out a laugh this time, hitting his shoulder. “yes you are, you dick!”

and you allow the slander because you know suna, too. this is his way of acknowledging that you’re upset, not bringing it up and bringing you out of that state without being dismissive. he always knows exactly what you need and how to make it better.

after a few more minutes of back and forth, you’re giggling into his chest and he’s just smiling up at the ceiling while rubbing your back. a familiar warm feeling settles in his heart.

“better?” he asks.

you sigh happily against him and he feels you nod.

“good, because plan B was pretending to fall off the bed and hoping you laugh.” he’s half joking, but if it really comes down to it, he knows he’d bend over backwards to see you happy.

you snort, but you feel fuzzy at his words. you seem to realize the same thing going through his mind in that moment.

“thank you.”

he’s not sure if you’re thanking him for cheering you up or for simply knowing you, but his response covers both meanings anyway.

“my pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

he’s insufferable and I love him and this kinda sucks but in my defence I wrote it last night in like twenty-five minutes.

@dira333 here’s your tag!!!