#HOW DID YOU KNOW THIS IS MY FAVORITE THING

[callikari]

I LIKE ME BETTER ⭑ WHEN I'M WITH YOU

。 to be young and in love is to cherish the moments. (like when sunghoon gets jealous for your affection)

박성훈 x fem!reader 、 fluff · 🪷 893 wc ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) caution ! established relationship light jealousy skinship kissing

REBLOG FOR A KiSS

it started with something small.

you were just joking around with riki during practice break — ruffling his hair after he nailed a difficult move, tossing him a bottle of water with a proud grin. riki beamed at you, laughing when you ruffled his hair again and called him “good job, baby riki!”

completely harmless. sweet, even.

but from across the room, sunghoon saw the whole thing.

and he did not look happy.

he watched with narrowed eyes, arms folded tightly over his chest, jaw slightly clenched. he didn’t say anything — just turned dramatically away like a prince betrayed, grabbing his phone and pretending not to care.

you noticed immediately.

after practice, when the others were packing up, you made your way over to him, smiling softly.

“hoon,” you called gently, tapping his shoulder.

he barely glanced at you. “what.”

your heart squeezed at how grumpy he looked — brows furrowed, lips set into a thin line.

“are you mad?” you asked, amused but careful.

“no,” he said quickly. too quickly.

you crouched down in front of where he was sitting, reaching out to brush his bangs out of his eyes. he flinched, like he wanted to lean in but was too stubborn.

“you’re mad,” you said, laughing a little.

“i’m not mad,” he repeated, but now he was pouting. full-on, shameless pouting. “just… go baby riki. he seems to need you more.”

you gaped at him, realization dawning. “you’re jealous?”

he shrugged, looking absolutely miserable. “you were giving him head pats. and compliments. and calling him ‘baby.’”

you couldn’t help but laugh — not at him, never at him, but at how ridiculously cute he was when he got like this.

“sunghoon,” you cooed, crawling into his lap without warning. he tensed for a second in surprise, then immediately melted when you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“you’re my only baby,” you whispered against his ear.

he shivered slightly, arms coming up to hold you tight.

“promise?” he mumbled, voice small.

“promise,” you said, kissing the tip of his nose. “now come home with me, and i’ll prove it properly.”

sunghoon was even clingier than usual.

he dropped his bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and immediately followed you around like a lost puppy — trailing behind you to the kitchen, to the couch, to the bathroom door while you washed your hands.

every time you turned around, he was right there, looking at you with big, sad eyes.

finally, you grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the couch.

“c’mere, hoonie,” you said softly, settling down and opening your arms wide.

he didn’t need to be told twice — he flopped onto you with a heavy, dramatic sigh, his entire body curling into yours like he was trying to merge with you.

you laughed, running your fingers through his hair immediately, knowing that’s what he needed.

he buried his face in your neck, mumbling, “baby me.”

“already on it,” you said, smiling.

you cradled him in your lap, one hand stroking his hair in slow, soothing motions, the other tracing gentle shapes along his back. he sighed contently, the tension finally starting to leave his body.

“you’re my one and only,” you whispered, pressing soft kisses along his hairline. “my favorite. my sunghoon.”

he hummed, still hiding his face, but you could feel the way his body relaxed even more.

you kissed the crown of his head. “my handsome boy.”

kissed his temple. “my talented boy.”

kissed the corner of his forehead. “my baby.”

sunghoon finally tilted his head up to look at you, cheeks flushed pink, eyes glassy with sleepiness and love.

“more,” he demanded quietly.

you smiled, cupping his face in both hands and squishing his cheeks. “more?”

“yeah,” he whispered, sounding almost shy. “please.”

you leaned down and kissed him properly this time — soft and slow, like you had all the time in the world. his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was barely any space between you.

when you pulled back, you peppered more kisses across his face — his nose, his cheeks, his jawline — making him giggle in that rare, breathless way you loved so much.

“hoonie,” you murmured against his skin, “you’re everything to me.”

he blinked up at you, lips trembling slightly like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

so you just held him tighter, giving him all the love he needed without asking for anything in return.

he deserved this. he deserved to be loved so fiercely, so obviously, that he never had to doubt it again.

you shifted slightly so that he was lying fully stretched out along the couch, his head resting in your lap, your fingers threading gently through his hair.

he sighed again — a long, content sound — and looked up at you through heavy lashes.

“can we stay like this forever?” he asked, voice soft and sleepy.

“forever,” you promised, pressing another kiss to his forehead. “i’m not going anywhere.”

you stayed like that for a long time — cuddling, kissing, stroking his hair — until eventually, sunghoon dozed off completely, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear.

you leaned down and whispered against his hairline, “i love you, baby.”

and even in his sleep, he smiled.

enhypen taglist :: @nocturnebite @cheruphic @chrrific @jungwonbropls @ijustreallylike2read @ijustwannareadstuff20

© callikari — all rights reserved

[himasgod]

ACE X READER

Where he sleeps in your bed

Where he breaks a rule and hides from Riddle in Hearstlabyul, sleeping the night with you

This may be my favorite thing I've written about Ace in a long time so enjoy it

You’d just settled in—blanket pulled up, eyes heavy, the usual creaks of Ramshackle blending into your nightly routine—when there was a loud thump outside your window.

Another thump. Then a muffled curse.

You groaned into your pillow.

“If that’s another ghost dragging around, I swear I’m moving into Deuce’s closet.”

Then came the knock.

You didn’t even need to get up to know who it was.

The door creaked open before you even got there.

“Ace,” you deadpanned, arms crossed as you took in the sight: disheveled, slightly out of breath, and very much not supposed to be here.

He held his hands up innocently.

“Okay, before you say anything—”

“You broke a rule again, didn’t you?”

Ace grinned. “Technically, yes. But also technically… Riddle didn’t say I couldn’t charm the vending machine for extra snacks.”

You stared. “So you broke into Heartslabyul’s vent again.”

“I enhanced the student experience. Look, I just need to lay low tonight. Riddle's on one of his ‘I’ll string you up by your ankles’ moods, and I’m not risking it.”

You sighed, dragging him in by the sleeve before one of the ghosts decided to start interrogating him with a lantern.

“I’m not cleaning up your mess if he turns you into a lawn ornament.”

“I knew you loved me,” he said with a wink, plopping down onto your bed like he owned the place.

“Get off.”

“There’s literally nowhere else to sleep in this haunted shack.”

“I’ll take the floor.”

Ace caught your wrist before you could grab an extra blanket.

“No way. You get the bed every other night of your life. We can share.”

You hesitated. He was warm and annoyingly familiar, and… okay, maybe the idea of kicking him to the floor did feel a little heartless.

“…Fine. But if you hog the blanket, I’m pushing you off.”

“I accept your challenge.”

The silence was weird once the lights were off. Not uncomfortable, just… noticeable.

You were both facing away, careful not to brush shoulders. The bed wasn’t made for two. Your knees almost bumped. Your feet definitely did.

“This is weird,” you muttered into your pillow.

“Only if you make it weird,” Ace said, voice low, like he was almost asleep already. “I mean, it’s just me. You trust me, don’t you?”

“…Yeah. I do.”

Silence again. But this time, heavier.

Then, quietly, like he wasn’t sure he should say it—

“You smell nice, by the way.”

You blinked into the dark.

“What.”

“Nothing. Shut up and sleep.”

But his back inched closer. You didn’t move away.

You woke up to sunlight… and Ace's arm around your waist.

His breath was soft on your neck. Your legs were tangled. His entire body was wrapped around yours like this was normal, like he always belonged there.

You froze.

He didn’t wake up. Just murmured something about “don’t steal my cards” and pulled you closer.

You hated how good it felt.

You also hated that this was definitely going to happen again.

You woke up to the sound of Grim shrieking.

“WHAT THE TUNA HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”

You didn’t even get the chance to move before the blanket was yanked back—Ace groaned beside you, arms still around your waist, face buried in your shoulder like he didn’t realize what year it was.

Your brain caught up exactly two seconds too late.

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no.

This looked so bad.

“Grim, it’s not what it looks like,” you croaked, voice barely functional.

“Oh yeah?” Grim snapped. “So it’s totally normal now for you to cuddle the tomato boy in bed like you’re in some kind of cheap drama?!”

You tried to sit up, but Ace just… clung tighter. His hand slid across your stomach, and you felt him grin sleepily against your neck.

“I’m not a tomato,” he mumbled, still 80% asleep. “I’m a hot horny tomato.”

You smacked him with a pillow.

He blinked awake, finally lifting his head—and froze when he realized where exactly his hand was.

His fingers tucked under your shirt, caressing your abdomen tbh.

There was a pause. Just a second. And in that second, your hearts were both screaming.

Then—

“Oh.”

“Get the fuck out of-”

“I’M NEVER UNSEEING THIS.”

After forcibly evicting Grim (who swore he was going to "call the headmage and then the exorcists"), you and Ace just sat there on opposite sides of the bed, knees pulled up like awkward kids at summer camp.

“…Sooooo,” Ace started, rubbing the back of his neck. “That happened.”

You stared at the wall. “Yup.”

“Not that, like—not that it was bad or anything. You’re just… warm. And you didn’t kick me. Which was cool. I thought you’d elbow me in the face, honestly.”

“I thought you’d hog the blankets. Or snore.”

“I don’t snore—hey, rude.”

You finally looked at him. And he was blushing. Actually blushing. Ace Trappola, king of smug confidence and shameless teasing, looked like someone had hit him with a confusion spell.

“I didn’t hate it,” you said, too quietly.

Ace blinked. “What?”

You shrugged, suddenly interested in the hem of your blanket. “I didn’t hate waking up like that. It was kinda… nice.”

He went silent.

Then—nervously, a little too quick—he said,

“Yeah. Yeah, same. Not that I wanna make it weird, or whatever, but… I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

You stared.

He panicked.

“Not like that! I mean—only if you’re cool with it, and only because the bed is warmer with two people, obviously. Strictly practical. Like a roommate thing. Totally platonic.”

“Right. Platonic. Yeah. Of course.”

He nodded. You both avoided eye contact like professionals.

The silence stretched.

“…Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re still wearing my pajama pants.”

“...Oh. Whoops.”

[insert-clever-username-1133]

some of these are just general "bad teacher stories" and in some i was not smarter than the teachers i was just. a little kid. but here we go

in 1st grade, i went to a school where when lunch ended, you could either walk in a line to recess with the others, or stay back and walk to recess yourself when you were done eating. the lady walking the line said, "alright, 2nd graders," and i, being a little smart aleck, corrected her to "1st and 2nd graders". this was an unimportant distinction but did not warrant getting lectured until i started crying.

in around 4th grade. we were taking one of those standardized english tests. the really stupid ones. i was reading through the passage before answering the questions so i had all the context. for this particular passage, the first question was something about the second page. proctor (who is not supposed to help) came around, saw me reading the third page of the passage, and informed me that the question was asking about the second page. i informed her that i was still reading the whole passage for the first time. she insisted that i needed to go to the second page to answer the question and argued this point... until i started crying (there's a bit of a pattern here), at which point she told me to stop testing early.

the answer to the question relied on context from the third page.

in around 5th grade, gifted class, we were making a display of things we found interesting based on a theme. like, clay miniatures. my friend was making an organ for hers. cue the teacher saying those aren't that interesting. "i mean, pianos are an easy instrument." my piano skills were my pride and joy in 5th grade.

in 6th grade (still part of elementary school here) my world history teacher was talking about how amazing it is that humans could build huge civilizations while only using 10% of their brains. i raised my hand and politely went, "... don't we use 100% of our brains?" she informed me that i was incorrect, and that i would "learn about these things in science class".

also in 6th grade if one person fell down my pe teacher would always stop the entire class, lecture us on being unsafe, and make us walk laps for the rest of class. this is crazy on its own. during one instance of this, she was calling people back in to play (basketball that day), and i (goody two-shoes who still thought all my teachers were good despite all the aforementioned experiences) wanted to be helpful to increase my chances of getting called back in and thus proving to myself that im a Good Kid. (there was no chance of this happening, she was calling her favorites and i was not.) to this end, i took the abandoned basketballs from the sidelines and rolled them back towards the people playing, thinking that was helpful. the teacher asked who was doing that and i raised my hand, at which point she told me to stop walking and just stand there. I literally just stood in one spot for the rest of class. by the end of this (you know the drill) i was a sobbing mess, so a different lady pulled me aside and tried to calm me down while talking about regulating my emotions. i told her why i was upset and she did not care.

when i was a kid i got a 90% on my kindergarten "what are your favorite things?" test because for the question "what is your favorite animal?" i wrote down "puma" and it got marked wrong because my teacher said a puma isnt even an animal its a kind of shoe

[lazysoulwriter]

only you. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you for sending, lots of love!

---

You knew this part of Pedro's job. You really did.

Late nights on set. Red carpets. Press tours where he had to smile and laugh with people he barely knew outside of the screen. You never thought you’d be the jealous type — not with Pedro. He was warm, and loyal, and yours in every way that mattered.

But lately... lately it was harder to ignore.

You sat curled up on the couch, the TV playing some mindless sitcom you weren’t even watching. Your phone buzzed constantly on the cushion next to you — notifications, articles, tweets. PEDRO PASCAL SPOTTED GETTING CLOSE TO CO-STAR! A NEW ROMANCE BLOSSOMING ON SET? WHERE'S HIS GIRLFRIEND IN ALL THIS?

You hated how easily the words cut through you.

There were even photos — staged or not, it didn't matter. His arm slung loosely around her shoulders, both of them laughing like they shared some secret world you weren't a part of. It was for the cameras, for the movie, for publicity, you reminded yourself. They needed to sell the chemistry. You knew that.

And yet... you couldn’t shake the feeling. That tiny, ugly voice whispering in the back of your mind: What if he realizes he could have someone easier? Someone just as charming, just as magnetic, who understands this life better than you ever could?

By the time Pedro got home, your heart was a tight knot in your chest.

The door clicked open, and you quickly wiped at your eyes, pretending to be engrossed in the TV. Pedro’s voice floated down the hall, soft and tired.

"Baby? I'm home."

You answered with a weak, "Hey."

He appeared in the doorway, still wearing the casual outfit he'd thrown on after interviews — jeans, a soft, worn t-shirt that clung to him unfairly well. His hair was messy, his eyes a little puffy with exhaustion.

And yet, the moment he saw your face, he frowned. "What's wrong?"

You shook your head quickly. "Nothing. Just tired."

Pedro didn’t buy it for a second. He crossed the room, crouching in front of you so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. His hand found yours — warm, calloused, grounding.

"Talk to me, cariño."

You tried to keep it together. You really did. But it tumbled out of you anyway, raw and broken:

"I just... I know it's stupid. I know you’re just doing your job but—" Your voice cracked. "Everyone is saying things, Pedro. About you and her. About us. And I know you love me, but hearing it over and over... seeing it... it just messes with my head. It feels like maybe... maybe you deserve someone better."

Pedro’s face shifted, from confusion to heartbreak to something almost like anger — but not at you. Never at you. He squeezed your hand tightly.

"Baby. No. No. Don’t even—" He shook his head, looking almost panicked. "You’re the only person I want. The only one."

You sniffled, feeling stupid and small. "It’s just so loud, Pedro. It’s everywhere."

He took your face in his hands, gently, like you were something fragile he couldn’t afford to break.

"Then let me be louder."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Pedro stood, tugging you up with him into a tight embrace. His heart pounded against your ear where you pressed into his chest.

"I should've seen it coming," he murmured into your hair. "Should’ve realized how this would feel for you. I’m so sorry, amor. I didn’t think— I didn’t think it would hurt you."

You clutched the back of his shirt, feeling the tension bleed out of you the longer he held you.

"I don’t care about the movie, about the press," Pedro said fiercely. He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes. "I care about you. I want everyone to know that. Everyone."

You didn’t even have time to ask what he meant before he was pulling out his phone. With one arm still around you, he opened Instagram, switched to his camera, and took a quick selfie — the two of you together, your puffy eyes and his tender smile.

He didn’t even hesitate before posting it with a caption that read:

"Coming home to my favorite person. Every day, every time. Always. ❤️"

Your mouth dropped open. "Pedro— you didn’t have to—"

"I wanted to," he cut you off, setting the phone aside to kiss your forehead. "No more rumors. No more doubts. You're it for me, baby. Always have been."

You buried your face in his chest again, overwhelmed by the way he didn’t just comfort you — he chose you. Loudly. Proudly. Without hesitation.

Later, as you curled up together under the blankets, Pedro whispered against your temple:

"I don’t care what the world says. I only care about you knowing, deep down, that you’re my home. Always."

And somehow, finally, the noise faded away — leaving only the steady, unwavering beat of his love.

-----

[zomb-core]

picture you | oneshot 1.3k

pairing: jinx x fem!reader

synopsis: a few silly high confessions between friends leads to more.

notes: getting high, confessions, making out

“wait, so, you exploded the kitchen?”

being high on a sunday afternoon with jinx wasn’t exactly how you planned to spend your weekend. however, you definitely weren’t complaining. if you found jinx eccentric normally, wait until you saw her high.

“yeah!” she sat crisscrossed on the floor in front of what you considered a couch but was really a bunch of cushions pilled on top of each other. one of her monkey bombs was held in her palm, she claimed to be working on the paint job but in reality she’d only picked up the paint brush a total of one time. “I wasn’t always this good at making bombs.”

currently, she was telling you a story detailing a bomb-gone-wrong in her words. “I don’t understand, why were you even making bombs at that age?” you laughed, finding her childhood activities a bit unhinged.

“oh, you know, hobbies — artistic expression.” she smiled, throwing her head to the side allowing her bangs to move away from her face.

maybe it was your dazed state, but you didn’t remember her being quite this pretty. eh, probably the lighting. “mmm, you sure do like expressing yourself in funny ways.”

“I like keeping things interesting,” that she did, in fact, you were pretty sure she was the most interesting person you knew.

“oh, trust me, you do.”

you stared at each other for a moment, a sudden silence coming over the both of you. it wasn’t awkward, though you wouldn’t consider it comfortable either. it was just silence.

and then, laughter erupted from the two of you. jinx’s laughter was crazed — the way it usually was with you. your laughter shared a similar quality, but it was softer, less like you were suffering from an undiagnosed disorder. you weren’t even sure why you were laughing, but you couldn’t seem to stop.

until, “wanna know somethin’?”

“yeah..?” you drew out suspiciously, jinx wasn’t one for announcing her ‘fun facts of that day’ so it was a bit odd to say the least.

“don’t sound so skeptical,” she whined, throwing herself back onto the floor. her arms sprawled out above her head while she propped her feet up against the ‘couch’. you admired her ability for theatrics.

“my names not actually jinx.” a pause, “well, it is, but for sometime it wasn’t.”

you couldn’t prevent the audible ‘huh’ that left your mouth at the confession. you and jinx had only been friends for a few months, an unconventional meeting during one of her many missions, but in that short time you had learned a lot about her — her favorite food, the fact that she wasn’t allowed to drink despite being of age, how she built her bombs, when she got tattooed, she even told you more about her past then you expected to know so soon.

in short, jinx wasn’t a private person, so how she managed to not mention her birth name, even if just briefly as a punchline for a joke, stunned you.

you guessed that meant it was something really important to her, or rather something really bad that she preferred to avoid talking about.

and she was telling you, “what was it?”

another pause. “powder. wacky, huh?”

you couldn’t help but giggle, powder wasn’t exactly the top baby name of the year, but it weirdly suited her. “a little”

“your turn.”

you froze. your turn? “what?”

she groaned, removing herself from her spot on the ground. within seconds she was seated next to you, her leg pressed against yours. you turned to face her and instinctively flinched — her face was nose length apart, so close her breath caressed your cheek with every exhale.

“tell me somethin’.” she demanded, a gleam in her eyes.

“uh, okay,” you ran your fingers through your hair, struggling to come up with a fact half as interesting as hers, “when I was a kid I stole money from my parents wallet..?”

“lame!” she exclaimed, leaning her shoulder into yours unintentionally. you laughed awkwardly, nodding along, “yeah, yeah — sorry I don’t blow things up and change my identity at the ripe age of fourteen.”

you knew your life was nearly as eventful as hers, you doubted anyone’s was. jinx was chaotic, and that’s what you liked about her, she brought some havoc to your day to day. despite your half-assed confession, she smiled, clearly entertained by your attempt.

now, she leaned over to rest her head on your shoulder, this time you couldn’t deny it was intentional. you felt embarrassed by how quickly you tensed up, it wasn’t like this was new — jinx was touchy, not for any specific reason, she lacked boundaries it was as simple as that. so, when your heart rate picked up and your face got hot, you blamed it on the weed.

“your turn.” you mumbled, shakier than intended.

her hand slid on top of yours, her nails tracing circles on the back of your hand. you shallowed to soothe your sudden case of cottonmouth. “I think.. I want to kiss you right now.”

every letter in the word was elongated, making sure you didn’t mistake what she said.

“wh.. what?” even though you had heard her clearly, it was as if your ears were covered.

without saying anything, she adjusted to face you. her other hand wrapped around your jaw, forcing you to look at her.

jinx didn’t ask for permission, and you didn’t expect her to. so, when she leaned forward to kiss you, you were less shocked then you expected to be.

she definitely didn’t take things slow either, within seconds her tongue was in your mouth. despite this, it wasn’t lustful. it was gentle in a way you didn’t expect. her movements were pensive, her tongue exploring your mouth as if she was mapping it out to remember it for later. her lips were chapped, but soft, and she smiled into the kiss.

she was still smiling when she pulled away.

you couldn’t help but giggle, “woah.”

she rolled her eyes, which you couldn’t blame her for — ‘woah’ was a pretty dorky thing to say. and before you knew it, she was straddling you, her hands placed on both sides of your face.

and when she kissed you again, you thought you were dreaming.

this time, it was more aggressive. she was messy, yet meticulously, making sure she got the most out of every moment. every time you broke for breath, you were lucky to get an inhale before she was pressed against you again, with more force each time.

it became primal, like she was trying to eat you alive. god knew you weren’t complaining.

her lips moved from yours, yet they didn’t lose contact — she trailed a series of kisses starting from your lips to your jaw and they continued to your collarbone.

you weren’t typically vocal, but you wouldn’t deny a few whines escaped you when she began nibbling at the skin. it was definitely easier to deny your blooming feelings for her when she wasn’t marking your neck and pressing against you like her life depended on it.

that’s when it hit you, “when did you notice?”

“what? that you got the hots for me?” she chuckled against you, her breath hot against your skin, “not long ago — started pickin’ up on it when you freaked every time I touched you.”

“that obvious?”

she leaned back, shrugging. “eh.”

you tucked a lose piece of her hair that fell from her braids behind her ear “when did you… y’know?”

“when I met you, blew up a building to get away from enforcers and all you could say was that I needed to watch out for bystanders next time.”

you both laughed about that for a moment, you remembered when it happened — you were coughing from smoke and had said it, she had brushed you off until you were safe from the enforcers. once they had saw you with her, you were both in trouble so you ran.

it was a chaotic meeting, but what wasn’t with jinx?

“got any more questions or can I keep kissing ya’?”

you supposed any more questions you had could be asked later, plus, you enjoyed kissing her more than you enjoyed asking questions. “no, I think I’m good for now.”

a/n: not my best writing, but I wanted to get something out. requests are greatly appreciated!!

not proofread

images by @diana-foggy-master

dividers by @cafekitsune

[dedalvs]

hey friend, i know you’ve been a pretty serious supporter and user of duolingo for a long time (so have i!), so i’m curious what your feeling is about the announcement that they’re going to be doubling down on using more and more AI for content creation, including using it to avoid having to hire actual humans?

personally, i’m really disappointed - i’ve disliked how much they’ve been using it so far, but the app is otherwise a great tool, and all of the other apps seem to use it, too, so it’s not easy to just jump ship to an app that isn’t using AI. i’ve seen a lot of responses that are like “hurr hurr just use a textbook idiot” which i find really unhelpful; learning from an app is easier and a lot more convenient in a lot of ways than having to use analog materials, especially if you study a high number of languages. still, i don’t ethically feel that i can keep giving them money if this is the direction they’re going.

what are your thoughts?

This is going to be a longer answer than you might have expected.

In 2001, fellow undergrad. Reiko Kataoka (now a professor at San Jose State) resurrected a club that had been dead for a few years at UC Berkeley linguistics: The Society of Linguistics Undergraduates (SLUG). One of its former undergraduate members, Alan Yu (now a professor at the University of Chicago), happened to be a graduate student at Berkeley at the time, so he helped her get it off the ground. The club was exactly what I was looking for at that time: a group for ling. undergrads. to get together and talk about language and linguistics, my new favorite thing. It was great! I even put together a couple phonology problems using my conlangs to distribute at a meeting. The following year I became the second president of the new SLUG and helped to create the SLUG Undergraduate Linguistics Symposium, where I gave my first talk on language creation. Being a part of this club was a major factor in shaping my undergraduate experience at Berkeley.

When I graduated I went to UC San Diego to pursue a graduate degree in linguistics. Part of the reason I chose UCSD was because it was an incredibly inviting atmosphere. Before we accepted they paid for prospective undergraduates down to San Diego and housed them with current grad. students who told them about the program and took them out for dinner, etc. It allowed prospective students to ask questions they wouldn't ask of professors (e.g. who's got beef with who). It was really cool, and so in our second year, we continued the tradition of housing prospective grad. students. Since we both went to Berkeley, my ex-wife (also a Berkeley ling. grad.) and I hosted Klinton Bicknell.

Klinton, it turns out, was the current president of SLUG. I didn't know him while I was at Cal, but we did overlap. It turns out he had renamed the club SLUGS, which I thought was weird. He said "It happened organically" and laughed in an off-putting way. He very much gave off the impression of someone who will smile at you and say whatever is necessary for you to go away. Klinton ended up going to UCSD the following year and I ended up leaving the following year.

Fast forward to 2016. HBO had put the kibosh on Living Language Valyrian, and so I turned to Duolingo. They had previously reached out about putting together a Dothraki course, but I declined, due to having a book out, Living Language Dothraki. With no hope for Valyrian, I asked if they'd be interested in me putting together a course on High Valyrian, which I did. I had some help at the beginning, but, truth be told, most of that course was built by me alone. I became very familiar with the Incubator, where Duolingo contributors built most of their courses. It was a bit clunky, but with enough elbow grease, you could put together something that was pretty darn good. It wasn't as shiny as their in house courses, because they couldn't do things like custom images, speaking challenges, etc., but it was still pretty good.

At the time I joined, everyone who was working in the Incubator was doing it for free. We were doing it because we wanted to put together a high quality course on our language of choice on Duolingo. When Duolingo went public, they realized this situation was untenable, so they began paying contributors. There were contracts, hourly wages, caps on billable hours, etc. It essentially became an as-you-will part time job, which wasn't too bad.

The Incubator faced a couple potentially insurmountable problems. When the courses were created by volunteers, Duolingo could say "This was made by volunteers; use at your own risk", essentially. Once they were paid, though, all courses became Duolingo products, which means they bear more responsibility for their quality. With so many courses (I mean, sooooooooo many courses) it's hard to ensure quality. Furthermore, "quality" doesn't just mean "are the exercises correct" and "are the sentences interesting". Quality means not being asked to translate sentences like "Women can't cook" or "The boy stabbed the puppy". With literally hundreds of courses each with thousands of sentences written by contractors, there was no way for Duolingo to ensure not just that they were staying on brand with these sentences, but that they weren't writing ugly things. There were reporting systems, there were admins that could resolve things behind the scenes, but with so much content, it became a situation where they would have had to hire a ton more people or scale back.

We saw what Duolingo did before with one aspect of their platform that had a similar issue. If you remember way back, Duolingo used to have a "forum", that was a real forum, but for most users, what it meant was on every single sentence in Duolingo users could make comments. These comments would explain grammar points, explain references, make jokes, etc. It was honestly really helpful. But, of course, with any system like that comes trolls, and so volunteers who had come to create language learning resources also found themselves being content reviewers, having to decide which comments to allow, which to delete, who to ban, etc. As Duolingo became more popular, the troll problem grew, and so eventually Duolingo's response was to kill the forum. This mean you were no longer able to see legitimate, helpful comments on sentences. They threw the baby out with the bathwater.

This is why it was no surprise to me when they shuttered the Incubator. The technology was out of date (from their standpoint, you understand. Their in house courses were way more sophisticated, but they couldn't update the Incubator without potentially breaking hundreds of courses they hadn't created themselves), quality assurance was nearly impossible, and they were also paying people to create and maintain these out-of-date courses they had no direct control over. Of course they closed it down. It would've taken a massive investment of time and resources (and capital) to take the Incubator as it was and turn it into something robust and future proof (think old Wordpress vs. Wordpress now), and Duolingo wanted to do other things, instead—like math and music. And so the Incubator died.

But that wasn't the only reason. This was something we heard internally and then heard later on publicly. There was rumbling that Duolingo was using AI to help flesh out their in house courses, which was troubling. This was before the big Gen AI boom, but after a particularly pernicious conlang-creation website I won't name had come to exist, so it caught my attention. I decided to do a little digging and see what this was all about, and I ended up with a familiar name.

Klinton Bicknell.

Indeed, the very same Klinton Bicknell was the head of all AI ventures at Duolingo. Whether enthusiastically or reluctantly or somewhere in between, he was absolutely a part of the decision to close the Incubator and remove all the contractors who had created all the courses that gave Duolingo its reputation. (Because, seriously, why did most of us go to Duolingo? Not for English, Spanish, French, and German.)

I know you sent this ask because of the recent news about Duolingo, but, to be honest, when I saw one of these articles float across my dash I had to check the date, because to me, the news was old. Duolingo isn't just now replacing contractors with AI: They already did. That was the Incubator; those were contractors. That is why there won't be more new language courses on Duolingo, and why the current courses are frozen. This isn't news. This is the continuation of a policy that had already firmly in place, and a direction that rests solidly on the shoulders of Klinton Bicknell.

But you don't have to take my word for it. He's talked about this plenty himself:

Podcast (Generative Now)

Article in Fast Company

Article in CNET

Google can help you find others.

At this point there's a sharp and baffling division in society with respect to generative AI. On the one hand, you have those of us who disapprove of generative AI on a truly fundamental level. Not only is the product something we don't want, the cost—both environmental and ethical—is utterly insupportable. Imagine someone asking you, "Hey, would you like a sandwich made out of shoelaces and shit?" And you say, "God, no, why would anyone ever want that?!" And their response is, "But wait! To make this sandwich out of shoelaces and shit we had to strangle 1,000 kittens and drain the power grid. Now do you want it?"

On the other side, there are people who are still—I mean today—saying things like, "Wow! Have you heard of this AI thing?! It's incredible! I want AI in everything! Can AI make my table better? Can I add AI to my arthritis? We should make everything AI as quickly as possible!"

And conversations between the two sides go roughly like this:

A: Good lord, now they're using AI art on phone ads? Something has to stop this… B: Yeah, it's so cool! Look, I can make a new emoji on my phone with AI! A: Uhhh…what? I was saying it's bad. B: Totally! I wonder if there's an AI shower yet? Like, it could control the temperature so you always have the perfect shower! A: Do you know how much power it takes to run these genAI apps? At a time when we're already struggling with income inequality, housing, inflation, and climate change? B: I know! We should get AI to fix that! A: But AI is the problem! B: Hey ChatGPT: Teach me how to surf!

It's frustrating, because the B group is very much the 💁 group. It's like, "Someone was using ChatGPT and it told them to kill themselves!" and they respond, "Ha, ha! Wow. That shouldn't have happened. What a learning opportunity! ☺️ Hey ChatGPT: How do you make gazpacho?" There's a complete disconnect.

In terms of what you do with your money, it's a difficult thing. For example, I've used Apple computers consistently since 1988. I'm fully immersed in the Apple ecosystem and I love what they do. They, like every other major company, are employing AI. If you go over to r/apple any time one of these articles comes out, it's all comments from people criticizing Apple for not putting together a better AI product and putting it out faster; none saying that they shouldn't be doing it. They're all ravenous for genAI for reasons that defy my understanding. And so what do I do? I've turned off the AI features on all my Apple devices, but beyond that, I'm locked in. From one direction, I look like a hypocrite for using devices created by a company that's investing in AI. From the other direction, though, I am using their devices to say what they're doing is fucking despicable, and they should stop—and I'll keep doing so so long as there's breath in my body.

Duolingo isn't necessary the way that, say, a computer or phone is nowadays. Duolingo is still usable for free, though, of course, they make it a frustrating experience to use its free service. (This is certainly nothing exclusive to Duolingo. That's the way of everything nowadays: streaming services, games, social media... Not "Well give you cool things if you pay!" but "We'll make your life miserable if you don't!") If you do use their Incubator courses, though, I can assure you that those are AI-free. lol They're too outdated to have anything like that. Some of those courses are bigger than others; some are better than others. But all of them were put together by human volunteers, so there's that, at least. At this point, I don't think Duolingo needs your money—nor will they miss it. They're on a kind of macro plane at the moment where the next ten years will either see the company get even bigger or completely disintegrate; there's no in between. They're likely going to take a big swing into education (perhaps something like Duolingo University [Duoversity?]) and it's either going to make a ton of money or bankrupt them. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

I've taken the Finnish course in its entirety and we're doing Hungarian now, and I've learned a lot—not enough, but a lot. I'm grateful for it. I like the platform, and I agree with the basic tenets of the language courses (daily shallow intake is better than occasional deep intake; implicit learning ahead of explicit instruction is better than the reverse). I'm grateful they exist, I'm grateful we can still use them (because they can always retire all of them, remember), and I think it's brought a lot of positivity to the world. I think Luis Van Ahn is a good guy and I hope he can steer this thing back on course, but I'm not putting my money on it.

[xtarmanderx]

I’ve been thinking this over for a few days now trying to decide if I wanted to say anything. And here’s the thing. OP is completely valid in not wanting fandom to disappear inside community spaces that are locked and only certain people have access to them. Community is meant for everyone.

What I will say is this about my own personal experience.

I did not actively engage in fandom beyond reblogging here on tumblr until I joined discord nearly a decade ago. I was posting about Thiam on my main blog and someone randomly reached out to me in a message and asked if I would be interested in joining a discord about the ship. I had never even fucking heard of discord at the point. So I sat down on my steps in the evening and downloaded the app and made myself an account. Joined a server that was incredibly active with hundreds of people and I was welcomed with open arms. (Shoutout to Kate for pulling me aboard and we have remained friends ever since!)

Discord became the place where I found community. Where I found people who encouraged me to write fics and make art. I had never considered writing fanfics until I was actively talking to other people in a community and received so much encouragement and enthusiasm from my new friends. I would not be the creator I am today without discord. The whole reason I am active on this tumblr again and writing is because of discord friends.

The layout of discord isn’t perfect. And I have talked off and on with a friend about this a few times, but a BIG problem I see in discord communities is people will celebrate fics and art but never tell the creator of said piece how much they love it. Which becomes a bigger fandom problem: How does your favorite creator know that you like their work if you never actually tell them? We are not mind readers. (And for me, I fucking love kudos on works, but sometimes I do wish more people commented even if it’s just a heart.)

For me, discord provides a safe space to engage in fandom with similar people who have the same interests as me. I made a discord for a ship I created because someone asked me to make a tumblr community for them and I felt super overwhelmed by that, so I offered a discord instead. There’s roughly a dozen people on it and about half of us are active the other half lurk. Which is fine! People don’t need to engage 24/7 to be a part of a community.

I think discord can be fast paced for a lot of people, too. My friends and I will talk for literal hours in a channel and that’s sometimes hundreds of messages and that can be overwhelming to people. I think the biggest thing is to remember that conversations are never going to simply stop. It’s okay and welcome to jump in at any moment.

Discord isn’t for everyone. But I don’t think it’s going to make fandom disappear behind closed doors by any means.

please promise me fandom won't disappear entirely into discord servers, i'm too old and employed for that

[lukie17]

As a follow up of sorts how would the LADS react to being gifted a body pillow of the reader?

LADS react to being gifted a body pillow of you

My first request ever! I hope you like it anon!

I do NOT write for Rafayel

Xavier

Xavier had been to bed rest after he went on a solo mission, he had broken one of his legs and he was not allowed to be your partner until he was fully recovered. He liked the fact that he had time to sleep but he did not like the fact that you would be going on solo missions for a while.

It got worse when you were going to go to another city for a uncover mission and he was the sulkiest man ever. What did you do? You decided to give him a little something until you came back. Xavier was still sleeping when you placed the pillow beside him.

Xavier woke up a few hours later with your printed face at his side. The sleep was still fogging his mind until he realized that the one beside him was not you, he found a little note at the side of the pillow.

I know that you will be lonely while I am going, so I hope this will keep you company ;) - You

Xavier felt so happy, even if you were miles away, he could still hug you. The pillow was his partner for the rest of his recovery, whenever you were away, he hugged it tightly to the point that it smelled like him. He almost killed Jeremiah when he laughed at him for the pillow, good thing that his leg was still recovering giving the time to Jeremiah to run.

Xavier used the pillow every time he was home, even when you were with him. he will hold you in his arms as the pillow rested at the other side of the bed. No matter where he turned, you will be him in bed! Though he preferred you over the pillow, it didn't not matter that you looked really pretty in the pillow, he could get freaky with it.

Zayne

Our favorite doctor felt conflicted to say the least. His reaction might have been different if you had sent the pillow to another location, like home, but you had decided to send it to his office at the hospital. The image was a little spicy to his liking, you were wearing a maid outfit and winking in the body pillow. And now Zayne would have trouble focusing on his work.

Did he like the pillow? He will never admit it out loud. That would be something that he could use behind closed doors or at home, but never in a public space like his office. Zayne will have to scold you for this, he liked your jokes, but it was too much.

He did not want to leave it in the office, but he also didn't want to take it home if someone saw it. His mind was conflicted, should he freeze the pillow? should he leave it here and hope no one would see it while he was working? It was a miracle that it had made all the way to his office without someone noticing what it was.

As he was pondering his options, he did not notice the door opening and Yvonne walking to leave some papers. They looked at each other in uncomfortable silence, until Zayne saw the flash of a camara, and he froze.

"Yvonne..."

"My! My!" the nurse chuckled "The fearsome doctor Zayne is a man after all, and he cannot resist the manly urge he has!"

"This is not what you think..."

But she walked away, calling for Gresyon in her leave. Zayne's gaze returned to the pillow, your checky expression was only annoying more. He will take the pillow home and with it a punishment. Hopefully, you would like the mandatory rest that he was going to force on you, and not because your heart condition, darling.

Sylus

It was a gift from the twins. They knew he sulked whenever you went away, so they took a photo session with you and made a body pillow for his boss! Only the best for the best boss man ever. But what they weren't expecting is that Sylus will have them in a hold as he examined the body pillow.

You looked ravishing in your little outfit, making a suggestive pose only for your husband. Sylus had made fun of you for the body pillow, and he was starting to see the appeal of it, but something was bothering him. Why did you let the twins take pictures of you? Why did you not let your husband take the pictures? He would have had more fun with you instead of them.

"We can explain!" Kieran cried as he was lifted into the air "It's a birthday gift! A birthday gift!" Luke nodded at his side.

"Is that so?" his red eyes scanning his henchmen "Then why has my gift arrived later?"

"We wanted to make it perfect, boss"

"So, you decided to take pictures of my wife," tightening his grip on the twins "in lingerie to put it on a pillow when I could just have my wife to myself?"

Sylus was unsure how to feel with the gift. He could have you whenever he wanted so why he needed a body pillow like that. He was both annoyed and amused. Was this some kind of revenge for him when he rearranged your insides after the body pillow accident? It didn't matter; Sylus was going to have to take measures for his kitten not to misbehave. And the twins? Well, let's say that they had taken a sudden mission at the other side of the globe.

Caleb

My man would be celebrating as if were a quinceañera that had been gifted the party and a trip for her birthday. We would have puppy Caleb at maximum level! What do you mean you are given him a body pillow of you? He was jumping with happiness. Especially because you were wearing a cheerleader costume, you looked so perfect.

It had arrived at his apartment in sky heaven, it was a nice pillow. And Caleb could not take his eyes off it, he had always wanted one, but he never crossed the line, but now you were giving him one!

Caleb would be so happy and would treat that pillow as if it were you, he would sleep so soundly with that pillow beside him, nightmares fading away due to his own personal cheerleader. But he still wondered why you had sent him one. He knew you had one of him, and he never thought you would, so why were you all nice to him right now?

He took his tablet and worked on one of his drones, trying to understand what you had done. When you were teenagers whenever you did something wrong, you would give him a gift and then drop the news on him. He could not find you anywhere, not in the arcade, nor in your favorite cafe, nor in your apartment.

He turned the GPS of your cellphone and found you in the N109 zone. Caleb knew who you went to see, and while he knew that your relationship with Sylus was platonic, that did not stop him from worry. Sylus was someone he wanted to punch in the face ever since he learned about him, especially because he took certain liberties with you. The pillow remained forgotten as Caleb walked out of his apartment, later there would be time to admire the pillow, now he had another matter to take care of.

[seb-boo]

Highlights from Seb's Interview with Sky Germany (Jeddah 2025):

Seb's kids don't want him driving (cause they like him home so much)

He regretted that when he got the chance to ask Michael a question, he asked about what he did to stay fit

He apparently hates swimming?

He recently broke his finger doing handy work

His son has started to ask about his career

How self-doubt played a role in his career and ultimately poor results were not satisfying to him in the end, especially when he could have been spending time with his kids

He was surprised at his first drivers' briefing how catty everyone was—this later, in addition to safety, was a motivator to reform the GDPA and actually have community amongst the drivers

He feels that Multi 21 made him and Mark closer (ala Baku 2017)

He is open to the idea of taking over Marko's job and discussed how their approaches are very different

He texted Lewis after his China sprint win

His projects allow him to be involved with F1, but keep enough distance to feel comfortable

His favorite thing to do is psychoanalyze the drivers (he also thinks reading people is his greatest gift)

He is struggling with grasses and herbs at agricultural school (but seems to do well on an impromptu quiz)

He's a control freak (he trusts his choice in restaurant and music over everyone else in F1 for a party—oh, and he would pay)

Direct quotes ↴

"I would say, well. It's my own perception, but I think pretty well. The, how do you say, the family peace still exists. [You're not annoying at home?] *laughing* I don't think so. I am still wanted. The kids also said I shouldn't start driving again because it's so nice that I'm there. That's great to hear something like that."

---

"When I imagine myself as a little boy, I can remember the key moments when suddenly Michael was standing there, maybe said something, and the question I asked was, 'what do you do to be fit?' And then you think afterwards or later I thought again, I should have asked so many other things. And then he told me that he does this and that and swims and so on, and I thought, 'oh no, I don't like swimming at all!' These are such small things, but yes, it meant the world to me at the time[...] because my hero listened to me in that sense."

---

"It's about intuition and what really drives you and what you really want, and yes, I think I might not be able to fully answer that question for a long time, or ever, but that's also what triggers curiosity somewhere. But to feel it and, yes, to develop more intuition, I think, was a big point for me and perhaps still is. And it's exciting to get to know yourself again like that. I don't know why I had this drive, after stopping, not to commit myself to a task or a job or, I don't know, partnership XY, but to be free first, for myself, to then feel myself and see, okay, what do I want at all, where is my journey going, and how do I deal with this, in quotes 'emptiness first,' before I immediately jump into the next project?"

"Agriculture has kept me quite busy in the last year with the training that I am now hopefully successfully completing and passing, and I have learned a lot of new things. Yes, there is always something to do around the house and things that have maybe been left undone in recent years, where I am still, yes, skilled. It's relative, I recently broke my finger, but yes, I do a lot and try a lot, and so the days actually pass quickly. I enjoy that. I enjoy the time as well, and this other life, but of course, I watch and follow what is happening and how the guys are doing, and I am still in contact here and there, so yes, it is a big part of me, and it will remain so."

[So the identity as a racing driver will remain. How is that now, for example, at home? For the children, they are 10, 11, I think, then six or so, five?] "Yes, five." [Do they also ask about moments from your career, or is that not a topic at all?]

"Yes, it's funny. We were watching recently, just now, the race in Bahrain or qualifying, and then when it was finished, my youngest said something like, 'I would like to see where you were driving.' Then I said, 'Okay, I have to look first.' I couldn't find anything quickly in the media library, I had to rummage around, but yes, it is interesting. The girls, I think, have taken it in and perceived it a bit more. He was still too young. Yes, it would sometimes be interesting to know what the children think. Here or there, they notice it when we are out and about and perhaps meet people who remember and you stop for a moment and have a chat. But yes, my own perception and then the perception from the children's point of view is very interesting. I think we are coping well with the situation and of course we are trying to give the children a childhood similar to the one we had, in a normal sense, really."

[I also looked at how you have developed as a personality over the years, starting with your time in Formula 1. If you look back at your early years at Toro Rosso, maybe also a bit of the time at Red Bull, how would you describe yourself then?]

"Well, I think very focused, very goal-oriented. I knew exactly what I wanted. I had a very clear vision of where I wanted to go, and then of course I had this incredible time, the years when it felt like everything went well for me. Then with the move to Ferrari, of course, a big challenge, but also a lifelong dream that I could fulfill. The big success, the very big success that I had firmly set my sights on, the title, did not materialize. Now, of course, you can talk for a long time about why and how and why not, but I believe that in retrospect, the time was much more important, the people I met, the experiences I had, and the lessons as well."

"From, I don't know, a certain insecurity, self-doubt also played a big role, then to the last part of my career where I think I opened up more and also came out of myself more in the sense that I not only talked about racing but also addressed other topics and topics that were important to me, and so I gave room to a new side of myself and could develop. And yes, of course, I had a great privilege associated with it, that I was in a position where people might have listened to me or perceived me in that sense, and I actually had very, very many positive experiences with that. Of course, there were also people who said, 'That doesn't belong to you now, and you shouldn't focus on that, and rather focus on driving because things aren't going well there,' and so on. I think there was also a lot of humility in the sense of, yes, when you have a good run at the beginning and then everything picks up speed and you are in teams where things are always moving forward and faster and in big teams, then in that sense, I don't want to say falling behind, but switching to a team that is in this building phase and getting the momentum back was a nice time. "

"But of course, in terms of results, it was a very tough time, a tough pill to swallow, because suddenly you are, I don't know, not in oblivion, but from my point of view and own feelings, you have slipped to results that no longer matter, that are no longer relevant. Whether I was 8th or 12th or 14th, was for me, insufficient for me. Especially when you have already been at the very top, then that is no real fulfillment. But also dealing with that and getting to know that side of myself, I think I have matured extremely in recent years and knew more and more what I wanted. And then in that sense, that I see and want other things in my life and want to have time, especially for the children. Time is limited, and then I had the courage, I think, to say, okay, I know I can do more and I know maybe more is yet to come, but yes, I want to have time for other things and get to know other sides of myself."

---

"And I think our society has changed, that yes, young people or generally, that you now address certain topics and don't stop before certain topics anymore. And that you have to take a position in a certain way. Perhaps a piece of the freedom to withdraw has been lost, but I think that has a very positive overall effect. When you address topics in sport that are perhaps more political or play a role outside of sport, I think it has a lot of impact. So if the values are the right ones that you represent and it is good topics that you address, of course, it's not for me to judge what is good and bad and right and wrong, but I think if you stand up for others and draw attention to things, then that is a good thing."

---

"I remember my first drivers' briefing as a Formula 1 driver. I was somewhat shocked that no one was talking to each other, but rather talking about each other, sometimes with a bit of arrogance, and this difference in status, "I am here, you are there." Yet in sport, in Formula 1 or in life generally, our passion connects us, and then to seek points of attack instead of the things that perhaps distinguish us, I find much more sympathetic, because even if we weren't the best friends in that room of 20 back then and still are today as drivers, even if we weren't the best friends, there was still this great connection and the passion that we all shared or cared about, right?"

[Or I mean, towards the end of your career, you brought the drivers together, but this is now commonplace, right?]

"Because I simply thought or felt that this community was missing, and also to help establish the GPDA, and I went to Alex, to Alex Wurz, who is still involved, and said, 'Alex, we somehow have to manage to bring the drivers together.' Of course, safety is a topic that connects us all, but also generally, let's talk about the other topics when we feel that something is wrong, or that we simply get into an exchange. I think the space is good that you can, apart from statements you have heard about others, find this space to also go out for dinner in the evening and exchange ideas and get to know each other better. You spend so much time together, it feels like, and at the same time, everyone is so absorbed in their team with meetings and, I don't know, meet and greets and appearances here and there, that you actually don't have any time together, and that is really a shame."

[With Multi 21, for example, with Mark Webber back then, such an action, how do you see that now, from your past, do you say that was totally okay, or do you think it was difficult?]

"Especially, I think, that our relationship was strained until then. Or very, yes, we were very big competitors, so Mark. Of course, then also within the team, but I think that ultimately, clearly, it wasn't a nice event, but I think it led to us understanding each other much better today and having much more respect for each other. So, we talked afterwards, I told him what I didn't like about it and why I felt it was unjustified. He expressed his opinion, and yes, even if you don't completely agree with and adopt the other person's opinion, that's not what it's about. It's about talking to each other in the first step, and we were much better at that afterwards."

[Sebastian, when you look at the situation right now at Red Bull, it's funny that your name came up today because I was talking to Ralf about what you yourself once mentioned as a potential successor. Is that a role you could fundamentally imagine?]

"I think there is only one Helmut, and his role, clearly, is his. But yes, I think that generally, the exchange is also very inspiring, and of course, you have the experiences you have, and Helmut is similar in a way. He also grew up in motorsport, a completely different time, but the wheel still turns the same way in a way, and the similar and same things matter today as they did, I don't know, how many years ago, even if Formula 1 has changed significantly."

"Yes, I think there are many things and perspectives or parallels or things that one could pass on. Whether that will be something in the future, we'll see. I am still in contact with him, I also asked him a few years ago how much longer he wanted to do it, and he said not much longer, and he is still here. *laughs* So as long as he still enjoys it and feels up to the job, I think, yes, he is in a unique role, especially with the experience and the team dynamics. He knows that best, and from the outside, it is always difficult to judge, and perhaps you sometimes wonder here or there how this happened or what's the point, but of course, he has a completely different perspective and completely different experiences. And yes, it will be a shame when he leaves or steps down from the position at some point, but of course, then, yes, it has to develop in a new, different direction."

[I visited him recently in Graz, he had just come from the forest, it was 11 in the morning, he said he had already been there for 3 hours, and then he said he talks about it often with you too because you are also a forester and you have different approaches, right?]

"Yes, completely different views, but we both have respect for each other. He is more of the old school. I am more of the modern perspective, that you sometimes leave the tree lying there, and thereby cultivate or promote the beneficial insects, or in his view, pests, and thus ensure balance. But yes, neither of our views is just right and just wrong."

---

[I also said recently, after three races we say someone is great, and then they make a mistake again, and then they go down again. So this patience also to have with development, for example, with Lewis Hamilton. I think you wrote to him after the sprint victory in China, didn't you?]

"Yes, of course."

[Yes, he was probably happy because you texted him. How do you see that? I mean, you also made this move from Red Bull to Ferrari. What is this big adjustment that you need as a driver, and why does it take so long, maybe half a year, as Ralf, for example, said?]

"Well, maybe it takes even longer, depending. I think so many things depend on it. I think the car was less of a change for me back then. Everything was different. The car drove completely differently. But yes, I was able to get used to it quite quickly in that sense. But of course, it's other people, a different environment, a different language, a different culture. So I think the whole thing overwhelms you, and everyone is different. One person might need longer, another less long with one situation or another. I don't think there's any doubt that he can drive. There's no doubt that he can do all the things that are now demanded of him. But it's also completely normal to need a little time. And I think nothing is lost there either, in that sense. If the development suddenly takes the right path, then I think Ferrari is in a completely different position again. They were very strong last year, narrowly missed the Constructors' Championship, so you shouldn't write off the whole team and the two drivers now."

---

[If you could choose a role again in Formula 1, I know that you were, for example, in Monaco, we saw each other very briefly there, you came out of the Red Bull hospitality, you had an appointment with Stefano Domenicali. When people see you now, also with your experience regarding social projects, everyone would ask, why isn't Sebastian integrated into Formula 1 anymore with his past? What's the answer to that?]

"I have many, but would you like to do that? I am in contact with Stefano, we are talking about it and perhaps still refining and tinkering with what it would look like exactly. Yes, but I also don't want to push myself in any way. I think ultimately it has to fit for both sides. I don't know. I mean, I follow the sport with great interest, and now also with enough distance that I don't feel like it's a problem anymore. The first few races were perhaps a bit more difficult, but now after a relatively long time, it is no longer a problem."

"Yes, I don't know what it could be in the future. Of course, it would be nice to see that the goals that Formula 1 sets for itself are realistically approached and achieved regarding the future and regarding responsibility. So whether it's climate neutrality by 2030 or certain projects and aspects to use the impact of Formula 1 to really live, exemplify, and bring about good change. On the other hand, of course, as I said, staying close to the drivers in a certain role, I don't know what kind of role that will be in the future, is certainly something one can imagine, which I can also imagine."

[Simply because you have had so many experiences that you couldn't evaluate during your active time, but now I think with more distance, you see many things.]

"I watch the races, of course, I see the same things as everyone else, which tires, which strategy, and so on. But I think what tactic or what mindset is behind it, what is going on in the driver's head, I think I already have more insight, perhaps not better than everyone else, but more insight. And of course, yes, because it's perhaps still so fresh, I can still draw more from it. 'Does he feel comfortable now, and where is perhaps the problem? Maybe it's not the tire set or the strategy, but perhaps something else.' That's what I find interesting, the person behind it."

[I just wanted to ask you a few quick short questions at the end, including a quiz question about your training. I'm curious if you can answer it. Perhaps first, what are you learning right now that you are not yet good at?]

"Grasses and herbs."

[Okay...alphorn playing?]

"Alphorn playing! I still remember that, I put it aside but haven't completely given up. I heard something again recently and thought, oh yes, I must get it out again."

[What is your greatest gift?]

"Of course, you could talk about racing because I had some success there and so on, but I think, yes, this reading people, it sounds a bit much, but I think I can sense what is going on in people and in certain situations, and then, of course, when it comes to sport and performance or results in that sense."

[Looking back at your Formula 1 time with all the people you met, regardless of who they are, a really good evening, a final evening, perhaps. Who chooses the restaurant?]

"Me!" [Ja?] "Ja!"

[Do you have good taste?]

"I don't know, but I think I have learned over the years that, yes, I really enjoy doing that. Let's put it that way."

[Who is responsible for the music?]

"Also me. If I'm throwing the party, then at least the food and music. Music can either be right and you don't really notice it, it's in the background and it fits. But if it's wrong, it's already too late when you notice it. So, yes."

[What do you like to listen to? What's your favorite?]

"Everything. But when eating, yes, it has to be something calmer and something that fits the time and the setting."

[Yes, who pays?]

"I would also like to, I wouldn't have a problem." *laughs*

[Who leaves first?]

"That depends on how many people are there."

[But who would be the one you'd say, yes, okay, the slightly grumpy one.]

"Christian always left first!"

[Okay, okay, okay. And who locks the door at the end?]

"Adrian."

[Really? Such a party person?]

"Yes, well, there are others there too, but yes, he always had fun anyway."

[So Sebastian, the last question now. Now I'm curious. I hope I'm not putting you on the spot. So you are doing your training now in Switzerland, right? Agriculture? I think you are in the vocational school in Pfäffikon. Did I pronounce that correctly?] "Ja." [Watch out, now I have picked out a question. So, which plant is often referred to as "green gold" because it improves the soil and serves as animal fodder? Is it A) Wheat, B) Clover, C) Corn, or D) Rapeseed?]

"It's clover because it's a legume and the only plant that can store nitrogen in the form of nodule bacteria on the roots. You can even see them with the naked eye, and it's not only good for the soil and the plant, but also good for the animals."

[That's great. You passed the test!]

[izzih22]

ok so i got a fic idea: yk how azzis is like geno's fav and their ppls princess? like so basically i saw some comments somewhere saying she was like only featured that much cus shes genos fav and friends ( or more) with paige... (which like not true🙄 have u literally seen this girl shoot?!???) buttt can u maybe write a fic where like azzi read something like that and gets sad and insecure and paige comforts her

Earned

Note: sorry it’s a little short

Azzi Fudd is everyone’s favorite. Except, apparently, when she’s not.

The locker room had mostly cleared out after practice, laughter fading down the hallway. Azzi stayed behind, half-laced sneakers still digging into the mat, phone in her hand like it had fused there.

She shouldn’t have looked. She knew better than to check the comments under the latest team highlight post. But there it was, anyway. Bright and cruel on the screen, buried under a hundred heart emojis and fire reacts:

“She’s only getting minutes because she’s Geno’s fav lol”

“Let’s be real, if she wasn’t besties (or whatever) with Paige, she wouldn’t get half the attention.”

“Overrated. Pretty face and connections. Not game.”

Azzi’s fingers locked around the phone until her knuckles went white. She blinked hard, like that would wash it away. She could shoot until her legs gave out, put in more hours than anyone — it still didn’t matter to some people. To strangers who didn’t know a damn thing about what it cost her just to stay upright some days.

She didn’t even hear Paige come back in until the bench creaked beside her.

“You forgot your jersey, babe,” Paige said casually, tossing them in Azzi’s lap. “And your water bottle. And your soul, apparently.”

Azzi didn’t laugh. Didn’t even look up.

It took Paige about two seconds to clock the vibe shift. “Hey.” Her voice softened. “What happened?”

Azzi shook her head. “Nothing. Just tired.”

“Try again.”

When she didn’t answer, Paige leaned over and gently pried the phone out of her hand. Azzi didn’t fight it.

Paige didn’t need to scroll far to see it. Her jaw tensed. That familiar fire lit behind her eyes — the one she saved for game time and anyone dumb enough to mess with someone she loved.

“Who the hell—” Paige cut herself off, breathing hard through her nose. “You know this is bullshit, right?”

Azzi shrugged.

“Azzi. Look at me.”

Azzi did. Slowly. And Paige swore under her breath at the tears pooling just behind her eyes.

“You work harder than anyone. You play through more pain than anyone. You earn every damn second on that court.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Azzi whispered. “Sometimes it just feels like people think I’m only here because I’m… nice. Or pretty. Or… with you.”

Paige’s face crumpled just slightly at that. “That’s not true. That’s so far from true.”

Azzi looked away again, but Paige caught her chin and tilted it back. Gentle. Steady.

“Listen to me,” she said, low and intense now. “You’re not here because of Geno. Or me. Or because fans think you’re sweet. You’re here because you are the best shooter in the country, and you’ve earned every headline. Every minute. Every damn point. No one gave you anything.”

Azzi blinked fast, but the tears slipped out anyway. Paige caught one with her thumb, her hand still cupping her jaw.

“And for the record?” Paige added, quieter. “Even if I wasn’t in love with you, I’d still lose my mind every time you hit a three.”

Azzi let out a wet, half-laugh. “That was cheesy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re dating a simp. Deal with it.”

Azzi leaned forward, forehead pressed against Paige’s shoulder, finally letting herself exhale. Paige wrapped her up like she always did — strong, grounding, warm. No spotlight, no cameras. Just them. Where everything was earned. And everything was real.

[ay0nha]

Please Forgive Me | Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

GIF by crushribbons

SUMMARY: You needed to let go of the illusion that it could have been any different. You were both slowly losing yourselves and your patience. Instead, resented for being weathered and callous. But the pain and hurt were still there; nobody acknowledged how it had gone so long ignored.

Where Robby says, "Please forgive me." The first step in Ho'oponopono.

PAIRING: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!attending!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

WARNINGS: Canon-typical things, mentions of rats, vaccines (anti-vaxxer fuck off), needles, pining, angst, Myrna, incorrect medical things, plot driven by movie magic, flashbacks, arguments, some fluff, me projecting my competency kink, smoking, scrub sharing, word vomit, etc.

Inspired by @skulandcrossbones's post, @xxdrixx's post and @sunkissedburns' post.

A/N: Not quite what I had in mind, but I'm not going to be too hard on myself. This first bit was entirely self-indulgent. Comments are HEAVILY encouraged, they truly keep my going and motivated to write. Many thanks to @hummusforthewin for helping me out again. Enjoy.

prologue

“I could fake a seizure.” 

“Too ‘boy who cried wolf’…” You shook your head. The strike of your lighter was motivated by agitation. On the first exhale of your newly-lit cigarette, you said, “It has to be a…casual—believable lie.”

“All this for what? Love?” Myrna gestured at the air with mocking disgust. “I know a thing or two about a crime of passion.”

Something swirled in your chest, but you brought the cigarette to your lips to suffocate it. 

“Robby’s allergic.” To love. You wouldn’t say the word out loud, afraid you’d catch fire by some divine fury.

“Oh, honey, I knew you were stupid, but not that stupid.” Myrna cracked with humor. Her insults made you feel electric. Normal. They humbled every egotistical vein in your body. “I’d bend him over my knee for what he did to you.” 

Your eyes sparkled with the image. You’d pay good money to see Robby’s face painted with discomfort. His self-control irked you, got under your skin without even trying. It used to drive a competitive friction between you both, one that was light, teasing, even. But it festered to the point it controlled you; you relied on proving a point. 

“Breach of duty, my ass.” She continued. “So you were a drug dealer, so what! God forbid you did something about healthcare in this country.”

“Myrna,” You warned. You wish you were just a ‘drug dealer.’ Instead, you became the judge, jury, and executioner.  “It’s just temporary.”

You said more to remind yourself. It hadn’t quite stuck as a mantra, but it was enough to get you through a shift. It took many years of vomiting up all the filth you’d been taught about yourself, and half believed, before you were able to walk on the earth as though you had a right to be there. You’d be damned to forget that because of him.

“You won’t even spit in his coffee!” Myrna snapped playfully, not letting your eyes glaze over for too long. “You asked me how to get him off your back: seizure.”

“That’ll just give him more reason to bother me.” You filtered smoke through your nose, half-lidded eyes remaining ahead. The thought caused your lips to tingle with indifference. Deep down, you knew nothing would change.

“Listen, girlie…” Myrna gave you the least offensive nickname in the ED. It was why you passed the dwindling cigarette to her; you always played favorites. “...whatever you do, don’t bet on a losing dog.”

—

The ED was slow. 

No one acknowledged it; everyone was too superstitious to acknowledge it. The weather consisted of sleet that kept everyone off the streets. All that could be done was to wait idly for those who were brave enough to come in and those who had no choice but to succumb to the danger of it all. Slow days brought the worst cases.

The quiet no longer felt like rest. It starts feeling like a missing tooth. You keep tonguing at the space, even when it hurts. 

The snow fueled your smoke break; it was a subconscious way to find warmth and stave off subconscious anxiety. Neither was remedied. Your fingers were stiff from the cold, and there was no relief from how the pit in your stomach grew. 

“You alright?” Dr. Robby perked from the desktop, cautious enough not the call too much attention but aware enough to know you weren’t. 

Robby imagined the way your fingers deftly played with the lighter. The way your side profile was traced as you exhaled the smoke. He resisted the urge to follow you out. But you didn’t smoke often, so he knew nerves formed the habit. 

 His attentiveness made you nauseous. 

“Peachy.” Your sigh was heavy. Your day was not ruined. Your world was not over. Take a deep breath. It’s just temporary. 

“Nicotine lowers the seizure threshold...” He hummed. You focused on Robby carefully, watching how his glasses reflected the screen in front of him. “...but there’s no way Myrna can smoke with those handcuffs, right?” 

Ignoring him no longer led to guilt. You viewed it as self-preservation. It was the only selfish act you could take in your condition. You’d be stupid not to exercise your only right. Robby continued to push lightly. His attempts at your vulnerability were in vain. It had been weeks, and you’d yet to budge. 

You don’t know why, but you were all heart today. Maybe it was what Myrna had said to you. Maybe it was the cold that weighed your limbs down. Maybe it was Robby’s question, an unorthodox olive branch, saying: everyone deserves a break. 

You waited for him to interject, to ask some clarifying question or comment, but he doesn’t. The meaning of his words was not lost on you. It allowed something warm to creep through your chest, so you gave him a nod. One that held forgotten gratitude. 

It shocked you, how gentle a tug it took to unravel everything that you built up. 

Had his eyes ever seemed so wide, so earnest? 

To distract yourself from such dangerous thoughts, you picked up any task you could. When things were busier, the trivial things vanished behind the rush, but it was too slow a day to hide behind it all.

“You hear me?”

You hummed, unaware that the way your ears rang consumed your space. You focused back in on Robby, leaned back in his chair, arms tight across his chest. Although in a relaxed posture, Robby looked protective, as if it took a lot of courage to reach out to you again. 

“Your scrubs.” Robby’s eyes crinkled, toying with suppressed charm. It made you shy, like you’d done something wrong, gone too far, and lost your defensive bravado.  “If you’re going for the tie-dye look, you’ll fit in better with Peds.” 

There were splotches across your chest. It looked like dried blood, deep in color that led down to your pants. The droplets looked unprofessional, and you had meant to change, but the few patients that came in commanded your attention instead. 

 “Oh.” You said.  You mumbled as the memory came back to you.  “...had to snatch the povidone-iodine from a patient, they saw it had 70% isopropyl alcohol…tried drinking it…”

You’d volunteered for the busy work of stitches, as it was the only thing that you didn’t need to be monitored for. You were already counting down the days until the patient would return so you could remove them; another moment where you’d be able to come up for air. 

However, it was the ED, you couldn’t turn your back for a moment because even stitches became overly complicated. 

“Excuse me, doctor…” 

The voice behind you is so timid, you don’t hear it right away. 

“Uh, the scrubEx machine is, uh, broken—” Dr. Whitaker sheepishly interjected, catching the conversation in passing. You eyed him, seeing he wore morgue scrubs too big for him. “I mean–I-I didn’t break it…I think it’s old or it needs maintenance or something…”

You frowned. You were already in your spare. 

“Check my locker, I should have extra…” Robby threw the comment passively, not bothering to look away from what he was doing. “504-985.”

Everything stilled for a breath. Nurses who were casually eavesdropping were locked in. Dana’s eyebrows even raised hearing Robby’s code roll off like second nature. Dr. Whitaker blushed on your behalf. You knew his code by heart from years ago: the area codes of New Orleans. He couldn’t let go of the numbers; they followed him everywhere. 

The coldness in your limbs vanished. A prickly heat traveled through your fingertips, representing something close to mortification, but ultimately led to confusion. Then, quickly smothered with irritation. 

You wanted to be suspicious, to think this was just another test, but that wasn’t in Robby’s motive. He covered himself in sarcastic exasperation, but beneath all the stress and trauma, warmth and wit were his nature. This was genuine, this was not Dr. Robinavitch or Dr. Robby, Michael had offered the clothes off his back to you. 

You were like a rabbit frozen in tall grass. Ears perked, heart running, eyes blank and wide. But you didn’t move yet. 

“Go on,” Dana jerked her head in the direction of the locker room. “We’ve got a GSW coming in hot.” 

—

You didn't have it in you anymore to struggle and fight and suffer; you wanted to be quiet and happy.

The lockeroom wasn’t even a room. It was just lockers tucked away at the end of the hall. The so-called privacy was a small sign that said: staff only. It was between the hallway and the bathrooms, forgotten and small. 

Punching in Robby’s code, you were praying for it to be wrong. 

It was minimal. There was an unopened water bottle, neatly folded scrubs, and a pen that had been there since before Robby. Everything he needed was in his backpack. It was functional, tactical, his. It was all he ever needed and was there if he ever needed to run. 

You felt like you were intruding, like you were moments away from being caught. For what? You didn’t want to know. 

You tried to rip it off like a band-aid, grab the scrubs, and go. Something made you jerk. The fabric was scrunched into your fist like it would get away if you let up. The longer you held onto it, the more it tethered you. It was standard scrubs. Unisex and black.  You went through the details, trying to be clinical. Professional. They would be big on you, but they would be functional. 

You drew the fabric closer, holding the top as if it were going to vanish like a bad prank pulled. You ignored the fact that the action resembled something primal. Brushing it against your nose, you knew these were Robby’s by the faint smell of mint. It lingered from the pocket where he stored his nicotine gum.  

“Thought you got lost…”

You paused. 

Not out of interest. More like the way a dog pauses before crossing a fence line—aware. 

“Checking to see if they’re clean.” You don’t miss a beat with the latent insult. “I know better than to trust you these days.”

There it was, that festering anger that was built on resentment. Your heart had frozen over again. You forced the air colder. It was unrelentless with no room for kindness to settle, it was not the kind of cold that came from a breeze or shade, but from stillness, from the absence of sun and time. 

You comment on trust was spat as if the idea itself was revolting. It created a hush so thick it felt like you were walking underwater. Robby said your name. 

“Dr. Robinavitch, I appreciate the…” You couldn’t even thank Robby properly. You’ve stood your ground this long, there was no retreating.

You shrugged off your scrub top, your thermal the only layer left. You moved swiftly, the GSW would be here in moments and you already took enough time for yourself. Tugging Robby’s shirt over your head it fit as expected; baggy in areas that didn’t matter and stitched with reliability of the owner. 

The smell enveloped you fully. If you let your thoughts linger you’re sure you could figure out Robby’s detergent and what aftershave he used when it was time to trim his neck. You adjusted the collar like it was tight, a nervous tick to reprimand yourself for thinking about how Robby’s chain would hang just where you touched. 

Your fingertips tingled with buried emotion. You projected a longing for when things were in a different rhythm, for when Robby was there for you outside of stipulations. 

Communicate. Ask for help if you need it. Trust your attendings. We will get through this together. 

The words came to you so suddenly, it felt like you’d lost your breath. They wrapped around you like a boa. You heard them when you slept and they loitered until you rubbed the exhaustion from your eyes. It had never cracked down on you like this. 

Together was a false-bottomed hope. Together didn’t exist—couldn’t. Your eyes drifted, not unfocused—just distant. Remembering.

The office felt awfully small.

Robby stood far away from you, leaning against the opposing wall stiffly with hands in his pockets. His hair was a mess, a clear indication of the utter frustration he was in. 

Despite the distance, the tension between the two of you was palpable. He was absolutely livid.

Deservedly so. You should have listened to him and stayed out of it, but you didn’t—couldn’t. Now you had to simply stand and take whatever he was about to throw at you.

You swallowed the knot in your throat, preparing for a half-hearted apology. “I’m so—”

“You—” He straightened himself, finger pointed out in accusation, “—had one job. I asked you to stay out of it— no, I ordered you to stay out of it. And what the hell do you do? The absolute fucking opposite. The actual fuck were you doing?”

Robby’s eyes narrowed deeper, the sharpness of the glare hitting you right in the chest. You flinch. “What makes you think you can ignore the rules? Have you forgotten that I’m your attending? I—”

“Do not pull rank with me.” You snapped. So much for just standing there and taking it. “You know damn well I am just as competent as you are.”

“Competent doesn’t mean that you’re—” Robby paused taking in a tight breath. His voice stayed level, refusing to let his anger get the best of him. “You were reckless. Out of line. I have to pull rank if you choose to act like one of the students.  What is not clear here?”

 You can’t help the bitter laugh that burst from your lips. 

“You can pretend to be Adamson all you want, but this morning, you froze.” Low blow. But the ripple of emotion in Robby’s face was satisfying.“ So, sure, I’m fucking sorry for taking things into my own hands when you couldn’t.”

“This was not your patient, and you are too stubborn to understand that. Now he’s dead.” Robby kept going, cementing your fate. “Gloria is expecting you this afternoon. You will listen to her if you want to stay here. Don’t fuck up again.”

You tried opening your mouth, but nothing came out; your face was too hot, too hurt, too full of rage. 

“What the fuck is that?” 

You hadn’t realized your wrist had been caught until you were met with resistance.

You pulled back instinctively. “What are you—

A dull pain scratched at your wrist, and Robby was afraid he’d caused it. But he knew what he saw, identifying it immediately. 

Robby held onto you steadily.  “Did something bite you?”  

“What?” Getting your wrist back, you finally looked at it. The bandage was haphazardly put on, now snagging on your sleeve, exposing two pinpricks.  “You heard Whitaker, the patient tested positive for rats...” 

You cringed, trailing off. It was a cheap joke that landed flatly. A few bubonic plague jokes came to mind, but you swallowed them. 

“I’m fine.” You went to push past Robby, but his arm landed against the wall blocking you. His frame didn’t intimidate you, but it made you hesitate with your response. “...I’ll be fine.” 

“You need antibiotics, a tetanus shot…” Robby rubbed his hands over his face, rougher than he should have, but it helped restrain his agitation. “Streptobacillosis can happen, rabies—

“Seriously, rat bite fever? I have a better chance of winning the lottery than getting that.” You actually laughed, but it wasn’t appreciated. “We have a GSW incoming.” 

“The students need non-cadaver experience.” Robby attempted to be lighthearted, but there was an edge of authority to his voice. “They’ve got plenty of good hands to learn from out there.”

“Don’t be—

“You understand that’s my polite way of saying you will not touch a patient until I clear you, right?”

The words landed like a stone in still water. 

They silenced you, but you didn’t shrink. They cut deeper than it was meant to. It seemed to always happen that way, where once the pleasantries passed, what weighed heavily between you only grew in pressure. The guilt was mocking you again. 

Robby moved, knowing you’d follow. As he traced the hallway, you recognized what he grabbed: needles, medication, gauze, gloves, and confidence. You could have administered it all yourself, but this was a test of faith, one you were too curious about to challenge. 

 —

Anytime you went to the doctor, you felt like a child. Like you’d still get a lollipop and a sticker for being brave. It was why you avoided them if you could. You felt pathetic with your eyes wide and naive as Robby pulled the curtain around the two of you.

The irony didn’t go over your head. 

His gloves were pulled on with dexterity. Robby mumbled what he would have to a patient, it was a reflex you were familiar with. You just stood there, anxious that you were in too vulnerable a position. 

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of needles.”  Prepping the syringe, Robby looked you dead in the eyes, working without the need to look. You wanted to indulge in the charm, but you stayed quiet. “Ready?”

You nodded. There was nothing but everything to be afraid of. Doctors never got used to being a patient. It felt like going against the natural order of things. Especially when Robby looked at you so expectantly. 

“Don’t think I can get through to your arm…” Robby was waiting for you to catch on. Out of habit you pulled at your long sleeve, as if covering the bite itself would disappear. 

Eyeing the needle, you knew it would be intramuscular. It needed to be deep enough to be effective. It was calming to go through the facts you knew, waiting for it all to be over. The muscles had good vascularity. The injected drug would quickly reach the systemic circulation, bypassing the first-pass metabolism.

Robby repeated your name, prompting you to understand so he wouldn’t have to say it. He’d been through the worst imaginable, the grossest, the strangest things. That was life in the ED.  But this was new territory. 

“If you could…” He instructed you in a low tone, clearing his throat. “Turn around.”

Oh. 

You had become so warm, you forgot you intentionally layered for the weather. Your arms were covered. Your legs were covered. The easiest muscle to access caused you to lean against the examination table. The paper crinkled from the slight force as turned your back to Robby. 

He couldn’t seem to clear his throat enough. “If you could…” 

“Right.” You snapped out of your slight stupor. If you had any conviction left, you’d have scolded him. Instead, you hooked your thumb in your waistband. Pulling the fabric down, you barely gave Robby enough surface to administer the shot. 

You could almost sense the way he is actively preventing himself from letting his gaze wander further down than it had to—how he was tentative to pull at your pliant skin to find the muscle. It didn’t matter how hesitant he was because even through the gloves, his hands were unbelievably warm on your bottom. 

“First one…slight pinch…” Robby’s voice was muffled by the needle cap in his mouth. “Alright, one more. Deep breath.” 

The cold was catching up to you. So was the exhaustion. It weakened your senses and put your emotions at the forefront. You wanted to be held, to be cared for in ways you couldn’t provide alone. Robby was familiar with the feeling, but was better at hiding the ache. 

Instead, Robby, in his own way, cared so deeply for others. His care was written in small things, never said, but done. He’d say he didn’t have any friends, but the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb—always. Yet, he never carved out space for himself to be minded. 

“Not too bad, right?” His smile was awkward, but soft. Genuine. Concerned. 

“Ouch.” You mumbled, a playful frown pulled at your lips. “I’ll live.”

“Good.” The snap of removing his gloves invited reality back. “This can’t be done without you.”

You were both stalling, not used to being so close for so long. The curtain’s fabric was a safety net in the chaos. He was slow to rub the hand sanitizer on. You both desired one last deep breath, but the air was running out. You both didn’t know how to exist so softly. 

“Thanks for—

—I’ve been thinking…” Robby cut you off before you could slip away, hands pulling at the ends of his stethoscope to stop fidgeting. 

You paused, letting it sit for a minute.  “Dangerous thing.” 

You’d been thinking too, but now wasn’t the time to crush the hope in his eyes. The risks outweighed the benefits.

You knew he’d been trying to catch you for days. Weeks. But his irritability got in the way. Impatience for Gloria got in the way. He had trouble sleeping, and when he was awake, he was vigilant. Then, when you didn’t see him, you knew he carried his sadness to the roof.  

Even now wasn’t how he’d wanted to approach you.

“Look—I don’t know.” Robby chewed on his cheek. “I just—fuck.” He looked at you with a childlike regret. As if he’d gotten too excited and played too hard. “We can’t keep going like this...I don’t blame you… and I don’t know…”

You knew what he meant: I’m sorry—please forgive me. 

You needed to let go of the illusion that it could have been any different. You were both slowly losing yourselves and your patience. Instead, resented for being weathered and callous. But the pain and hurt were still there; nobody acknowledged how it had gone so long ignored.

“I know.” That smile that you wore—it didn’t shine. Soft and a little sorry. It settled over your guilt for now.

[pazzispizookies]

— — GUARDED — —

Hiii y’all!! This is nearing the end of the series, but don’t worry, I have manyyyy things in the drafts rn ;) I hope y’all enjoy this chapter…….sorry for last chapter lol. Give feedback and ily guys, all 500 of you!! Especially all who are mine and @izzih22 kids lol. ☺️🤞🏽barley proofread, if u see spelling mistakes lmk

It had been a chillingly quiet practice, the notable absence of Azzi.

1 day, 27 hours, 13 mintues.

That was the last time anyone on the team had talked to azzi, last time anyone on the team had seen Azzi.

Her mom told their coach that she was “sick” but no way in hell, the way that girl lived; 2 showers a day, washed her hands at least 50 times an hour, always kept safe distances from people. It was more likely she got “sick” from the party her mom didn’t know she was going to.

Their coaches didn’t know about the post, yet.

Paige had called her manger she’s only had for about 2 months and told him what happened.

He was shocked, obviously. It was embarrassing to say the least, telling a 30 something-year-old man that you were caught making out on a car with your teammate. Even worse being she had to come out to everyone she talked too about the situation, explaining that it was Azzi.

But that didn’t matter. What did matter was wiping the internet of the photo.

The photo that was the reason she hadn’t smelled her favorite scent of vanilla and lavender in a day and 27 hours, seen the smile that could kill an army in a day. It was the reason she hadn’t seen her Azzi.

Practice was a struggle, shots weren’t falling like they should’ve, she was dragging her legs to run, each step a thought about Azzi.

The team whispered, they had mixed reactions.

Some saying sorry about the situation in awkward ways, some pretending they didn’t know what was happening, but only one teammate really helped; Caroline.

Caroline knew how down bad Azzi was for Paige, how she cried in her car, breaking down at the raw emotion that stirred in her, knowing the power it had to destroy her. And now that it did…she worried just as much as Paige.

So when practice came to a close, they headed out to Paiges car to talk.

***

“Still nothing, right?” Paige asked Caroline, knowing it was stupid to be hopeful,

Caroline sat in her passenger seat, shaking her head, mumbling out a small “no”

They sat in silence for a beat, both minds working overtime.

“This cant happen, I just—I need to fix this. I mean, can you imagine her right now? Just the thought of what she’s feeling makes my chest hurt.” Paige admitted, the emotion from her heart pouring into her words.

She had worked hard and tirelessly with her team to get everything wiped, though they still didn’t tell her who had taken the photo. They got into contact with the instagram page who posted it. Threatening to sue if they didn’t take it down.

Along with that, her team worked to take down all repostings of it, which thankfully there weren’t many.

She had immediately put all this into work after racing home that day.

Even though it was definitely still floating out on some corner of the internet, it wasn’t mainstream anymore.

But Paige saw it, she felt it still.

The way her name was trending on Twitter, on the list right below Azzis name.

She knew their school was talking, the way people looked at her in the hallway.

It wasn’t mean or cold hearted for the main part—just talk.

They were teammates, and two girls, along with being stars. Most people were curious.

“What if….What if we just go there?” Paige whispered, pulling back from her thoughts.

“Go to where-Azzis house?” Caroline replied.

Paige nodded, gripping the steering wheel on the parked car, “Yeah,”

Caroline scofffed, “No way in hell that’s a good idea.”

Paige knew she was right, Azzi hadn’t responded to any texts, any calls, anything.

“I know, but I need to talk to her, tell her I got it taken care of, tell her I’m sorry.”

Paige swallowed, knowing she would do anything to see Azzis face again. To be in her presence.

“I know. Listen, how about you try tonight, maybe think of an idea that can help your situation without breaking into Azzis house?” Caroline added, knowing Paige could get to Azzi better than she could.

Paige nodded, looking out the window, her mind going 100 miles per hour. “Yea, I’ll think.”

Caroline hummed in agreement, the painful silence of worry draped over the car once again.

***

“Azzi, love? You need to eat something.” Katie called softly from outside Azzis room.

“In a second,” Azzi responded back, using all her strength just to say those words.

She laid in bed, phone powered off and locked in her desk, like it had been for the past day.

she hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t had a moment where Paige didn’t control her mind in almost 2 days.

The photo was ingrained in her mind. Worse then that, the memory of what was happening in that photo.

The kiss had changed her,

She knew she was into Paige,

But that kiss? It was more than a crush.

She felt like a different person after the kiss.

It was life changing, but with that came the consequences.

Everyone knew she kissed her, it wasn’t just her memory, it was shared with thousands of nosy people now.

From guys saying gross shit, to guys saying they could “Change her,”

Or from one particular guy.

His name was JJ.

He had DMed Azzi Last night.

She didn’t know him, but when she clicked on his profile, seeing that Paige followed him, along with Ash and a few UConn accounts, she knew he was probably at the party.

Opening it, she was faced with a strange message.

JJ: Hey Azzi, I know you don’t know me. But I wanted to be a man, I wanted to apologize. I took that photo. I was drunk, along with high. I wasn’t thinking…especially that Paige would threaten to sue over it. I kinda was crushing on her, we did a shoot together for Nike. I was thinking with my dick, I’m really sorry.

Azzi hadn’t responded.

She couldn’t.

Wat did she have to say to a the guy who had seemingly ruined her life?

She took a screenshot of it, along with his profile, then blocked him. Shutting down her phone and locking it in her desk.

This stupid message laced with false apologies replayed in her mind.

It was clear he didn’t really give a shit over her, or want happened.

Only reaching out because he was scared for himself.

But Paige..threatening to sue him?

Azzi knew Paige, knew that if this had happened with anyone other then Azzi, she wouldn’t have gave it 2 thoughts, just brushing it off.

But Azzi knew that Paige knew her, knew how this would affect her, and she handled it.

Even thought they hadn’t talked, she knew Paige cared.

She knew Paige was worried.

Which made it all worse for Azzi.

Because Paige was showing up through her actions, she was caring, she was calling, texting. Trying.

And Azzi couldn’t.

She couldn’t talk to her.

Not yet.

She just wished it was easier, wished Paige would just show up. Hold her, force her to come back to reality.

But that’s too much to wish on a person, Paige had to be struggling too, dealing with the consequences as well.

But god—Azzi wanted her.

She wanted her to be right next her in bed, wanted her to grip her waist and whisper sweet nothings in her ear.

But she was embarrassed, because if she had that, it came with being out in public, loving a girl publicly.

Which was terrifying.

It wasn’t that she was scared of Paige, but scared of what came with Paige.

She would always be known as a basketball player—but now with that, a gay basketball player who dated her teammate.

It wasnt the worst thing in the world world, but people were cruel.

They would never look at her the same as if she was with a man.

Now people would focuse on her, her personal life, her sexuality and relationships.

And she’s not dumb, she’s been online her whole life. Seen the commments, seen the slander, hell—it had already started on the post.

even though most where just comments on how this was unexpected, some even excited.

There were the negative. The ones saying that she would go to hell, and how much of a sin it was to love.

She didn’t know how people could just say that.

How people would ignore every positive of her—her selflessness, her down to earth personality, her on court performance. And outweigh it by who she loved.

Calling her a sinner, but, wasnt everyone a sinner?

So why did her sin outweigh all of the others,

And why did it sting so much?

These are the quetions that kept her away,

The what-ifs in her head.

She didn’t have the answers.

So she stayed where she was. “Sick.”

In bed, thoughts swirling, missing the one person that came with confusion.

***

Paige rested on her bed, glancing over at the clock; 6:30

It was still bright outside, the sun dimming slowly.

Everything seemed to move more slow now, almost like the universe was teasing her.

Saying “Look at all this time you can’t spend with her”

She wanted to jump off the bed, get in her car and speed to Azzi.

But she had to think it thorugh, think about everything that could happen.

Azzi might be mad, or she could be depresssed.

She could hate Paige—or need Paige.

Or both.

She scrolled on her phone, not paying to much attention.

Till a notification popped up.

A Dm.

From…JJ?

The guy she was at Nike with, the UConn recruit.

Curious, she clicked on it.

A soon as she read halfway through the paragraph-her stomach seemed to drop to the floor.

“Paige, I use wanted to come to you directly and apologize. I took the photo, of you and Azzi at the party. I already apologized to her, she probably told you that already. But I was just stupid for that, I was really drunk, and high. And I was I was jealous, so I sent it in. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would go viral so quickly, I didnt even think people would care. But at least it’s removed now right? Have a good night. I’m sorry again”

What the fuck?

She…

What?

JJ?

why on earth would he do that.

Then give a fucking half-assed apology like he bumped into her.

And he had the fucking nerve to text Azzi?

Bullshit.

Before she could stop herself she was typing.

“Yo, I don’t give a shit if you were high, dunk or both. That was shitty as hell. You dont even know what you did. Grow up before you get to college, your skills aren’t gonna take you that far if you’re still a dipshit.”

Sent.

Blocked.

She didn’t care to get another apology, she wanted to tell him off then cut him off.

That was all she needed, she needed to go to Azzi.

So that’s what she did.

Grabbbing her shoes, spraying a small amount of the cologne Azzi had complimented. And leaving for her car.

She fumbled with the keys for a second, not even caring to tell her dad where she was going.

As soon as she started the engine, the roar of the car coming through, she took off.

Going 50 in a 25 she pulled up to Azzi house in 4 minutes flat.

She stopped the car, slamming the door to get out.

She feet planted but moving fast towards the door.

The pavement of the her path to her house clicking against her Jordans.

she stepped up, knocking on the door.

She knew it wasnt gonna be Azzi at the door when it swung open, but she hadn’t thought that far.

“Hi, Paige right?” a woman, Katie, Azzis mom said looking up at the blonde slightly.

Paige offered a polite smile, pretending to be to be at ease, “Yeah, um-I’m sorry to just show up, I just really need to talk to Azzi.”

Katie sighed, looking her up and down, hesitating for a moment, “She’s….well. She’s not doing well right now.”

Paige knew that, but still she didn’t like hearing it aloud. “I know..I know why she’s not herself right now. I just think she might need to talk,”

Katie smiled, touched by the way Page was caring. “Okay, but if she gets upset, I warned you.”

She stepped back to let Paige in, “Thank you so much, and got it.” Paige said with a brethless laugh.

Katie pointed to the direction of Azzis room, not knowing that Paige already knew exactly how to get there, and everywhere else in the house.

She walked quickly towards the door,

The floor creaking under her.

It had only been 2 days since she’d seen Azzi.

But it felt more like years.

Her heart was racing, her chest tightening.

Was this stupid?

Just showing up?

Before she could spiral more, she knocked,

Three taps on the door,

a soft, slightly broken voice called out, “Go away mom, I’m not hungry.”

Paige felt her chest tighten more, a lump in her throat with her heartbeat.

She cracked the door open, “Sorry, not mom, just me.”

Azzi knew that voice,

Her glossy red eyes looked over at the door,

She met the blue eyes waiting there.

Then she broke.

Paige shut the door, rushing over to the bed.

She grabbed Azzis shaking body, heavy with tears.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I promise. I’m here.” Paige whispered into the top of her head, pulling Azzi to her chest.

Azzi let herself be pulled, burying her head deep onto Paiges chest.

Tears that stung streamed out of her eyes while Paige brushed her fingers through her still straightened hair,

Her body warm against Azzis, feeling her heartbeat through her chest.

It grounded her.

It felt Iike home.

She cried, she let herself be vulnerable.

Because Paige came.

she knew she needed her, and she cared enough to come.

She was here.

Paige whispered into the top of her head again, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise, I won’t.”

Paige was scared, she was scared for Azzi.

But she mattered to much to let herself be scared, she neeed to be stable. Present.

Azzi gripped her shirt, pulling Paige impossibly closer, neededing her close.

Feeling this, Paige pulled the blanket over her and Azzi, gripping on to her waist with one hand, one still cradling her head.

Azzis cries turned to hiccups, slowly, calming herself down.

Paige stayed there through it, whispering into the top of her head, planting kisses along with it. Just being there.

Azzi sniffled, her cheeks red, her eyes glossed over with emotion and exhaustion.

“Hey Pretty” Paige whispered as she felt Azzi stirr.

Azzi looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time since Paige had walked in.

The soft blue to hurt brown.

Paige looked into her, reading her, still smoothly stroking her hair.

Their faces close.

“I’m sorry.” Azzi mumbled out, her voice soft and broken.

Paige shook her head immediately, hand still in Azzis hair, “No, don’t. Don’t apologize.”

Azzi felt it in her chest.

At that moment she knew.

She loved Paige.

How could she not?

here Paige was, sitting comforting her, holding her, waiting for her.

“Paige..”

Paige still looked in her eyes, “Yea?”

Azzi got scared, she’d never say this to anyone.

But Paige wasn’t just anyone.

“I love you”

A beat passed.

Then, Paige closed the gap.

Their lips met slowly, softly,

The kiss unlike the one that night.

This one was sure.

Positive.

It was home, it was love.

It was theirs.

when Paige pulled back slightly, a little dazed, “Are you sure?”

Azzi laughed for the first time in what felt like forever, “yes. I’m sure.”

A smile broke out on Paiges face, her thumb caressing Azzis jaw softly.

“I love you too”

Those 4 words were all Azzi ever needed to hear.

She felt like there was now 3 stages to her life.

Before the kiss. After the kiss. And those 4 words.

Paige didn’t say anything for a moment, still inches away from Azzi.

Looking down at her, the curve of her pink lips, the way her blown out hair fell softly against her Carmel skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige whispered out like a prayer.

Azzi didnt even know she could feel this way. The way those words made her feel.

She’d been called beautiful tons of times.

But that hit her deep.

Like Paige was calling every bit of her beautiful, because she was.

her soul, her face, her personality. everything.

Azzi laid her face down on Paiges chest, her heart beating slower now.

“We can talk later, just stay with me for a bit?” Azzi asked,

Paige held her closer, “yeah, I’d like that.”

Azzi closed her eyes, not meaning too, just far too at peace to not drift off.

Paige followed her, the grounding sounds of Azzi breathing, and this time, she wasnt sacred of Azzi being gone when she woke up.

They both fell softly into sleep, the warm sunset guiding them.

Their bodies tangled together, trusting each other.

***

Katie hadn’t heard noise come from Azzis room.

She was concerned to say the least.

She knew Azzi and Paige hit it off, she’d never seen Azzi spend so much time with a person before.

And every time Azzi came back from being with her, she seemed to buzz with happiness,

So when Paige showed up, she let her in, call it a gut feeling. but she knew Paige could help.

She knew she cared for Azzi by the way she made her happy,

“I’m gonna go check on the girls,” she said to Tim,

He barely even noticed, just nodding.

She got up off the couch, softly padding towards Azzis room,

Reaching the door, Pressing her head against it, she heard nothing.

Concernd, she cracked open the door, peaking in.

And there it was.

Paige holding Azzi tightly,

Azzi sound asleep on her chest gripping her shirt.

Barely air between them.

Shocked at the sight. She looked for a second longer,

But, somehow, she knew.

This was going to start something.

So she closed the door.

Smiling.

Knowing something she hadn’t before.

[lazy-ahh]

ONG DUDE CAN YOU PLEASE WRITE GOOGLE-LESS/LENSLESS MARK PLS I'M BEGGING I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS 🙏🙏

HOW TO (NOT) CONFESS YOUR FEELINGS VIA ATTEMPTED MURDER

pairing goggle-less! mark grayson x gender neutral reader

they say violence is a love language—and yours is practically poetry. mark grayson knows this better than anyone. (or: the one where you punch him in the face daily and he still looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

the sun is barely up, casting a weak orange glow through your half-open curtains, and you already want to punch mark grayson in the face.

it’s not even his fault this time (which is rare, because usually, it is), but the way he’s sprawled across your bed like some overgrown golden retriever—limbs everywhere, taking up way too much space—grinning at you like he knows exactly how much he’s getting on your nerves, it’s infuriating. his hair is a disaster, sticking up in every direction like he just flew here at top speed (he probably did), and oh look, he’s stretching out another one of your favorite shirts because now he’s got more muscle on him, thanks to his stupid viltrumite genes and training. he’s got that look in his eye, the one that means trouble, the one he’s had since you were both dumb kids throwing rocks at each other in second grade.

back then, you hated him. or at least, you told yourself you did. he was loud, obnoxious, always pushing your buttons just to see how far he could go before you snapped. but even then, there was something about him—the way he never backed down, never flinched when you shoved him, punched him, kicked him, just laughed like your anger was the best thing he’d ever seen. you told yourself it was annoying. you told yourself you couldn’t stand him.

(like that one time in fourth grade, when your parents forgot your birthday—again. you sat alone at lunch, picking at the sad little cupcake your nanny had packed for you, trying to ignore the hollow ache in your chest. then he showed up, grinning like an idiot, elbowing you hard enough to make you drop your fork. "what’s your problem, grumpy?" he’d teased, and something inside you snapped.

you don’t even remember who threw the first punch. all you remember is the scuffle, the way your knuckles stung when they connected with his jaw, the way he laughed even as his lip split open. the teachers dragged you both to the principal’s office, scolding you for fighting, but you didn’t care. you were too busy simmering in your own misery, glaring at the floor like it had personally wronged you.

then, out of nowhere, mark nudged you. when you didn’t look up, he nudged you again, harder. 

"hey," he whispered. you finally glanced over, ready to snap at him—only to freeze when he dropped something into your lap. a small, slightly dented action figure—the limited edition space knight you’d been obsessing over for months but could never afford. its paint was chipped at the edges, one arm loose in its socket, but it was unmistakably yours, the one you’d pressed your nose against the toy store window for, the one you’d never admitted out loud that you wanted.

your breath caught.

mark’s grin was crooked, his split lip still smudged with dried blood. "saw it at the thrift store last week," he said, like it was nothing. like he hadn’t remembered. like he hadn’t carried it around in his backpack just in case. "figured you’d wanna beat it up or whatever. y’know. since you like breaking my stuff."

you stared at it, your chest too tight. idiot, you thought. absolute idiot.

(you still have it, tucked away in your desk drawer where no one can see. even now, you’ll sometimes take it out when you’re alone, turning it over in your hands, pretending you don’t smile.)

his smile was bright, warm, completely at odds with the bruise forming on his cheek. "happy birthday," he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

you never asked how he knew. you never thanked him either—just scowled and jammed the figurine deep into your pocket before the principal dragged you in. but that night, alone in your room with the door locked, you carefully glued the loose arm back in place, smoothed out the chipped paint with your thumb, and spent way too long arranging dramatic battle scenes on your bedsheets. you told yourself the wetness on your cheeks was just from yawning too hard.)

now, at seventeen, you know the truth: you never stood a chance.

the memory fades like sunlight through closing fingers, leaving you staring down at mark where he’s still sprawled across your bed, grinning up at you like an idiot who’s won some secret game. he waits, smug, until the silence stretches too long—then he chuckles, tilting his head just enough to make his stupid hair catch the light. "did you even hear what i said?"

you roll your eyes so hard it aches, turning back to your homework like the scattered papers and dog-eared comics might save you. your desk is chaos—pencils chewed at the ends, textbooks splayed open to the wrong chapters, a half-finished doodle of (embarrassingly) mark in the margins. it’s as messy as the thoughts in your head. "i’m sure it wasn’t anything important anyway."

your brows furrow deeper, teeth gritting just slightly when mark laughs—that laugh, the one that starts low in his chest and spills out like he can’t contain it, bright and reckless as a car crash you can’t look away from. it hooks under your ribs, warm and irritating, like sunlight burning through closed eyelids. you hate it. (you crave it.)

mark's laughter settles into quiet huffs, but he doesn't look away. no, it's worse than that—he's studying you like you're some priceless artifact behind glass, his gaze tracing the curve of your frown, the way your fingers twitch around your pencil, the barely-there flush creeping up your neck. it's not piercing. it's reverent. the way morning light memorizes every detail of a landscape it's about to paint in gold, the way a poet lingers on a favorite verse, committing each syllable to memory. it makes your skin prickle, makes you want to both hide and lean closer.

then,

"how do i know if i have a crush on someone?" casual as anything, like he hasn't just turned your room upside down with his presence yet again, like he hasn't made himself at home in your space, in your head, in the quiet places between your ribs where you store all the things you'll never say out loud.

you glare hard enough to bruise, knuckles whitening around your pencil. "not my problem," you mutter, but the words lack their usual bite. when he just keeps looking at you with those stupid hopeful eyes, you cave with a growl. "fine. you can't stop thinking about them. you feel all...weird when they're around. and then you want to—" your voice catches as you finally register his expression, the softness there that wasn't there before. "—why are you looking at me like that."

because he is. looking at you like you're the last firework of summer bursting against a midnight sky—all spark and glow and unbearable brightness. that stupid, lopsided grin cutting across his face like he knows a secret, eyes crinkled at the corners and focused with terrifying intensity, like you're the only thing in this messy room, in this entire city, maybe in his whole damn universe that matters. it makes your stomach swoop like you're falling from a great height, makes your pulse stutter in that traitorous way you'll never admit out loud, and you hate it. you hate how warm it makes you feel. you hate how much you don't hate it at all.

"no reason," he says, but the words dance with barely contained laughter, too light and too amused and too everything. he props his chin on his palm, fingers drumming an absent rhythm against his cheekbone, still watching you with that infuriating focus. "just thinking."

"thinking is dangerous for you," you snap automatically, your hand already moving to flick his forehead hard enough to sting. but he doesn't even blink—just leans into the contact like a cat seeking pets, his laughter bubbling up like carbonation in a shaken soda can. ever since the viltrumite blood decided to make him near-indestructible, he's become absolutely insufferable, turning every shove, every punch, every irritated smack into some twisted game where the prize is the way your hands linger a second too long against his skin. (and you know he loves it. the freak. the absolute, irredeemable, beautiful freak who makes your chest ache with something terrifyingly close to affection.)

if people knew this was invincible—son of omni-man, earth's 'golden boy', the living weapon who could level city blocks before breakfast—they'd piss themselves at the thought of laying hands on him. they'd tremble at the idea of shoving him, of snapping at him, of treating him like anything less than the walking natural disaster he is. but you? you've never been normal. and this isn't invincible. this is mark. the same mark who used to eat glue sticks in second grade, who cried during disney movies, who still sleeps with that ratty old seance dog poster above his bed. you knew him when he was just a scrawny kid with scraped knees and too-big dreams and questionable morals, and that knowledge makes him somehow more terrifying than any superpower ever could. maybe that's why you're like this—two fucked-up puzzle pieces that somehow fit together despite all the jagged edges.

"c'mon," he says, rolling onto his back with that infuriating, effortless grace that shouldn't belong to someone so stupidly powerful. his arms stretch above his head, muscles flexing beneath golden skin as his stupid shirt (your shirt) rides up—revealing the sharp v of his hips, the tantalizing trail of dark hair leading south, that unfairly sculpted abdomen that looks like it was carved from marble by some greek god with too much time on their hands. you can see the way his sweatpants sit dangerously low on his waist, the faint outline of—nope. absolutely not. you swallow hard, throat suddenly dry, and pointedly focus on your homework like it holds the secrets of the universe instead of just random scribbling.

"you're the expert on this stuff, right?" he continues, completely oblivious (or more likely, completely aware) of what he's doing to you. his voice drops into that teasing lilt that makes your stomach do backflips. "so tell me more."

"expert?" you scoff, digging your nails into your palms just to feel something other than whatever the hell his smile is doing to your insides. "what, because i've rejected every loser who's ever asked me out? because i don't fall for cheap lines and emptier promises?"

"because you're you," he says, simple as breathing, easy as gravity. like it's the most obvious truth in the world. like you hung the stars yourself instead of just being some messed-up kid who never learned how to love gently.

(it makes your chest ache something fierce, a dull throb beneath your sternum that feels suspiciously like hope. you crush it immediately, shoving it down deep where it can't ruin you.)

"shut up," you mutter, grabbing the nearest pillow and swinging it at his face with enough force to knock out a normal person. but mark isn't normal—he's mark, so he just lets it smack into him full-force, the impact sending his stupid hair flying in every direction while that infuriating grin never wavers. if anything, it grows wider, like you just handed him a gift instead of attempted assault with a throwable object.

"see, this is what i mean," he says, voice muffled by the down-filled fabric still pressed against his face. when he finally pushes it aside, his cheeks are flushed pink from the impact, eyes sparkling with something dangerously close to affection. "you're so violent with me. it's kinda cute." he says it like it's a revelation, like he's just now realizing how your sharp edges fit perfectly against his soft spots. because that's the thing about mark—he's invincible to the world, but for you? for you, he's always been vulnerable. he loves the way your punches linger a second too long, how your insults carry the weight of inside jokes, how every shove and smack and pillow-to-the-face is just your fucked-up way of saying 'i care' without having to say it at all.

"i will end you." the threat would carry more weight if your voice didn't crack halfway through.

"you won't." his reply is instant, smug, accompanied by that look—the one that says he knows you better than you know yourself.

you growl, grabbing another pillow and launching it at him with all the pent-up frustration of a thousand unresolved tensions. but this time he catches it, his laughter bubbling up as he yanks it toward him—and because the universe hates you, the momentum sends you stumbling forward until suddenly you're way too close, noses almost brushing, his stupid warm eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs. his grip on the pillow tightens just slightly, and for one terrifying, exhilarating moment, you think he might actually close the distance between you.

your heart does something unforgivable—a traitorous somersault that leaves you breathless, your pulse hammering against your ribs like it's trying to escape. you can feel the warmth creeping up your neck, the way your palms suddenly feel too clammy against his stupidly firm chest.

"...you're the worst," you mumble, but the words come out all wrong—too soft, too fond, lacking their usual venom. your voice betrays you, cracking just slightly at the edges like it always does when he gets under your skin like this.

"you love me," he counters immediately, that smug, shit-eating grin spreading across his face like wildfire. he says it like it's fact, like it's written in the stars or carved into the fucking constitution, and the worst part is he's right. he's always been right.

you shove him away with more force than necessary, desperate to put space between you before he notices the way your face burns hotter than a supernova. "in your dreams, grayson," you snap, but the effect is ruined by how your voice wavers.

he just laughs—that bright, unrestrained sound that makes your stomach do backflips—before flopping back onto your bed like some overgrown golden retriever, limbs splayed out like he owns the place. and you could kick him out. you could scream, could throw his stupid jacket at his head, could pretend he means nothing to you like you've done a thousand times before.

but you don't.

(because the truth is, you'd rather die than admit it, but he's carved out a space for himself in your chest, nestled right between your ribs, and you can't remember what your heartbeat sounded like before it learned to sync with his. the truth is, you're terrified of how empty the world would feel without his laughter echoing through it. the truth is, you're so, so fucked.)

2.4k of my FAVOURITE INVINCIBLE VARIANT and GO AHEAD AND CALL ME A BASIC BITCH but look at this little guy i love him and his little twisted(?) sense of love and how he thinks that reader's love language is violence and how he takes the hits but never EVER gets violent with reader and AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[aincretop]

weezer is so awesome Im glad youre getting into them :3 I recommend the white album !!! also the red album mainly because of everybody get dangerous. i should listen to the demos also

favorite color is greeeeeeen :3 Mint green forest green yellowy green any green

last song: haunted by body void. its eighteen minutes long so i havent actually fully listened to it yet and im also not sure if i like it. We will see

currently reading: the appeal by janice hallett! not very far into it but it seems so awesome. breath of fresh air compared to the last "mystery" """thriller""" "novel" i """"""enjoyed""""""

currently watching: i dont knowww i dont watch things. ive been in the middle of a bocchi the rock rewatch for possibly over 6 months now.

currently craving: chocolate pretzels. Yes i am on my period how did you know

coffee or tea: Tea :3 :3 :3 its far from the best drink in the world but coffee FUCKS WITH me so bad i get all shaky and shit

anyone can join :3

get to know your moots tag game ! ✶ answer the questions, then tag six people

favorite color ꕀ green and brown last song ꕀ tú by maye currently reading ꕀ the luminaries by susan dennard currently watching ꕀ the great british baking show currently craving ꕀ massaman curry. like always. and like. alcohol and a couple cigs HAHA. a break too :P coffee or tea ꕀ always tea! i don't like coffee

ty for the tag @saltcxrcle ! tagging: @lelapine @toadspondofwhimsy @outof-spite @h0neyst4rz @hhoneylemon @our-lady-of-venom

[iamthatonefangirl]

Please please please make NSFW alphabet or headcanons with the winter soldier it's for my mental health ofc

anon you are literally a genius. how have I never thought about this before. this is a brilliant idea

here you can find my backstory/context for my version of the winter soldier. I wrote the nsfw alphabet based directly off this.

~~~

aftercare: this man sucks at aftercare, but he will always eat you out afterwards, no matter what.

more importantly, he stays. he doesn’t get up and walk away and leave you to feel abandoned. he’s not actively aware of it, but he's got his own abandonment issues, and he won't put you through that.

body part: total ass man, probably because he’s always fucking you from behind. he loves the view, loves grabbing your plush skin, giving you it a little smack to see it jiggle. 

on him, he's not picky. but whenever you try to touch his metal arm, or the scarring around it, he flinches away. he just doesn’t like it.

there was one time, though, when you were both laying in bed trying to fall asleep. you lightly traced your fingers over the outline of the red star on his bicep, and he just... let you. now that’s about the extent to which he’ll let you touch it (excluding when you’re having sex. he could give a fuck then.) 

cum: oh god it’s everywhere. he’s a fucking super soldier, he makes a mess all over the place. he’ll be jacking himself between your legs, coming all over your cunt, and somehow it’ll get in your hair. how? just,,, how??? you’ll never know.

in terms of making you cum, he’s still working on getting you to squirt. it’s like a challenge for him. and of course you’re not allowed to come without his permission. he loves knowing he controls your orgasms cuz he's a little shit.

dirty secret: he’ll never tell.

(he wants to get you pregnant just for the satisfaction of knowing he did. not to actually have a child. that’s his worst nightmare, so kind of a double-edged sword. (thank god for your birth control.))

experience: he’s not crazy experienced but he knows what he’s doing. he’s insanely observant, so in the beginning, he would watch you super intently for every single moan and reaction you’d give to his actions. he's pretty much got it down to a science now to make your body do exactly what he wants.

favorite position: he loves taking you from behind. it fills some deep primal urge within him that’s just about taking what he wants and making you take it. especially when he gets you on your hands and knees, and he gets to push your head into the pillow, making your arms give out… he could come on the spot. 

goofy: have you seen this man. not a goofy bone in his body. sad.

hair: he’s a hairy motherfucker. entirely unkempt. does not give a flying fuck about hair on you, either (he throws away your razor every time you buy a new one.) and of course he’s got the prettiest happy trail you ever did see. 

intimacy: he’s not really intimate by nature, more focused on getting you both off when he's fucking you, but every once in a while he'll give it to you soft and take his time to savor it.

there's little things, though, that he'll do, just the small actions like burying his face in your hair; brushing his nose with yours; running his hands over your scars, stretch marks, etc., that give you some semblance of closeness/intimacy even when he's fucking you within an inch of your life.

jack-off: he has an insanely high libido, which you can keep up with most of the time. when he’s gone on a job, he does what he has to do, but normally, there’s no time for that. so if he does jack off, it’s pretty rare. he’ll do it over your tits, though. 

kink: bondage, obviously. he loves to feel like he's in control, so most of the time, he's just tying your wrists together and pushing your hands out of his way so he can do his thing.

again with the control thing, he loves to choke you. the look of his hand around your pretty little throat does things to him. he's trying to decide if a collar would look as good as his hand.

location: anywhere in the house is fair game. and he means anywhere. there’s not a surface in the place that hasn’t been christened. 

motivation: his big thing is fucking you when he gets back from a job. he’s pent up, and tired, and needs to feel you the second he steps inside. there’s something about killing that makes his dick hard.

no: he’s all for being rough and giving you a few slaps when you ask for it, but he won’t ever do anything to legitimately hurt you. you’re still his and he doesn't damage his things. 

oral: doesn’t really care about receiving. if he wants to get his dick wet, it’s gonna be between your legs. he TOTALLY gets off on eating you out, though. when he's gone, alone, and missing you (he'll never admit to missing you) he thinks about the next time he gets to make out with your pussy.

pace: rough. fast. hard. he loves shoving himself into you and just letting loose without a care in the world. it's over in a heartbeat. but of course, that means you've got a few more rounds upcoming.

quickie: he’s gone about 85% of the time, meaning when he gets home and he fucks you, he’s going to do it rough and hard. you could argue that you mostly only have quickies, if you think about it hard enough.

risk: in terms of fucking anywhere else outside the house, it won’t happen. he honestly just can’t risk being seen in daylight. he also doesn't really see much as risky, given that he's a human weapon, but he's not really into doing anything risky anyways.

stamina: this goes without saying. he’s a super soldier. this man can and will fuck for HOURS at a time. at that point, you’re so tired and worn out, he slows his pace to softly fuck you to sleep. he’ll just keep going for hours and hours while you're knocked out. you’re more than happy to let him. 

toys: he sees toys as a threat, not a friend. he knows you have them and use them when he’s gone, but it pisses him off. he’s constantly trying to one-up himself from the last time he fucked you to prove to you that the real thing is better. 

unfair: have you seen him. every single thing he does is unfair, constantly teasing you to make you beg for him to fuck you. he loves bringing you to climax and then telling you no when you ask permission. if it was anyone else, you'd tell them to fuck off, but he makes it worth your while.

volume: he’s very quiet. he’s uber-focused on the feeling of you and would rather pay attention to the way you sound than himself, some part of him always trying to learn new things that make you moan.

he can’t help but hiss whenever he pushes past the stretch of how tight you are, and eventually lets out a few rough groans when he comes. 

he does let himself go when he’s using his mouth on you; it’s his fucking favorite thing, and he can’t help but whine and moan when he tastes you. one time you commented on it and he just grunted and kissed you to shut you up. 

wild card: the talking stage you had before him? yeah he killed that guy. (he doesn’t know you know.) 

oh, and the guy you said catcalled you on the block near your place. 

oh, and…

x-ray: for a man with that much aura, it’s a given that he’s highkey packing. dresses left and lovessss coming up behind you just to grind against your ass when he feels like it. you try to unbutton your pants to let him fuck you and he grunts no so you have to just let him do his thing until he's coming on your lower back.

yearning: you’re both horny motherfuckers who can’t keep it in your pants for a second. he’s on you all the goddamn time when he’s not off working. 

zzz: he doesn’t sleep much anyways, so it takes him a while to decompress and finally get to sleep afterwards. sometimes he’ll just lay there and watch you sleep, making sure your heart is still beating and your lungs are still breathing. he's so used to seeing people's bodies just... stop. and go cold. you’re the one person he actually cares to protect and make sure that never happens to. he'd probably burn down all of new york if that happened.

~~~

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list:

@clavedelune @starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm

[asxgard]

getaway car | [1/2]

Dr. Frank Langdon x f!Resident!reader

part two: twice

Requested

Summary: You and Frank have been skirting far too close to the line for some time. For the person with a partner, you let the line get far too blurry for anything appropriate.

[ My Masterlist ]

Anon Request: The idea was Frank and the reader having some sort of relationship where Frank is single (never married Abby) and the reader is in an unsuccessful relationship with her current boyfriend but cannot deny her feelings for Frank after working in the hospital together

Note: Hope you like it, anon!

…inspired by Taylor Swift’s Getaway Car? Hmm, cannot confirm👀

Word Count: 2k

Most of my works are 18+ due to general adult content.

Warnings: afab!reader, emotional cheating behavior, drunken stolen kiss👀😬, ANGST, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, reader is in a grey area

not beta read

It had started as simple, light banter that eased into playful flirting. Totally harmless, you often told yourself, even if his stupid smirk made butterflies erupt in your stomach. Even when you lingered after shift just to share a small conversation.

It was wrong how close to the line you had begun to teeter toward, but you excused it in your head every time you thought of the chief resident. It was only friendly, only playful, never serious. You never saw him outside of work.

Andy wasn’t Frank and Frank wasn’t Andy.

Andy was good, reliable, nice, boring. He offered security during a time in your life you felt like you were collapsing. Steady, sure, safe. It should have been enough for you, but only a year into dating him, and you began to think about all the things wrong.

While he was understanding, he could also be pushy. Conversations had started to feel dull, lackluster, void of their usual flirtations. He didn’t even seem to notice when your attentions wavered, or when you felt off. Not like Frank did, anyways.

It was unfair, and you knew that. But Andy was the safety railing, a net incase you went under. You would hate to let him go over some silly work crush.

Andy was, however, spending more time with his friends, canceling dates last minute or going radio silent majority of the day. The most troubling thing, was the relief you begun to feel when he did cancel, to hang out with a coworker, or his friends. But it made it easier to fantasize about Frank.

“Here you are, sunshine.” Frank offered you a cup of coffee with a smile.

You looked at the coffee cup trying not to smile, “Aren’t I the one supposed to butter you up?”

Frank chuckled, “As your chief resident, I resent that. I don’t play favorites.”

You looked at the coffee, then back to him, raising an eyebrow, “Yeah? What did McKay and Mohan say? Collins?”

“Collins is co-chief, she doesn’t count. And, uh, well…alright, I was only trying to be nice, you were being mopey.”

“Me? Mopey?” You scoffed, “Did you even get yourself anything, Langdon?”

“Caffeine and I don’t get along.” He said, putting his hands on his pockets, bouncing back on his heels. “I think Robby would have an aneurysm if you mixed me with coffee.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” You chuckled, taking a sip. “But, thank you.”

He grinned, “Don’t mention it.”

You set the coffee down on the counter, and looked up at the board.

“Everyone is looking to go get drinks after shift. You should come.”

You looked back over at Frank, something dangerous crawling in your chest. Heat flushed your cheeks.

I shouldn’t.

It’s just a bunch of co-workers going out. No harm.

The latter thought ended up winning, “I’ll be there.”

“Great! Uh…” He coughed, “Cool, yeah. Cool.”

—

You sent Andy a text that you wouldn’t be around that night, saying you were getting a few drinks with co-workers.

I’ll come see you tomorrow?

Let me know when you get home safe.

It burned like someone had taken a white-hot poker to your insides, and shame loomed in the aftermath. You swallowed a shot quickly, before scooching in closer to Mohan.

You caught Frank’s blue eyes from across the bar, already on you, and a feeling started tugging at your heart. Excitement was building with each step he took toward you, not quite hurried, but not entirely calm.

Frank slid into the booth next to Donnie, sipping his drink. You thought back to his last relationship, that ended just after you started dating Andy, and wondered if you would be together if everything had lined up better. How did the saying go again? Right person, wrong time?

You took a large gulp of your drink, feeling as it burned on its way down your throat. You refused to admit to yourself that it was anything more than a work crush. Your eyes still lingered on his jaw, down to the skin of his throat, and you blamed it on the alcohol in your system.

Slowly, the party of residents and day shift nurses trickled down to two: you and Frank.

Despite the thick tension wrapping around you both, the banter was still light — but it tipped far too close to small talk.

When you finally decided to call it, Frank walked out with you. The breeze was cool on your hot skin, and you fiddled with your fingers,

“I called an Uber,” you said.

“I’ll wait with you. My apartment is only a few blocks away.”

You nodded, “Thank you.”

You were only able to avoid his eyes for so long, and when they met yours, it seemed like the world around you was still. Everything fell away. Your eyes flickered to his lips and in a rush, his were on yours. Soft and urgent, and you nearly moved your hands to grip his face. The kiss was fleeting, as he was pulling away by the next beat of your heart.

“Fuck, I’m sorry—”

You blinked dumbly at him, lips still burning.

“I’m drunk, uh, but that was​​—”

“Yeah,” you got out, throat like sandpaper. “Me too.”

You definitely were not drunk enough to blame it on the alcohol, but you did.

Frank rubbed the back of his neck, blowing out a puff of air. A car pulled up to the curb, interrupting your thoughts.

“This is my Uber…thanks for inviting me out.” You said, voice edging close to a whisper.

“Yeah. Yeah! Uh, no worries.” His eyes flickered away from you. “It was a nice time.”

“It was.” You agreed, eyes flickering back to his lips.

You thought perhaps Frank hadn’t noticed, except his pupils had blown wide while he stared back at you. Heat flooded your cheeks. You looked away from him.

“Have a good night, Frank.”

“You too. Get home safe.”

You got into the Uber, skin feeling clammy as your heart hammered in your chest. You waited for regret to pool, but it didn’t — guilt did, but not regret. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Thinking of Frank’s lips on yours made you flush, and you traced a finger over your lips trying to commit the feeling of him to memory.

Andy.

Your stomach twisted.

—

The morning came too quickly for all the guilt you had tried to bury in the night. A few texts from Andy went unanswered, and you stared at the wall for a long time feeling like shit. You hated how much the kiss had shaken you, uprooting the carefully laid foundation with Andy until it was left fractured.

You needed to call it — it was the only fair thing left to do, even if nothing else happened with Frank. You had been unable to find a pulse on your relationship for weeks, and you needed to call time of death before the rot ate you alive.

Skimming over Andy’s messages, and missed call, you sent him a simple, “Sorry, got home late and passed out. Can we talk tonight?”

It felt like it wasn’t enough, but it was all you had.

You walked into the Pitt with a resounding frown and slumped shoulders. McKay found you first.

“Uh oh,” she commented, “Trouble in paradise?”

Damn, was it written on your forehead?

“Something like that.” You said, shrugging.

McKay frowned and gave your shoulder a reassuring pat, “We can talk about it sometime, if you want.”

“Thanks, McKay,” but it’s more complicated than you might be thinking.

You were able to avoid Frank until lunchtime.

“So last night…” Frank cleared his throat, avoiding your eyes. “It won’t happen again.”

In spite of yourself, you frowned. You hated the way you wanted it to happen again, and again, and again. This whole thing had gotten beyond the simple thing it had started as — feelings rooting around in your gut far more complex than you wanted them to be.

“Right. Yeah.” You said, though it sounded dejected. “Don’t worry about it…I’ll just stay away from tequila next time.”

The joke fell flat, but Frank took the excuse without protest.

The lull of the Pitt was shattered by a MVA, and you were thankful for the distraction.

You were able to fall into the work, working around Frank effortlessly, though every brush of skin felt more awkward than it ever had before. Before you knew those flirtations were just playful. Before you knew he could feel it too. Before he kissed you.

At the charge desk, you stood next to Mohan looking up at the board. Frank joined you two, resting on the desk.

“We’re going out again tonight, I think. You wanna come?” Mohan asked from beside you.

You looked over at her and your stomach squeezed. You met Frank’s eyes.

“No, um I’m seeing Andy tonight.”

You could see the way he physically deflated and it seized something in your heart.

“Oh,” Mohan smiled, oblivious to it, “next time then. But it would be great to see him again. Offer’s open.”

You smiled tightly, “Thanks.”

—

Andy met you at your apartment, both curious and mildly angry you had been avoiding him most of the day.

“I know I’m not the only one who feels like our relationship isn’t what it was.” You started, biting your lip. “We rarely see each other—”

“And that’s my fault?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I didn’t say that. I know my residency takes up a lot of my time, but you have to know that this is just not working any more.”

You wanted to spare him of the truth — no one deserved to feel less than because of someone else. Even if it was a lie. Even if it burned your throat.

He frowned, letting out a huff of air, “This has nothing to do with that doctor who kept making eyes at you a few months ago? When I went out with your friends?”

Your eyebrows came together, “What?”

“The one you swore up and down was just a colleague?”

“He’s my chief resident, Andy. It’s not like that.” Even you didn’t believe the words as they left your lips.

He rolled his eyes, “So this is all coming from how you’re feeling? No outside forces?”

“No, of course not. It’s just not working for me anymore.”

Andy left not too long after that, leaving you reeling on your couch. One year down the drain, and it ached somewhere deep in your chest. You had cared about Andy, loved him for a time, but like a fire with no one tending it, it eventually went out.

Before you knew what you were doing, you were grabbing your keys and hailing a cab. Your heart raced in your chest, biting your lip, just thinking about Frank.

You sent him a text: Come outside.

You paced in front of the bar, not wanting to go inside to all your other colleagues. Frank came out, eyes confused as he searched for you.

Without much thought, you threw yourself into his arms, and kissed him with everything you had. He was quick to respond to you, wrapping his arms around your middle, tracing a tongue over your bottom lip. You keened.

He pulled back a few moments later. You stared at him, eyes wide, and heart racing.

“We broke up.”

Frank blinked, his grip tightening around you.

“I don’t want to be some rebound.” He said, breathing heavily against your lips, tensing like he was trying to control himself.

“You’re not.” You promised. “Definitely not. I should’ve broken up with him awhile ago, and that’s fucked up to say, but I was scared of this. It felt like too much of a risk. You’re my chief resident. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But after you kissed me…I couldn’t deny it any longer.”

Frank swallowed thickly. “We really should take a step back. Take this one step at a time.”

“We really should.” You agreed, eyes flickering back to his lips. “But you should take me home first. Then small steps after.”

His pupils dilated, and he brought a hand to your cheek. His eyes were flickering across your face, trying to read you.

You pulled him closer, “Please just say yes. We can figure this out after.”

“Fuck. Yeah, alright.”

You kissed him again, and his tongue dove into your mouth. You sighed against him, feeling desire pool low. The open mouthed kiss was thrilling, filling your veins with a burning excitement.

Now all you had to do was not fuck it all up.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69 @moonlightmvrvel @andabuttonnose @boldlyherdream @cosmosnkaz

All: @nixandtonic

yo obviously cheating is very wrong even if your s/o kinda sucks, but the angst fuels me

sorry to do you dirty andy. you still suck

also? get this man more gifs! (we need season 2 stat)

still learning how to write for him😌