#medical innacuracy

[dogwaterdish]

Doctor: Midoriya needs a kidney donor... is there anyone willing-

All Might: I'll donate my kidney!

Doctor: Sir your kidneys are too fucked up.

All Might:

Doctor: Nobody wants your kidneys.

[myhusbandsasemni]

House is such an interesting character to me. I go back and watch the show sometimes because he is so compelling despite the terrible and typical pit falls that come from being a med drama.

He is so self destructive and intriguing.

And I had a thought that I have no friends that would really understand this idea, so I write it here.

An AU version of House with the cast set as angels. House is also an angel, surprisingly, but every day he goes out of his way to try and Fall, but due to accident/coincidence/friends stepping to help/technicalities, he doesn't. And it infuriates him so because he does not believe that he should be an angel. He thinks he should fall.

But secretly he is glad he hasn't fallen yet. That there is hope for him. That he is not fallen and that must be proof that there is something worthy in him or about him that he just cannot see.

But also, he's a dramatic heathen about it and everyone else just rolls their eyes at him.

Anyways, enjoy. Just had to get that off my chest.

[leeemon22]

dammit guys i fell into the rabbit hole

i’m playing stardew valley while watching house md

if no reply send help /j

[viennakarma]

The Lucky One

Part 1 (of 2) | Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Summary: Formula One had been your dream and your goal ever since you were a kid, and you did all you had to in order to achieve it. Between ups and downs, Sebastian becomes a steady presence despite being your complicated frenemy relationship. Until everything comes crashing down. Formula One gives, but Formula One takes.

Word count: 6.5k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, reader is mirrorball coded, coming of age, cursing, romance, both are assholes, smut, +18, complicated feelings, rivals to lovers, crash, major injury, medical innacuracies, bittersweet ending, not beta read

Relationship: Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Note: This is fully inspired by the song, and throughout my writing process I realized it also fits mirrorball. This one may require some tissues (especially in part 2). Everything is fictional and I mean no disrespect to Sebastian or his family (they don't exist in this story). Let me know in the comments if you wanna be tagged for part 2. Not proofread. Comments and feedback are welcomed.

Find me on Twitter!

You knew from an early age that charisma could conquer the world, it was a relatively easy taught lesson back in your early karting days. Mum sat you down one day in karting, showing two other kids around. One sitting alone, quietly twinkling with his go-kart, you knew him, Jamie-something, one of the best kids in karting, and you always had fun battles with him, but he was a bit of an odd one out. The other kid mum pointed at was Nick, loud, funny and popular… not that good at karting but a really smart talker. And it showed as he was surrounded by adults and other kids, every bit of attention on him.

You were around 11 when your mum pointed out the difference between the two kids.

“What is different about them, darling?” Mum asked you.

“Jamie is alone… And Nick is surrounded by people.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, Mama…” You said, scratching your brain to try and reply.

“Jamie is not very good with people, right? He’s a bit of an introvert…” Your mum said, quite somberly, “And Nick, he’s charismatic, see how he manages to grab everyone's attention?” As you nodded, your mum kept talking, “There are greater chances of Nick making far in motorsports, rather than Jamie.”

“But it’s not fair! Jamie is much better…”

“I know, darling… But you’ll see that motorsports is not fair at all. And unfortunately, if you really want to go far in this career, you’ll have to do everything they want and more. Being a good driver won’t be enough.”

“Why not, mama?” You asked, pouting.

“Because everybody loves pretty and everybody loves cool.”

-

Over the next few years of your teens, you learned to adapt, not only in karting, then single seaters, then Formula categories, not only as a driver, but as a person. You were fun, charming, and after a few years, it came to you easily. Laugh at his joke, that’s a sponsor. Smile at the journalists and they’ll write you as the future of motorsport. Be funny, but not too funny to the point they won’t take you seriously. Smile, but not too much so they don’t think you’re flirting. Be smart about your sport, but not too smart so they won’t feel emasculated. Take good care of your career and your every step, but don’t let them know so they won’t call you manipulative. Never be angry, never lash out, never be curt.

Nobody ever thought about you as a carefully crafted person, because even that was planned out. No one called you fake. They always thought you were that person: funny, smart and pretty like a 60’s queen.

You made it to Formula 1 at the age 23, a little late but you had accounted for that, being a woman and all. You were a damn good driver, but really it was your charm that put you there. You knew that your presence was good PR for the Federation. Look how inclusive we are!

After substituting a driver twice in the 2014 season, you were signed in 2015 for Toro Rosso, rookie you and rookie Max Verstappen, who was much younger than you. You and him got along well, but you couldn’t help but think how he got the chance to join Formula 1 much younger than you, having had almost the same career path in earlier categories. The only difference? You were a woman.

But you didn’t let that outshine your happiness of making it to Formula 1.

Soon you got in everyone’s good graces, charming your way through motorsports like you had been doing your whole career. Your first ever race as an official driver on the grid, there was this sense of relief, of making it to the ultimate dream. All that you had endured was worth it in that glorious moment.

You managed a little friendship with most drivers, getting to chat with them despite your rivalry on the track. You end up getting two podiums that season, brilliantly going down in history.

Well into your first official season, somehow the nickname “Principessa” caught on after an Italian newspaper wrote a praiseful cover article about how you managed to be classy and talented in your rookie year at Toro Rosso.

Life was a dream come true all the way to 2016, when you realized, Sebastian Vettel didn’t like you much. You thought it was just a distance thing, since you two weren’t used to talking that much. Until you overheard him talking about you with Nico, one of the drivers he was always talking to.

“I’m just not really interested…” Sebastian sounded reluctant.

“She’s really nice once you get to chat with her,” Nico said, as you hid behind a pile of tyres, “Vivian adores her, she even sent her a basket of goodies because of the pregnancy.”

“I understand. But me and her don’t click,” Sebastian mumbled, sounding annoyed.

“And why not?”

“She’s fake. A perfect PR doll, and I don’t like it.”

There was a long silence from Nico, probably shocked at the sudden harshness of Sebastian’s towards someone he had barely opened up to meet. You stood there frozen for a couple of seconds, not understanding his aversion to you.

Snapping out of it, you silently walked away without them noticing you were ever there. You couldn’t believe how, or why Sebastian could see right through you, how he could say that stuff when he had barely talked to you. But worst of all, you couldn’t understand his aversion to you, being against you.

“Having a quiet day?” Nico asked later that day, at the drivers parade as you stood a bit quieter than usual, still in your head about Sebastian’s words.

“Oh, no! Just a bit hungry!” You lied with a believable smile, “How’s Vivian?” You decided to change the subject.

Later that year, you had a great, almost competitive car, which had taken you to P3 in the championship standings, with a real, consistent chance of fighting for the championship.

Unfortunately for you, after the fourth to last race of the season, one race you had finished first place, you and part of your team were called in to talk with the representatives of the FIA because of an irregular part of your car. It was a minimal part of the livery that connected with the air vents, they said it was irregular, and despite the team showing proof that you had gained no advantage out of that, you were still punished with disqualification from that race.

It wasn’t just the problem of being DSQ, but not making points in that race meant you were out of the fight for the championship.

It felt like a punch in the face. Unjustifiable and an arbitrary decision.

After that disqualification, that came out right after the race had ended, Sebastian was the one to inherit that win, and a small part of him wanted to check on you, just because those kinds of disqualifications were a blow to the confidence of a driver.

Sebastian walked into your driver’s room and the first thing he noticed were the objects thrown around on the floor, a flipped table and chair. Chess pieces and boards on the floor, along with water bottles and towels, he looked around and you were sitting in a corner, on the floor, tears streaming down your face as you tried to wipe them with trembling hands, but the tears kept coming down.

It sent Sebastian into some sort of shock, he knew you for around three years now, and he had never seen you cry, or be angry, or even annoyed. You were always happy and bubbly… And now… It was like you were someone else, so painfully real, multifaceted for the first time.

“Hey… you-” He wasn’t even sure of what to say.

“They took my chances from me…” You said, voice trembling and a fresh stream of tears, “they did it on purpose. They did it to keep me where I am, to keep me on a leash, to not let me become a World Champion.”

“I’m so sorry…” He knelt down by your side, unsure of what to do or say.

“I did everything right. Played by their rules. I smiled, and I danced like a circus monkey, and I clapped even when I shouldn’t… I took it silently even when they threw spears at my chest. I swallowed my pride countless times to be here. I did everything right…” You knew you were rambling, to someone who probably didn’t even like you, but you couldn’t stop, the burning rage that brought tears to your eyes was stronger than anything you ever felt.

Sebastian didn’t know what to say, too shocked by the view of the real you that he could barely wrap his head around it. There was anger in your eyes, sadness, but somewhat a sprinkle of despair too. So he did the only thing his mind could think of, he hugged you. A little awkwardly, but a hug nonetheless. He felt your tears dampening his shirt, your hands fisting the material as if you were drowning and he was the only lifebuoy left. The sobs rocked your shaky frame and he held you for a long time, until someone from the team came to check on you. Then Sebastian hesitantly let go of you, despite your fingers still gripping his shirt, he pulled back, astonished.

As he left, stunned, he couldn’t even remember the reason he had gone there in the first place.

You only saw Sebastian again, the following race weekend, during media day. You were sitting on a box, drinking some water, your legs dangling in the air. You looked like you always did, bubbly, content, hair in place, light makeup…

Despite everything, and the memories being a little blurry, you didn’t forget what Sebastian had done for you. But even though the support was nice at the time, you couldn’t help but feel an immense amount of shame and embarrassment for what he had witnessed. Your mask had slipped, and you didn’t know how to proceed in this new, unknown territory.

In the end, you opted for deflection.

“Hey,” Sebastian approached you, looking slightly worried, “how…” he cleared his throat, “how have you been?” There was a silent question there, a silent approach to everything that had transpired the other day.

“Hi? Yeah, I’m alright, thanks!” You said with a bright smile, but now Sebastian could see it never reached your eyes. You hopped off the box you were sitting on, starting to walk away.

“Um- about the other day…?” Sebastian tried to breach the subject, unsure of how you would react.

“Oh, that? It was silly, just forget about it!” You kept smiling, your voice was cheerful, but your eyes betrayed that. You kept walking away, eating fruits and Sebastian ran up to you again, confused about you brushing under the rug something that was a pretty big deal.

“No, uh- how-” He wanted to think of something to say, but your smile dimmed a little bit as you looked at him.

“Let’s forget about that. And please don’t pity me.” You said with that same frozen smile and Sebastian frowned. He wasn’t pitying you, he was genuinely worried about that.

You walked away before he could say anything else. He was shocked at you dismissing so easily a full blown breakdown you had the week before. He had spent days thinking about you, not because he enjoyed any of it, he didn’t, but because he saw you for the first time. The real you. The ugly and painful parts, but it was so, so genuine, he knew that was the real you, with an honest reaction to something that hurt and upset you. He saw something he had never seen in you before, and he couldn’t get that version of you out of his head.

It was obvious you didn’t want to talk about that, or even address it. And Sebastian wasn’t going to press for answers, because in the end, he didn’t even like you particularly. He didn’t. And in the media pen, when a reporter asked you about the penalty that took you out of the championship competition, you smiled politely.

“Oh, I believe the FIA did the right thing, if I was accidentally irregular, that’s what should have been done. No complaints on my part or on behalf of my team,” You said into the mic, seeing in their faces that no one expected that response. Sebastian kept staring at you, in disbelief.

“Well, I for one,” Sebastian said after a few shocked seconds, “think that her disqualification was bullshit.”

The room burst out laughing, even you. A fake laugh, but since no one could tell, it was still a laugh. Saving your tears for some other time, alone and quiet, away from prying eyes.

Despite everything, you and Sebastian didn’t become closer, but in some way he just decided to open up to you a little bit more, as opposed to what he had been doing these past few years. He still wasn’t a friend or a close acquaintance, but he was less closed off and less short towards you. There was a silent acknowledgement of each other in public settings, a quiet nod or polite smile here and there.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that he was about to leave the hotel to go to a dinner during the week of the Malaysian GP, when he got into the elevator and as he got to the first floor, you stumbled into the small space, reeking of alcohol and makeup a little smeared. He called your name, in such shock he forgot to hop out and the elevator started going up again.

“What,” You said, holding yourself steady against the elevator wall. Sebastian was shocked, that was another facet of you, raw and belling with the persona you usually sold the world.

“Are you okay?” He asked, the elevator stopping on your floor.

“I’m fine,” you said, stumbling out of the elevator in your high heels, Sebastian couldn’t help but also step out, grabbing your arm to steady you, “I said I’m fine!” You said, drunkenly stomping your foot.

“No, you’re not. Come on, give me your key.” Sebastian said, with a voice that left no space for arguing. 

You tried to be stubborn, but he just grabbed your purse and started fumbling with it until he grabbed your key-card. Holding your arm, he guided you to your hotel suite. Once inside, he placed you sitting on an armchair, and as he knelt in front of you to remove your shoes, you plopped back against the backrest.

“No, no,” he said, tossing your heels away and pulling your arms so you’d sit up straight, “No sleeping yet, come on. I didn’t pick you for a drinker.”

“And I didn’t pick you for a nosy asshole” You snapped back.

“Well, well, well, isn’t motorsports’ favorite doll hiding a foul mouth?” He said, holding you up, guiding you to the bathroom.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Well, isn’t that what you are? We both know the truth, Principessa.” There was some bitterness to the way he said the nickname. You were not particularly fond of the nickname either, but the way he said it, with disgust, it rubbed you the wrong way.

“Why are you here?” You asked slowly.

“Why are you hammered on a Tuesday night?” He held you up, putting you on your feet and calmly leading you to the bathroom.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Sebastian pressed his lips together at your deflection, deep down he knew. More than anyone he knew you were just pretending to be okay with being taken out of the fight for the championship. He knew you were hurting. He also wanted to tell you that wasn’t the way to go about it, but at the end of the day, you two weren’t really close.

“Get in the shower. Cold.” He said, walking out of the bathroom and closing the door behind himself.

He could hear the sound of the water running, so he went to the phone and ordered soup and tea from room service. He sat down on the armchair, somewhat worried about you. He had gone through that before, but he was also four times world champion, compared to you who was just in your second year, losing the opportunity to fight for the championship for a mistake that wasn’t yours and that was completely out of your hands.

You left the bathroom dressed in a fluffy robe, face clean off of remnants of makeup. But your eyes were puffy and red, and he wondered if you were crying in the shower. He didn’t ask.

“Since you look a little more sober, I’m going. Room service will bring you something to eat and something non-alcoholic to drink.”

You sat on the couch opposite to him, feeling a little better and a bit more sober. You watched as he got up, his blue eyes never leaving yours. You had many questions. But the most important one was why he was there. Why was he taking care of you? You knew he didn’t like you, he knew you knew it too. Before you could ask any of it, he walked towards the door.

“Thank you,” You mumbled. He only nodded, not bothering to look back at you. It was a quiet murmur, but some part of you hoped he knew that thank you wasn’t about just this instance, but also the time he consoled you when no one else did.

The rest of the season, you managed to get ahold of yourself since you knew, keeping wallowing in self pity would get you nowhere. So you focused on finishing the season better. Sebastian and you also didn’t grow particularly close in the following months, despite sometimes meeting his eyes across the room. There was always this underlying tension between you, like two people that knew a secret but swore to not talk about it.

During the Prize Giving Ceremony, you were mingling with some drivers, members of the team and from the FIA. You were known for being the life of the party, usually a social butterfly, always making connections and meeting new people.

But then, you made a small pause to grab a drink and some air, sitting down on a bench, when Sebastian made his way to you, a somewhat bright smile directed to you as he crossed the room. It was the first time he had ever directed that kind of smile to you. He looked like he had drunk a little bit.

“You look tipsy,” You pointed out as soon as he stopped before you. He grinned.

“High quality champagne,” Sebastian replied, sitting on the bench beside you, raising his flute for a toast. You replied by clicking your flute against his.

You two sat in silence for a couple of minutes, watching the party in full swing.

“You’re back to your old self,” Sebastian pointed out, suddenly. But it didn’t sound like a compliment nor a critique. So you didn’t reply, unsure of what he meant.

“Well, we all do what we gotta do,” You shrugged gently, with a small smile as you turned to face him and his bright blue eyes were already on your face.

“But, you know, it’s good to remember you’re very lucky to be here,” he said.

His words made you stop, your smile fading and that almost accomplice glinting in your eyes completely disappeared. And Sebastian frowned confused, seeing the way you put up your walls again, back to the frozen, fake smile you usually gave the media.

Lucky. You hated that word. You hated how everyone used to say you got lucky to be there. You got lucky to get into Formula 1. You got lucky to be a successful driver. Rarely did anyone mention the efforts you had to put into becoming that. The early mornings training, the absurd amount of time and distance away from your family. All the metaphorical slaps you had to endure with a straight face. Then you realized, Sebastian saw you just the way everyone else saw you. You were lucky, your spot was a gift not the consequence of your efforts.

And Sebastian noticed the shift in your expression in that very moment. He hadn’t meant to offend, and he wasn’t even sure why his words had ticked you off, but he could see. He was probably the only one in that whole room who could tell the real you from your persona, mostly due to the fact that he had seen the real you a couple of times.

“Princess, I-” He started again, but you cut him off.

“Don’t.”

He watched as you stood up, gave him a polite smile and a nod, before sauntering away.

The following year, your car was improved, and even better than the year before, you were up there in the stands, and after a third of the season, you and the team knew you were a contender for the championship. You did everything in your power to be the world champion that year. Your main competitor was Lewis Hamilton. Somehow, despite the fierce battles on track, you two managed to maintain a certain level of respect outside it. Probably because you two were different kinds of minority in that sport, or because he had learned a lesson with how everything had come down with Rosberg. Funnily enough, you two had managed a somewhat friendship that very year.

You and Sebastian, on the other hand, grew more distant than ever, and you barely spoke that year. You two kept this cold, polite façade in front of the media and other drivers.

Battle after battle, the media pressure only grew on your shoulders, you weren’t just a pretty face for the sponsors to plaster your face around, you showed a real driver existed behind that persona. And it pissed some people off, just because now you were a woman playing a big man’s sport. They nitpicked every mistake you made if you had made some, or they diminished your every win if you didn’t make a mistake. Because you were lucky. You were lucky that one time Vettel DNFed. You were lucky this one time Lewis Hamilton crashed out. You were lucky your tyres were better during some overtakes. You were lucky for that good pitstop.

When you became World Champion that year, during the Mexican GP, it had all been worth it to endure. The weight of the trophy in your hands, the way you hugged it to your chest in the top step of the podium, crying as the other drivers splashed you with champagne, that was the taste of the years of dedication paying off.

The celebrations were wild, the team, some of the other drivers, everyone congratulated you. You were at a nightclub, drink in hand when suddenly Sebastian Vettel appeared out of nowhere. You supposed all drivers were invited, but you didn’t expect him to actually show up.

He walked up at you, loose shirt, messy hair and flushed face. Biting his lip to hide a smile, that genuine smile he had given you only once since you met him. And Sebastian had never seen you so beautiful. He knew you were always pretty, like you were some sort of model, but in that moment, you looked genuinely happy, and the smile you could barely contain in your face made you even more stunning than you already were.

“Congratulations, Principessa,” He smiled, stopping beside you. At that moment, you didn’t even remember that you were ever upset with him, that you had barely spoken the whole season. He remembered very well that feeling of being champion, the relief and happiness.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about what I said last year. I never meant to diminish you. And later on I understood why you felt upset by it.” Sebastian said, firmly. It made you feel validated, and it was nice that he had realized on his own.

“It’s okay. It’s water under the bridge.”

Sebastian nodded, understanding. You both went back to the party. And later that night you two were dancing on the dance floor with some other people. You were not physically close, more like jumping up and down and singing, facing each other, laughing. But there was that spark in each other’s eyes again, like there was a funny secret you two were keeping.

That’s how you two ended up going to his hotel, sitting silently in the back of a car, the windows a bit rolled down and the fresh air of the night hitting your faces. This silent tension that had always been brewing reached a boiling point. None of you moved or said anything, afraid of breaking the spell even on the way up to his floor. But the moment you crossed the threshold of his hotel room, you tiptoed to him, kissing him. He kicked the door shut, one arm around your waist as he pulled up to his height so he could properly kiss you. The other hand on the back of your head, pressing you further into him as if he wanted to merge with you, his lips and tongue coaxing yours open, his kiss all tongue and teeth as if he was starved for you. You two stumbled inside, but Sebastian managed to keep you upright by pressing you against a small side table, while you two laughed at his clumsiness.

When he put you down again, he reached for the back of your tube dress, tugging the zipper down, but it got stuck and he muttered a curse, which made you laugh again against his neck.

“Sorry about this,” he said, before forcefully tugging the dress, which made it rip off, and the dress fell down, pooled at your feet, leaving you naked in only your panties and shoes. He took a moment to take in your figure, humming appreciatively.

You took a step forward, removing his shirt without a second thought, followed by you also fumbling with his belt. You two were giggling when finally all clothes were out of the way and Sebastian pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply before pushing you into the bed. His lips around your nipples as his hands teased your body, touching, groping, feeling the smoothness of your skin.

When he climbed up, holding your head so you would look at him while his fingers fucked you open, there was this deep sense of intimacy in his eyes as he watched you. Then finally, he got on top of you, holding one of your thighs up against his waist and he sank down, in one deep stroke as you two moaned. His movements were slow and hard, enjoying every little thing about you. The soft sounds you made, your dilated pupils, the way your cunt fluttered around him when he hit a particularly perfect spot.

It didn’t take you long to come, your hands around his waist, nails sinking into his back. After you did, he knelt back, pulling your legs up, ankles by his shoulders as he then went even faster with each thrust, your moans growing louder as you went careening into a second orgasm, and soon he followed behind you, biting on your ankle to muffle his groans.

“Damn…” He sighed, breathless as he plopped on the bed right beside you.

“Damn is right…” You laughed.

After that, you two got in the shower, kissing and making out like teenagers, until he bent you over the glass wall, fucking you again until you two came again, your back to his chest and his hand down your front to tease you clit.

When you two fell on the bed again, you were out like a light.

The following morning you woke up painfully early, his arms around you as you situated yourself, when you checked your phone, you realized you were late to catch your flight. So you carefully removed yourself from his arms without waking him up, stole some clothes from his suitcase since your dress was ruined, and left in a cab.

You didn’t speak about through the final two races of the season and not at all during winter break. A small part of you had expected him to say something about what had happened. You were not sure what.

As the new season started the following year, the underlying tension between you now had a new kind of meaning behind it. Since you couldn’t look at each other and not think of that night. Of his hands tightening on your ass, of your nails scratching his back.

You decided to leave it all behind, focusing on the season and trying to strike that second consecutive championship. It was hard, it wasn’t that your car was bad, per se, but it was unreliable. Sometimes you were about to win a race when it suddenly had some sort of malfunction or some kind of shut down that had you DNF a race you should’ve won. Despite that, you made the best of it, achieving a couple of podiums and eventually, your first win of the season.

That night, you met with Sebastian again, the first real conversation ever since what had happened the year before. 

“Congratulations on the win,” He said with a smile.

“You too, congrats on the win last week.”

And just as the first time, soon you two were wrapped around each other in the elevator, lost in a desperate kiss. Kisses and giggles as you made your way stumbling to your hotel room. This time, he had you bent over the bed, hands on the mattress as he knelt down eating you out for the life of him until you had come fisting the sheets, then he got up and fucked you from behind.

You two laid on the bed, breathless and with a thin layer of sweat as he pulled you closer, a palm over your stomach, tracing all dips and curves lazily.

“Here we are again,” Sebastian whispered, and you looked at his eyes, shining blue and flushed face.

“Seems like we keep coming back for more…” You pointed out, with a laugh.

He was about to say something when his phone rang, and he found his jeans and picked up the call. You just watched as he started speaking on the phone, quickly grabbing his clothes and starting to dress up again.

“I’m sorry,” He said after finishing the call, buttoning up his pants, “We have a photoshoot to do, and I had completely forgotten about it.”

“It’s fine,” You said, sitting up on the bed.

He paused for a moment, looking at you all naked and debauched on the bed, looking especially delicious. Sebastian wished at that moment he could have taken a picture to keep with him forever while you looked like a goddess. He just pecked your lips, deep and fast, before scurrying off. A stupid smile in both of your faces that you couldn’t see.

Weirdly enough, you didn’t talk about that again. It was like you were two different people in other settings, but back in the motorsport world, you had no opening or desire to be that two people that stole kisses in hotel rooms. But the silent glances were still there, a knowing look exchanged. You didn’t grow any closer out of those brief moments in space and time.

As the season progressed, you got a somewhat grip on the car, even reaching second place in the standings for the WDC.

Your encounters with Sebastian also kept happening, at least once a month. You didn’t talk much about the nature of your relationship, about what it meant, or why it kept happening. It felt like you two were always focused on making the most of the little time you had. One of you would always leave in the middle of the night or early in the morning, without waking up the other, like a silent agreement.

Still, you had a growing feeling that Sebastian didn’t like you outside those fleeting moments. And you knew that those things could happen, you could have great bed chemistry and still not be friends or not particularly be fond of someone. Just sex. It was what you told yourself every time you had to see him be cold and distant during race weeks. You couldn’t help but remember those few years back when he called you a perfect PR doll in a conversation. The harshness in his voice when he talked about you that day still haunted you sometimes.

It all came to a head after you won consecutively the three races in the triple header, and the media was eating that up. But unfortunately, Sebastian had two DNFs and a qualifying so awful that he only managed to finish the last race P8. During the following media day, which had both of you in the same panel, you were asked some questions regarding your recent wins and the perspective of the championship. After replying, there was a small scoff that Sebastian’s mic caught.

“Anything to add to her reply, Sebastian?” The journalist asked.

“No, nothing much…” Sebastian scoffed, “I mean, with Red Bull’s rocketship, winning is what’s expected of it, no?”

The words hit you like a punch, and it took a herculean effort to keep a straight face and seem unaffected. But the wave of silence and tension that followed was enough to show that everyone had caught that jab. Lewis even muttered a disappointed “man…” to Sebastian, away from the mic.

You didn’t look at Sebastian again during that conference, but at that point he could tell your real smile from the fake one. He could see the discreet clench of your jaw and he knew deep down that he had fucked up massively.

That’s why that weekend after the race, one you had placed P3, he went to your motorhome before leaving the paddock, knocking on the door quickly. He waited for you to open the door, hoping and praying you had not left yet. When you finally did, dressed in casual clothes, probably about to leave, he could see the surprise on your face that you had not expected to see him there. You looked around to check if anyone was seeing that before pulling him inside.

“What do you want? Be quick.” You said, finishing packing your bag and barely looking at him.

“I’m sorry about what I said during media day. That was fucked up.” He said, carefully.

“Oh, fuck off, Sebastian…” You scoffed, “we both know you just said what has always been on your mind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He frowned.

“Don’t play dumb now, Sebastian. Everyone knows. I know and so do you.”

“Know what?” He frowned, taking a step closer.

“That you hate me!” You exploded, turning to face him.

“Is that what you think?!” He asked, offended, “You think I’d have sex with someone I hate?”

“It never stopped anyone before…” You said, rolling your eyes, “Let’s be honest here. All the secrecy, all the never talking about it, never calling or texting before or after… I’m just the ‘Perfect Fake PR doll’  that you don’t like.”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth, Sebastian frowned, but after a few seconds he remembered that he had said those exact words about you, with such annoyance and disgust. That was farthest from the truth, and he couldn’t dare to repeat those words now that he had seen so many raw, genuine parts of you.

“Listen, I just…” He sighed, “I just hate all this fakeness you sell. All this acting and playing a part.”

“It is survival!”

“Survival?” He scoffed, not buying your words, “you pretend to be someone you’re not to appease the world.”

“You wouldn’t ever know what this is about, Sebastian. You’re Formula One’s dream man. You’re the straight white guy they want, the perfect image for motorsports. Be fucking real with me. Do you think if I had half the attitude you do, I’d be treated like you? No, I’d be ostracized,” You said, eyes shining in defensiveness, like he was the enemy you had to pretend to, “I will do what I can to stay here. I do what I can to still have a seat and a career here. Everything I do, is to be perfect, to appease the audience, the sponsors, the FIA, everything, and I still have to deal with misogyny. I still have to hear people saying I should go back to the kitchen. So no, I won’t change.” It was like a dam had broken and you had to put out everything you felt, every pain you had regarding that.

Sebastian sighed, scratching his head. He had fucked up even more, because it had never gone through his head any of that. He had never thought of the backlash you must face, being a woman, about the difficulties to fit, to be accepted in an environment heavily made of older white men that liked things to stay the way they were.

“You got to see the real me, I let myself be vulnerable and genuine with you. God knows the reason why you have seen me more than anyone else has. And you get out there with your full chest implying that I’m winning because of the car, when you know the car has been unreliable and I’m bending over backwards to make this shitbox win races…” Your voice was shaken but you refused to let him see you cry again. That had become ammo in his arsenal one time, you wouldn’t repeat the same mistake again.

“I…” He stuttered like he had just been hit with that knowledge, ashamed that he had never stopped to think about any of that.

“You can hate me all you want, Sebastian. You can tell me you’d rather me be genuine, but I need to wear armor. Out there? I’ll still be the PR Doll you like to call me if it means I get to stay.”

“Principessa, I’m just so-” He started but you cut him off again.

“Just get out, Sebastian. This,” you pointed between you two, “was a mistake to begin with. We both know where we stand with each other.”

“I don’t hate you.” He said, suddenly.

“Right. You need to go.” You rolled your eyes.

“I need you to believe me in this. I don’t hate you.” He repeated, slowly, blue eyes pleading.

“Leave, Sebastian.” You said, not leaving room for argument. He took two steps back, knowing he wasn’t going to get through to you at that moment.

“I don’t hate you,” He said one last time, before turning around and leaving.

Let me know in the comments if you wanna be tagged for part 2!

[bubble-dream-inc]

hii! i love ur fics!! can u write something about medical f/reader and her being scared of Ghost and can't look him in the eyes (he makes her really nervous and shy) and Ghost kinda find it amusing:))

an apple a day...

At first, Simon wasn't fazed by the rumors about the cute new head doctor on base; that is, until he realized the effect he had on you - and how fun was it to tease you with it.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Medic Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 1,4K

a/n: hi anon! thank you for this ask, i had a lot of fun writing this <3 bear in mind i used the little medical knowledge from my brief pharmacist student era and i actually have no idea how medical regs work in the army so take these inaccuracies with a grain of salt lmao. thank you my love @chaoskrakenuwu for the beta read <333333

tags: profanity, pure fluff, medical innacuracies, female reader, Simon is a smug little shit.

Ghost was many things, but amongst it all, he silently took pride in being good at reading people.

At first, he didn’t know exactly why he was doing it, and later he’d come to realize it was an amusing game for him, oddly enough, considering Simon Riley was never a man to bask in mundane pleasures.

It started with the rumors around the base about the allegedly cute new head doctor. Simon had been around these men for long enough to grow used to their touch deprived selves thirsting over literally any woman that came close to their general vicinity, so at first the talk didn’t stir his curiosity - it almost never did; he didn’t like to gossip. This changed one morning when he woke up with a killer headache, and unwillingly made way to the infirmary to try and get some painkillers. Gingerly knocking on the door and waiting for the approval of whoever was on the other side - which came in the form of a meek ‘come in’ - he had completely forgotten about the rumors going around until he set foot in the room and instantly came across the new head doctor.

They didn’t do it justice. You weren’t cute, you were a fucking spectacle.

He blinked, seemingly expressionless behind the mask, but he embarrassingly had to admit he might have let his gaze wander more than usual as you looked up from the papers you were looking over, clearly confused as to why you heard your door open but not a word out of the person who came in, and, as you did so, he recognized all the emotions people felt whenever they looked at him for the first time: confusion, shock - be it by his sheer absurd size or the mask - and, lastly, intimidation. It wasn’t unusual, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother a very hidden part of him, the fact he was intimidating such a small and seemingly harmless woman such as yourself. He had half a mind to speak first, but you beat him to it.

“Oh, uh…Hello, er, Lieutenant Ghost? How can I help you?” You clearly fiddled with your fingers as you stared at him with wide eyes, refusing to meet his gaze. Simon was slightly annoyed you already knew who he was - the whispers about him on base weren’t exactly positive, and he wondered what you might have heard.

“Yeah. Got one fuckin’ headache, I need some meds.” He was aware of how much more coarse his already gruff voice sounded, courtesy of the annoying pain and the sour mood he was already in, and took notice of the way the sound of it made your eyes widen even more. Clearing your throat, you mumbled something in agreement, heading to a cabinet near your desk, and he couldn’t help but watch you like a hawk - entranced by how you looked with the clearly frantic tied up hair and the white lab coat moving in tandem with your body. You looked so small compared to him and the thought made him more satisfied than he’d like to admit.

Finally reaching the drawer you were looking for, you searched it around for a bit until grabbing a small blister with four duo colored pills, hastily making your way over to Ghost and handing him the medication. You gave some instruction on how he should take it - once every six hours, if the pain didn’t go away, but not more than three a day - but he barely registered it, too caught up on watching you from above. Deciding to end your torture, he looked over at the blister on his hand and raised it slightly as if it were a toast.

“Cheers. Thanks, doc.”

With that, he left, not going unnoticed how surprised you were at his cordialness.

After that, he unconsciously made a habit out of it, popping into your office for the stupidest of reasons and he wasn’t even sure why; he’d find himself gravitating towards the infirmary, like a lost dog, to the point you updated his file with the recently known information that he had constant headaches - he didn’t. Simon took some sort of sick pleasure from watching you squirm under his gaze, never able to keep his eye contact for long, even more so when you heard his voice, and things took an interesting turn when he realized you probably weren’t intimidated - but flustered instead. It clicked with him one day as he entered your office in casual clothes before heading to the gym and you thought you were being subtle about the way you ogled his arms in the tight black shirt he was wearing. As he was leaving, he subconsciously turned to grip the doorway above him - not by much - to bid you goodbye, and he couldn’t help but to smirk under the mask when your eyes widened and your face visibly reddened at the motion.

So, he decided to test his theory. That day, he didn’t even need to fake a headache to go see you, he actually had gotten injured when helping out with some maintenance, a moment of recklessness giving him a cut on his hand. If it were another circumstance, he would just have taken care of it himself, considering how desensitized he was to pain these days, but for once he had a good reason to bother you, so that’s exactly what he did. Even if his presence made you so shy, this time you couldn’t help but look at him with worry as he entered the infirmary.

“Ghost, you really have to look into those headaches of yours.”

“Not my head this time.”

He showed you the bleeding cut on his hand, and almost chuckled at the way your eyes widened and you got into professional mode, hastily walking around to gather materials he knew all too well - gauze, iodine, all fun stuff. Simon was used to the sting of stitches, but they rarely felt as gentle as you did it, the way he relished on how close you were while fixing his hand, a focused flash in your eyes, not helping his case one bit, even if it was slightly disappointed how all of your shy nature disappeared the moment you had to be professional. He could appreciate how good you were at what you did, though.

Too soon for his liking, you were done, going around mumbling about a specific anti-inflammatory you were going to give him while he admired the neat work on his hand. Still sitting on the infirmary bed, he watched as you realized where the medication was, which just so happened to be on the tallest shelf of the medication cabinet. You sighed, grumbling about the reckless nurse that always messed with the placement of the medications, too caught up in trying to stand on your tiptoes to reach it that you missed Ghost moving right behind you, noticing only when his torso was inches away from your back and he had one hand gingerly touching your waist, the way you shivered not going unnoticed. He indulged in the way you stilled, turning to look at him with a surprised expression, and he almost chuckled at how adorable your eyes looked when wide like that, but, instead, he only looked down at you for a few moments before effortlessly getting the medicine box from the shelf - which was almost at his eye level - and handing it to you, putting minimal distance between your bodies. Mumbling a small ‘thanks’ you averted your eyes from him, visibly gulping while you quickly found the blister inside the box and handed it to him. However, even after taking it from your hands, he made no move to leave, keeping his stare at you while tilting his head lightly to the side.

“Do I make you flustered, Doc?”

You blinked, processing his words before opening and closing your mouth like a fish and looking to the side, breaking eye contact.

“…Yes. I knew you were doing it on purpose…” You mumbled, embarrassed, and he finally chuckled, not a bit ashamed that you caught him red handed.

He was never so glad to be able to read people so well as that day, when he went back to his room leaving behind a bashfully grinning you and the promise to take you out on a real date whenever you’d be free.

[lazybutsmexy]

Masterlist

Writing blog for One Piece and Haikyuu: x

Archive of Our Own: x

Rules: x

All x reader writings are gender neutral unless specified.

If you ever make art inspired on my works, @ me so I can see it and reblog it!! 🫶♥️

Edit 04/26: if you have trouble accessing any links, you should be able to find each individual work by searching for the name in the search bar in my blog. Sorry for the inconvenience!

Call of duty

König (my beloved)

Smoke break - x reader | light angst, fluff, comfort, protective König | you are a bartender and your stalker creeps you out. König catches on and fixes the problem.

A glimpse - x reader | light angst, fluff, comfort, injured reader, a bit of pining on both sides | you get injured in a mission, and König feels he could've done better.

The sound of your voice - x reader | light angst, fluff, comfort | Konig feels self-conscious when telling you about his current obsession, but his voice is like a balm to your tired mind.

Jealous König drabble - x reader

König comforts you - x reader

Cheater - x reader (platonic)

Alejandro Vargas

Choices have consequences - x reader | light angst, culinary crimes, mention of food insecurity | Alejandro made a passing comment about your food that you didn't like one bit, so you humble him.

"V" - x reader | pure tooth rotting fluff, pillow talk, marriage talk, you're both so smitten ugh | Alejandro and you discuss the idea of getting a matching tattoo instead of rings.

Are you looking for a wife? - fem!reader | fluff, injured reader, medical drug use, stoner talk | Whenever you get ketamine as pain relief, you lose all thought-to-speech filter.

Heart-Stopping - fem!reader | tiny angst, fluff, medical innacuracies. mention of violence/injuries, pregnancy announcement, crack-ish | Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro. You may easily give him a heart attack, though.

Infused Masterlist - fem!reader | graphic depictions of violence, drug use, minor character death(s), angst, fluff, hurt/comfort | A love story told through mate.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

No better than a Victorian man - x reader | suggestive, Simon being a tease | You like to look at your lieutenant, especially when there's barely anything to look at

A bedtime story - GN!reader | platonic | you have no choice but to keep LT's secret for a relaxed, soothing sleep to you grave.

Ghost x chubby!reader headcanons - x m!reader

Tea - GN!reader | angst, hurt no comfort, character deaths | Last minute confessions.

Ghost x reader x Soap

Bird Hunting - x fem!reader | angst, hurt, kidnapping, drugging, sexual harassment, violence (warnings will update as series progresses)

Rotten Apple - x fem!reader | hurt/comfort, referenced past child neglect, abusive/narcissistic parents | Set after the events in BH | Sweetened apples turn sour when rotten apples are around.

Emotional Support Bird - x fem!reader | fluff, domestic, Soap and Ghost share a braincell | Canary rambles about a ln emotional support dog she saw at the market. Ghost and Soap have an idea.

Emotional Support Bird Pt.2 - x fem!reader | fluff, hurt/comfort, Ghost x Canary centric - Soap is only mentioned here | Ghost has a nightmare, and Canary an idea.

Emotionally Supported Bird (Pt. 3)- x fem!reader | fluff, hurt/comfort | Canary knows exactly where to seek solace in the middle of the night.

Ghost x Soap x K9handler!reader

The Mission - x K9 handler!reader | fluff, K9 Dolly's POV mostly | K9 Dolly is sent on her first solo mission.

John Price

Salt and pepper - x gn!reader | fluff | The realization of age hung heavily on his shoulders. Luckily for him, you're more than ready to share it with him.

141 x reader

Lucy - x fem!reader (platonic) | crack | an interesting story behind the origin of Y/n's callsign.

Affectionate reader - x GN!reader (platonic) | fluff | headcanons and a little drabble on the Task Force receiving and enjoying your affection.

Affectionate reader Pt. 2 - x GN!reader (platonic) | angst | The team loses it's spark (you)

Affectionate reader Pt. 3 - x GN!reader (platonic) | hurt/comfort | it's the team's turn to show you affection

Incorrect Quotes

Father Figure

Gummy worms

Dilf

Farmers' market

(Un)forgettable

Relatable

Brothers

Mystery

Couples' advice

Valentine's Day blurbs

WIPS ← check here for your request!

[callsigndragon]

Seeing Red | Ch. 26: The plot thickens ✍️📲

Word count: 4.3k (this is nuts)

Warnings: swearing, dad jake, WHO SENTS THE BOUQUET (read and you'll know), jealous jake, cycunt, someone gets punched pt.2, medical innacuracy but hey i'm a teacher not a doctor, BOB'S WIFE, and a fucking cliffhanger bc this chapter is super long.

A/N: NEXT. CHAPTER. REVEALS. THE. TRUTH. JUST. WAIT. A. BIT. Pls 😭❤️

Masterlist on pinned

It’s been a month since you came here. And what a month! 

After the second week of silence regarding the big secret, you stopped waiting. You knew he wanted to tell you; he just needed a bit of time. How much time was a bit, you didn’t know. But you could wait. 

During the last month, Jake has been the best father you could have wished for your son. He spent days baby-proofing his house, with Reuben’s help and with a soon-to-be dad named Bob, who took lots of notes. Liam has only been in Jake’s house once, when he hosted a dinner the night before you all left for a mission. 

Oh, the mission. It was more of a scouting mission, but you still had to spend almost two weeks on a carrier with the whole squad. That meant sharing a room with Phoenix, small corridors, and a lack of sun. The narrow corridors were the worst part. The universe must have been trying to laugh at you or something, because every time you had to walk through one of those, you found Jake at the other end. It brought thousands of memories. The ones that left you with weak knees. Yeah, he still has that effect on you. 

Jake has become a mystery to you. While he may appear to be a completely different person on the outside—someone you don't know—on the inside, he is still the same man you fell in love with. 

His entire demeanor has changed, too. It’s like his father's instincts have taken over his personality, and all that bad attitude he displayed with the new recruits or as an instructor is now gone. He has become a perfect aviator, a perfect instructor, and a perfect father. Warlock even came one day to congratulate him for his outstanding behavior. 

You’re sure Warlock was the one who came to congratulate him because Cyclone couldn’t even think about it. Every time you two were in the same room, something sent shivers down your spine. You have been trying to avoid him lately. 

Everything is perfect. Liam has a lovely and supportive family—more uncles and aunts than days in a week—and Penny and Mav, whom Liam calls Memaw and Pepaw. Your mom, hearing that Liam has so many people surrounding him, has told you that ‘you don’t need her’. She’s literally trying to get you and Jake together, whatever it takes. And she believes she can accomplish this by staying at home with Lady. She has adopted the dog as her own. 

Everything is perfect. Well, it could be even better if Jake told you the truth. 

But you’ll have to wait for that. 

Jake knocks on your door just when you have turned off the computer. “Ready, sweets?” 

“Yeah, just let me get my stuff,” You mumble while opening one of the drawers to get some folders. 

Jake watches silently as the dog tags slip from the inside of your shirt, hanging from the chain. There they are. The engagement ring he bought, the wedding band you chose together, the one that he placed on your finger at your wedding. How did Amelia get a picture of them? He will ask her later. 

Your hand hides them quickly inside your shirt, where they belong, and you glance in Jake’s way. He’s grabbing your bag, his right hand patting his front pocket for some reason. “Warlock is now the babysitter?” 

You laugh, closing the drawer and walking to him. “Don’t you think he is better than Dummy Boo?” 

“Much, much better. I was thinking that we could have another Disney movie night.” He suggests, opening the door for you. 

“Sounds good. We came back a week ago but we’ve been doing so much paperwork…” You groan, trying to get your bag from Jake’s hands, but he softly slaps your hand away. “Give me my bag.” 

“Nope,” he grins walking alongside you through the corridor, his hand brushing with yours at every step. He wishes he could just slide his hand between your fingers, draw infinite shapes in your skin.

Ames is right. He needs to tell you. 

“It feels like all I’ve seen of him this week is his sleepy form.” Jake mentions, and you nod, because it’s true. He’s been sleeping more lately. Maybe he gets tired at daycare. 

“Don’t worry, we still have tons of Disney movies to watch with him. I can’t remember what was the last one we saw.”

“The Emperor’s new groove. Next ones are Atlantis and Lilo and Stitch.” 

“Maybe Atlantis is a bit too much for him.” You point out. “Lilo and Stitch.” 

“I bought a Stitch plushie. He’s gonna want one of those.” Jake chuckles and you shake your head while laughing. 

You sigh, stopping when you reach Warlock’s office. “Jake.” 

“Yeah?”

“Maybe when Liam falls asleep we could… talk?” 

He sees the hope in your eyes, a sparkle in them that makes his heart skip a bit. “Yeah. We’ll talk.”

The smile that you give him in return could illuminate a town for an entire month. “Thank you.” 

A part of him feels miserable that you have to thank him for doing something that he should have done before. “You don’t need to thank me, sweets.”

You kiss his cheek and open the door, Jake standing behind you with reddening cheeks. The smiles on your faces drop when you see Cyclone instead of Warlock. 

“Where’s Solomon?” You inquire as you observe Liam doodling on a piece of paper. 

“He had to leave, and I stayed with Liam.” 

"Hey, baby," you say as you kneel in front of him and kiss his cheek.

“Hello, mama.” 

“Want to go home?” He nods, and you move his hair out of his face. You need to get him a haircut. “Dada is waiting outside. Can you go with him while I give Beau some boring papers?” 

“Dadaaaa!” Liam goes running towards his dad and hugs his leg. Jake drops the bag and hugs him. 

“What have you done today, bubs?” 

“I paint a lot. Wally is funny.” Liam explains to his dad, who believes that this Wally is Warlock. Liam goes around giving nicknames to everyone. Mickey is Mickey Mouse. Nobody knows why Reuben is called Ben-Ben. Nat, Javy and Bob don’t have nicknames, their names are just that short. And then, there’s Rooster. Well, Woosta. Jake fell to the floor the first time Liam called Bradley like that. 

“What about Dummy Boo? Was he funny?” Jake keeps talking to his son while observing the interaction between Red and Cyclone. He still gives him a weird feeling; there’s something behind his actions that doesn’t sit right with Jake. 

Javy calls it jealousy, but it goes beyond that. It’s just weird. 

Cyclone writes something on a piece of paper that he pushes across the desk until it sits in front of Red’s hand. She takes it with a smile on her face. What the fuck is going on? 

Did Cycunt just give her his number? 

Today, of all days, the day where he has decided to confess everything to Red, and maybe, even though Jake knows that this is hoping too much, that will lead to the two of them having another chance to be together. 

This has to be a joke. 

“Woosta!” 

“My baby!” Bradley grabs Liam by the waist and lifts him up, making him giggle. It’s quite a sound that you don’t hear too often in a gym. 

“Can you take care of him for a bit? I want to hit the bag.” You ask him, leaving Liam’s bag next to the two boys. 

“Of course. We’re gonna play a bit with the football, right, buddy?” He tickles Liam, and you smile. You’re so lucky to have them. 

“Thanks, Rooster.” 

You get your things out of the bag that Jake has left in front of you and go change into more comfortable clothes. You’ve been boxing since the academy days; at first it was like a joke, not really thinking how much you would end up enjoying it. It eventually became a part of your daily routine. Hit the bag for a while to de-stress. 

You turn back to the room, wrapping your hands with the red cotton wraps you always carry in your bag. 

“Want help?” Jake stands behind the punching bag, his brows knitted together and his arms crossed across his chest. 

“Yeah, thanks.” He helps you, silently wrapping your hands and fingers. “Are you okay?” 

“Just peachy.” 

“Okay…” 

He drops your hand once it is properly wrapped, then gets the gloves and assists you in slipping your hands into them. “Ready?” 

You nod, moving your arms a bit, and throw a combination against the bag. It feels good. 

You keep going for a bit, feeling Jake’s eyes on you. You know he wants to say something, but he's biting his tongue. 

“Just say it, cowboy.” 

“So... you and Cyclone.” He finally mutters through clenched teeth. 

“What about me and Cyclone?”

“There’s something there?” 

You stop punching the bag immediately. “What?” 

“Every time we have to leave the kid outside daycare, he’s there. Every. Single. Time.” 

You move around the bag, staring into his eyes. “Please, tell me you’re not trying to insinuate what you’re trying to insinuate.” 

“What? That you two are together? Perhaps that's why he called you to lead the team?" His voice raises a level, making the others stop working out and look at the two of you. 

You let out a dry laugh, watching from the corner of your eye as Nat walks closer to the two of you. “You really think I’m dating Cyclone?” 

“That’s what it looks like, yes” 

“And you think you have any right to comment on who I date or not?” 

“So it’s right!” 

You close your eyes for a second. “Rooster, can you take Liam out of here?” 

“Come on, buddy. Let’s play outside” You wait until Rooster and Liam leave the gym to respond. 

“Look, asshole. I’ve been waiting for a fucking month—no, scratch that. I’ve been waiting for three fucking years for you to come back and tell me what the fuck I’ve done wrong, why you left, and why I had to raise our kid alone.” 

“Red, calm down,” Phoenix says, standing next to Jake. 

“I won’t calm down. I’ve been here for a month. You’ve been in my house, every fucking night, and you have slept on the couch because you didn’t want to leave. I knew that you being part of Liam’s life meant that I’d have to see you all the time, even if I didn’t want to.” Your voice is starting to break; you pause for a second to breathe, but Jake takes it as his turn to speak. 

“I think I’m entitled to know who the fuck enters my kid’s life.” Jake spits out. 

“Jake, you asshole, you have literally been with me every day since I set foot on this base! We work together, we eat together, we go home together with Liam, you sleep there…” 

“Your point?” 

You're trembling, your eyes are wet, and your teeth are clenched. Why is he doing this? “Do you think I had time left to go see that man?” 

“I don’t know, but he gave you a piece of paper with his number, didn’t he?” He steps closer to you. “Maybe even his address.” 

“Jake, man. It’s time to stop” Reuben puts a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off. 

“In case you forgot, you left me. Let me repeat it again, because maybe your brain doesn’t understand it. You left me.” You emphasize each word by pressing your glove against his chest. “You don’t have a fuck to say about my life. And no, I’m not seeing Cyclone.” 

You turn around to leave, wanting to be the mature person in the room. But again, Jake being Jake, he needs to have the last word. “Then tell him to stay the fuck away from what’s mine” 

“Oh shit,” Payback mutters when you come back to where they are. 

You throw an uppercut to his stomach, making him fall to his knees. He grunts, breathlessly looking at you. You crouch down, resting your arms on your knees. “You don’t own me, Jake Seresin. Never forget that.” 

He starts coughing when you enter the locker room. 

"Red.”

“Oh my god, Jake. What now?” You are really close to throwing something at him. 

“Please. I’m so-” He moves closer to you, the angriness in his face long gone. You can only see regret now. 

“If you say you’re sorry after all the bullshit you just said in front of everyone, I will punch you again, this time without gloves.” You warn him, walking a few steps back. You don’t want him close to you. Your body will betray you, and you know it. 

While you were out there screaming at each other, you felt a need to just grab him by the back of his neck and kiss him. He needs to remember that you married him three years ago and that you weren’t the one who asked for a divorce. He needs to know that you were and still are very much in love with him. 

And even though you can understand the jealousy he must have felt and how it makes you do and say crazy things, it’s not an excuse. 

“You wanna know what that piece of paper was?” You rummage through your bag, looking for that damned piece of paper, pressing it against his chest. “Read it.” 

“Jane Simpson?” His brows furrow. That's not the name he was expecting to read. 

“Cyclone’s daughter. She’s a sitter. Cyclone said that next time the daycare is closed, I could call her and ask her to take care of Liam.” You grab all your things while Jake registers this information, feeling like an absolute dick. Great, he deserves it. “Don’t fucking come to my house tonight.” 

Jake spends the next five hours inside his car, arms and head resting on the steering wheel. How has he messed up so much? Today was the day. He was going to tell you the truth, and there wouldn't be any secrets left between them. Not anymore. 

But fucking Jake Seresin had to open up his big mouth.  

He grabs his phone, taking a deep breath before sending a text to Mav. 

Ames and Mav are glad that you punched him. He really deserves it. He's been scolded by both of them for hours now.

"When you punched Rooster a while ago, I was glad," Ames explains, filling up Jake’s glass of water. "But now? I want to go and give her a round of applause." 

"Yeah, yeah. I know I deserve it, don't remind me." Jake lets his head fall against the table. The two of them are sitting outside the bar, in one of the benches, Mav has gone inside to help Penny with the new customers. "I'm gonna need a miracle now. She won't forgive me." 

"Let's remember that she still carries her wedding rings around." She points out, playing with Jake's hair. 

"How did you find out?" Jake's voice comes out muffled.

"Red showed them to Nat, Penny saw them and sent us a text. I've been carefully trying to take a picture of them since she told me. And one day she fell asleep on the couch, Liam had been playing with them…" 

"He likes shiny things," Jake mutters to himself, that sentence making so much sense now. He liked to play with his mom's dog tags because the rings were there. 

"I just took a picture. But instead of making you understand that she's still pretty much in love with you, and faithfully waiting for you to come back, it had the opposite effect." 

He lifts his head, realizing that he said all those stupid things literally one hour after Amelia sent him that photo. "I'm an asshole." 

"Congrats, it took you only…" She checks her phone. "Shit, it's almost midnight." 

"Already?" Jake grabs his phone from his pocket. It had been silent all day. 

He gets up from the bench in a swift motion, the glass of water falling over the table. "Jake, what the fuck?" 

He unlocks the phone and calls you, his whole body frozen in pure terror. 

Not his kid. 

Everything but him. 

"Red?" He can hear Liam crying. It breaks his heart into a million pieces. 

"Oh my god Jake, thank God. Liam has a high fever, and the fucking car isn't working, and…” You're trying to calm Liam, but he can hear you crying. You must be so scared. Jake grabs his car keys and runs to his car for the second time in one month. 

Jake knows he has to be the big person now. He needs to keep his cool and not fuck this up. His son needs him. "Hey, hey. Honey, listen to me, okay? I'm at the Hard Deck. Just give me a few minutes, and I'll be with you. I'm gonna call Bob and check if his wife is working tonight." 

"Shhh, Liam. I know it hurts, but we're gonna make it stop, okay? Dada's coming." You choke on your words, and he doesn't want to end the call, but he needs to. He needs to call Bob.

"I'm gonna hang now. I'll be there soon." 

"Hurry, please." 

You hang up, and he scrolls down his recent calls to look for Bob. 

"Man, I don't want to talk to you right now." Bob quickly says, angry at Jake’s behavior. 

"Bob, please. Liam’s sick. Is Doc working?" 

"Yes, she is. Take him to the hospital; I'll call her." 

"Thanks, Bob. We'll be there soon."

"I hope it's nothing."

Jake hangs up the phone for the second time in minutes and drives like a madman. He can hear Liam's heartbreaking cries in his head. He must be hurting. It could be literally anything. Reuben told him that children get sick often; it's part of their life. But this is his first time going through this. 

When he drove like this last month because you were sick, he felt scared. This is ten times worse. A kid is sick. He's a baby; he doesn't know how to explain things. If he's hurting, he won't say it; he's only going to cry and hope that it goes away. 

And the only thing his parents can do is take him to the ER and hope for the best. 

Once he gets to your home, he sees you. You're wearing the same clothes you had in the gym, and it makes it look like it has only been a few hours since the last time he saw you. The tiredness on your face, however, makes it feel like an eternity. 

“Get in.” He opens the passenger door from the inside, and you run to get inside the car, tears staining your face. Liam keeps crying, his face is red and wet, and when he sees his dad, he makes grabby hands in his direction and calls for him between cries. “Dada needs to drive, bubs. We’re gonna take you to see Doc, okay? You remember Doc?” 

Jake turns the engine on and drives to the hospital. “Is she working?” You ask loudly, trying to make yourself heard over Liam’s cries. 

“Yeah, she’s waiting for us.” 

“Thank god.” 

Once you get to the ER, you see Doc waiting for you, her hand resting on her small baby bump. “There you are.” 

“Aren’t you gonna get into trouble for this?” 

“Pediatrics is empty. Follow me.” 

Doc leads you to one of the children’s rooms in the ER. You try to leave Liam in bed, but he doesn’t want to let go of you. Jake hands him a plushie, and Liam’s attention is diverted long enough for Doc to check his temperature. “Has he been eating well lately?” 

“Warlock told me that Liam didn’t eat all his morning snacks, and he didn’t want to eat dinner early.” You explain, playing with your fingers. Jake takes your hand between his, squeezing it tightly. 

“It’s okay, relax.” He whispers, and you nod. 

“Has he been angry or distracted?” Doc is now looking at Liam’s ears. 

“Not really.” 

“Has he been rubbing his ear?” 

You think for a moment. “Yeah. He’s been doing that all afternoon.” 

She nods and grabs her tablet, writing down everything. “It’s just an ear infection. He rubs his ear, hoping to get rid of the pain.” 

Jake and you both sigh with relief. Ear infections are very common. “You must think I’m an idiot for not noticing and overreacting like this.” 

Doc smiles and hugs Red. “You did what you had to do. Your kid was in pain, and you didn’t know what to do, so you went to the doctor. That’s what good parents do.” 

“Thank you, Doc.” Jake says when she turns to hug him. 

“Any time. I’m gonna get some painkillers for him. Wait here. You’ll be able to leave in a minute.” She leaves you alone, Liam more calm now that he has a new toy to play with, but silent tears still run down his face. 

“I’m sorry you had to run to my house for an ear infection.” You mutter under your breath, your gaze fixed on Liam's hair. 

“I should be the one apologizing here, sweets. I was supposed to be there with you.” Jake’s thumb caresses your knuckles; the action melts you inside. You’ve missed him so much. Being close to him Touching him. Feeling him. 

“You’re cute, but you’re not cute when you’re jealous.” You say, somehow make him chuckle. 

He lifts his eyes and locks them with yours in an honest, poignant stare. “You’re the only thing I have left, Red. You and Liam. I was so scared to lose you both. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“Jake…” 

Doc enters the room, medicine in hand. “Okay, buddy, I’m gonna give you this, and once you get home, you’re gonna feel so much better.” She pushes the oral syringe into Liam’s mouth, who takes the medicine like a good boy. “That’s it. Here’s the name of the medicine I just gave him.” 

You look at the paper. “Yeah, I have this one at home.” 

“Perfect then. It’s gonna kick in very soon. He will fall asleep soon, too. His body is really tired from all the crying.” Doc kisses Liam’s head. “I hope to see you soon under much better circumstances.” 

“Thank you so much, Doc. You’re the best.” Jake hugs her again and takes Liam. 

“Don’t mention it. I’ll call Bob and tell him it’s nothing, okay? Go home and rest. You both look like you need it.” She gives you a sympathetic smile and accompanies you to the door, waving to a sleepy Liam, who is now resting in his dad’s arms. 

“I think he’s gonna fall asleep.” Jake whispers, and you look at him. Yeah, he has that tired look in his eyes. 

“I’ll drive.” 

He frowns. “You sure?” 

“Yeah, it’s okay. I’ll drive.” 

“He’s asleep.” You whisper, sitting next to Jake on the sofa. The room is dark, with the only source of light coming from the streetlight on the other side of the street. 

Jake’s head rests against the back of the sofa. “You should go to sleep, too. I’ll stay here in case he wakes up.” 

You shake your head and start crying. “I’m sorry, Jake.” 

“Hey, hey,” He takes your face between his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “What are you apologizing for?” 

“I called you crying like a crazy woman, and all that happened was that Liam had an ear infection.” 

Jake shushes you and hugs you tightly. “No, that’s not what happened. A good mom called the not-so-good dad and asked for help when their kid wasn’t feeling good.” 

“You’re a good dad, Jake.” You state, not leaving room for doubts. He is a good dad, and he needs to know that. 

“But I’m not a good man.” He retorts, separating himself from your body, even if that’s exactly the opposite of what he wants to do. 

You sigh, leaning against the sofa. “Jake, you said some stupid things. And you apologized. I can’t imagine how you must have felt when you suddenly encountered yourself as part of a family, and then your brain tells you that some prick is trying to steal them away from you.” 

Jake snorts. “You called Cyclone a prick?” 

“Cycunt suits him better.” You smirk, and Jake swears he could kiss you. “Look, I know he was flirting with me, but I thought that if I didn’t say anything, he would stop.” 

“Nah, it doesn’t work that way. Men are idiots. Ignore us, and we’ll think that you’re trying to play hard to get. Say no, and we’ll think you’re saying yes. Be completely obvious, and we’ll think that you’re not interested at all.” 

“And you say that women are difficult.” 

“That’s why you’re the ones giving birth, sweets. You’re better than us in every single aspect.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you. “You’re not a bad man, Jake. The only bad thing you’ve done is easy to fix.” 

Jake looks at his hands for a second, deep in thought. “I’m gonna need something strong.” 

“Tequila? Mickey gave me a bottle.” 

“Tequila works.” 

You get up and go to the kitchen, coming back in an instant with two glasses and the bottle. Jake grabs the bottle and fills the glasses, clinking them before downing it in one shot. 

“Okay. You want the truth? Here’s the truth.”

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[midnight-soulless-system]

I need someone to make a medical show that's basically just about my mother. A nurse who's actually good at their job, but to them what they do is the bare minimum but they got a lot of awards and praise and the main character is just like "bitch, asking you if you want a cup of ice with your water makes my job easier and if I ask you if you're uncomfortable or want more pillows you won't call me later. Comforting the family is part of my job. I absolutely want to hear about how you killed your 3 ex husbands, gertrude, and yes hear is how I make my chai. Fuck all of the doctors and most of these nurses suck ass so let me train you so that you don't suck. Welcome to the hospital, don't be petty and start drama please i am too old for this. why are you whining this is literally your fault doctor, if you just listened to me we wouldn't be here. Also all medical dramas suck because of the medical innacuracies. I'm also highly offensive to EVERYONE so my offensiveness cancels out, and black people love me for some reason even though I'm white"

It isn't even a want this is a NEED. I need a medically accurate medical drama just following my mother's weird af hospital life. Please 😭

[arveral]

We recuperated this document from the archive in relation to the subject known as Cross

[Medical report]

-Date: november 10, 2010, 22:37

-Doctor responsible of the evaluation: Carl kennings

Medical center: st harland

[Basic information about the patient]

- Name: Jonathan heikkinen

- age at the time: 21

- gender: Male

- nationality: Finnish

-Id number : 6582311

-other notable information: has been in psychistric treatment since moving to the united states

[Description]

On november 10 at 22:37 Jonathan heikkinen was brought into the HR of St Harland medical center in a unconscious state induced by blood loss and showing multiple lacerations and cut wounds on the face, arms and stomach area ranging from 3mm to 1'5 cm wide, most notable one is on the center of the face with the shape of an X

After the patient was stabilized a more in depth examination took place:

- face injuries where done while the patient was unconscious

- the lacerations and cut wounds present on both arms where less severe than the ones in the face and stomach area

- near the neck area there were clear signs of strangulation

-no vital organs where damaged

The people who brought him in were called and asked if they knew anything about how he ended up like that, this was their statement:

"we were doing a concert in a venue near [REDACTED], after the concert ended we stayed a bit interacting with the public Jonathan said that he was too tired for it and that he would wait for us at home

After we finished, we were making our way to our apartment and thats when we found him with his back laid on a tree unconscious and loosing Blood quickly , we tried to stop or reduce the bleeding and then brought him here as fast as we could"

[Procedures]

He'll be staying at this center untill he regains consciousness, visits are allowed only to close friends and family

Local authorities will also be contacted as we have evidence to believe that the injuries could be the product of a murder attempt

//

Idk how to write medical reports and english isnt my first lenguage, so i apologize if i have any gramatical errors or innacuracies

Tell me what u guys think abt him and if i should keep this document like format in comments , also reblog if u like this kind of format

[fractiflos]

New fic!

Summary:

Yoichi only has one year to live.

And he wishes that meant he was about to be the protagonist of a YA novel, but he was told that because his cancer is now terminal. With only one year left, he's determined to make the most of it with the help of a man he met at a gas station. Maybe he and Kudou are moving too fast, but fast is all they have.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)

Relationships: Kudou | Second One For All User/Yoichi | First One For All User (My Hero Academia), Sensei | All For One & Yoichi | First One For All User, Midoriya Inko & Yoichi | First One For All User, Bruce | Third OFA User & Kudou | Second OFA User & Yoichi | First OFA User (My Hero Academia)

Characters: Yoichi | First One For All User (My Hero Academia), Sensei | All For One, Kudou | Second One For All User (My Hero Academia), Bruce | Third One For All User (My Hero Academia), Midoriya Inko, Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki

Additional Tags: Lung Cancer, Terminal Illness, Angst, Romance, Probably a bunch of medical innacuracies, Young Midoriya Izuku, Young Bakugou Katsuki, Sensei | All For One is Midoriya Hisashi, Specific warnings in each chapter, mentions of bullying, mentions of sexual harrassment, Doomed Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Getting to Know Each Other, Texting

Language: English

Words: 7,976

Chapters: 1/12

[malkaviian]

you know, something i was thinking about when trying to sleep last night, is that with season 2 and z3r0 no longer being canon, we're back at the stage when freddy took medications for controlling fred, at least if im not remembering wrong (i should rewatch the series up to that point).

and that makes me wonder, what is edd00 going to do with the entirety of fred's existence, given that he's now the only canon shadow? will edd00 still go through the magic route, and explain his existence with magic? or go the not magic (idk what to call it) route, and so he becomes the manifestation of freddy's hidden desires, or a more well researched (hopefully) representation of a dissociative identity disorder, given that the series are going to be a bit more serious now?

personally i'm kind of hoping is the latter, but mostly because as a member of a dissociative system, i crave representation that isn't just "heheee this person seems totally normal but actually they have a SECOND EVIL PERSONALITY that is a SERIAL KILLER!!!!!!!!!11111", and i think the relationship between freddy and fred is something we as a system can kind of relate to, or at least lilith (the host of the system and owner of the account) and i (dylan, headmate) can.

i don't personally think you can control headmates with just meds (nor i think is necessary at all to control them in every case), otherwise i wouldn't be here typing this rn, but every system is different and honestly i don't mind a bit of innacuracy if we get better representation than what we're used to. fred is, at the end of the day, just some guy with his own feelings and thoughts, who happens to share a body with freddy, the host of their system. that's how it is with a lot of systems. we're all different, some have roles, others don't. maybe fred's role is to channel emotions freddy is too afraid to show or even admit, we will see. but i think we could get an interesting result if we go this way.

[viennakarma]

The Lucky One (2)

Part 2 (of 2) of The Lucky One | Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Summary: Formula One had been your dream and your goal ever since you were a kid, and you did all you had to in order to achieve it. Between ups and downs, Sebastian becomes a steady presence despite being your complicated frenemy relationship. Until everything comes crashing down. Formula One gives, but Formula One takes.

Word count: 5.5k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, reader is mirrorball coded, coming of age, cursing, romance, both are assholes, smut, +18, complicated feelings, rivals to lovers, crash, major injury, medical innacuracies, bittersweet ending, not beta read; t.w: brief christian horner scene.

Relationship: Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Note: This is fully inspired by the song, and throughout my writing process I realized it also fits mirrorball. This one may require some tissues (especially in part 2). Everything is fictional and I mean no disrespect to Sebastian or his family (they don't exist in this story). I'm sorry it took me forever to come back to it, but there it is, hope I don't disappoint Not proofread. Comments and feedback are welcomed.

Find me on Twitter!

Ending whatever complicated fling was going on with you and Sebastian was the right, rational call, you knew that. But your body, your heart, regretted it every couple of weeks as you laid awake in bed, plagued by memories, need and longing.

You decided to just do your best during that season. You couldn’t fight for the championship anymore, but you still wanted a great season since the following year would be your last in the current contract with Red Bull. A great performance could secure a renewal or even the interest of other teams.

Sebastian and you still saw each other frequently during race weekends, your eyes always finding each other across the crowd. He was consumed with guilt, of having been blinded by his own privileges that he didn’t see the struggle that was being a woman in Formula One. He vowed to never be so far from reality like that ever again.

He wanted to stop you, to talk to you again, to try and fix things, but there was this constant mix of shame and uncertainty about your reaction if he tried reaching out again. Sometimes he would look at you from afar, and he’d see something in your eyes, something that felt like the same longing he had. Some other times, you looked at him like you hated him.

Eventually in the third race to the last in Bahrain, he couldn’t take it anymore. There was this string tugging at his heart, begging to see you and talk everything through. During the Friday afternoon, between Free Practices, he marched around decidedly, looking for you. He walked into the garage and no one seemed to mind his presence as he went straight into your driver’s room. He barged in, not bothering to knock. You were sitting on the couch, drinking Red Bull and going through some papers. You frowned and stood up as you saw him.

“What are you-”

“Stop…” He interrupted with both hands up, “don’t say anything just yet.”

You frowned but didn’t look particularly angry, your frown softening into a stunned silence. Sebastian sighed, breathing slowly, he had a plan and a speech when he was marching there, but now, looking at your face, your pretty eyes, he had lost all sense of reason.

“We’ll talk about everything, rationally, like adults. Okay?” He offered, and you slowly nodded, unsure but also willing to try, “Not now, because the race and everything. But- this monday, okay? After the race, after we get a good night’s sleep. We’ll go to a nice restaurant, and we’ll talk over good food. A real date this time, no hiding anymore,” He said, his words pouring out fast, like he wasn’t truly thinking about what to say, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement, “Monday night?”

“Monday night,” You nodded, no anger in your eyes, just a glimmer of hope.

“Good,” He nodded and just left.

You stood there, speechless, but with a disbelief smile on your face, looking almost silly. Despite the anger you felt the last time you two actually spoke, there was this undeniable magnetic pull between you, and you didn’t seem to be able to be away from him just as he wasn’t able to be away from you.

The whole weekend, you felt that nervous energy, almost bouncing up the walls, you attributed it to the race, but you knew it was more than that. The car had been great the whole week, you qualified P2, your first real possibility of win in a few months, which would be a blast to finish the season winning one of the last races.

You were smiling as you waved to the fans during the driver’s parade, your first hopeful and excited pre-race interview in quite some time. As you put on your gloves and helmet, you couldn’t help but feel some sense of purpose. You would give your very best in that race.

You just didn’t know it would be your last time behind a Formula 1 wheel.

The race was great, it started alright and most of it you kept your P2, even after a failed attempt of undercut, you still managed your P2, but then came the moment, the point of no return in your career, the very moment that changed the trajectory of your life forever.

After turn 15, you had finally managed to catch up to the P1, less than half a second behind him, and despite his car being fast, you could try and overtake him with the DRS. You pushed the fastest you could in the straight, closing and closing the distance, almost succeeding in overtaking, but as the DRS zone ended, you realized you’d have to wait another lap to try again. But then, as you pushed the pedal to brake and slow down into turn 1, the car kept going. So many things happened in the span of mere seconds, but they felt like ages to you.

“I’ve got no brakes,” You said into the radio as you tried braking. Then you tried engine braking and the security system braking. None of it worked.

With quick thinking, you decided to face the turn that way and bear it. You'd probably lose a lot of grip with the rear, but if you hit the curbs it’d help you slow down and just drive to a stop. You kept trying the brake pedals all the way to the turn, when suddenly, the tyres locked up and everything happened really fast.

You weren’t able to turn, the tyres locked and you had no way to slow down the car. All you did was brace as you went full force straight into the barriers, the impact so hard it made your car split in half. You blacked out for a couple of seconds and then came to again, a ringing in your ears as you tried to situate yourself, a mix of excruciating pain and numbness, pulsing hard, almost keeping you in and out of it.

Pain. Numb. Pain. Numb.

You tried to stay awake, hearing your name being called in the distance, the numbness giving each time more space to the excruciating pain but you couldn’t identify where it came from.

“Talk to me! Are you okay?” You were only half aware of the voice in the radio, and you blindly reached for the button with shaky hands.

“H-help,” your voice was shaky, hoarse and so unlike yourself.

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t bring yourself to even reply again, even more aware of the pain now, barely keeping your head up and your eyes opened. Teary eyed, a distant, cold part of you knew it was over. It was over forever.

Then you blacked out.

-

“Sebastian, red flag, red flag,” His engineer called, as if he had not seen all the red flags throughout the circuit.

He drove back to the boxes, hopping off the car as he saw other drivers do the same, he marched into the Ferrari garage, worried.

“Is everyone okay? Who was it?” He asked, as he removed his helmet and balaclava.

The grief faces around him didn’t help, and Sebastian felt a sense of dread as he turned to the closest screen showing the live coverage of the race. The transmission was a helicopter shot of your car into the wall, or a better description would be two piles of wreckage of your car as the marshals rushed towards it. He felt like he could puke, despair spreading through his chest.

“What did she say? What happened?” He asked anyone willing to answer, his eyes glued to the screen. As if on cue, a replay of your crash played out on the screen.

“S-she asked for help. She didn’t reply again after that.” Someone said, somber, and a lump lodged in Sebastian’s throat.

He kept staring at the video, then a replay of your radio also came through, the despair as you realized you had no brakes, the urgency in your engineer’s voice as he asked you to try other means. And the faint “Help” you said after one of the ugliest crashes Sebastian had ever seen. He had never been a religious guy, but at that moment, he prayed. His eyes glued to the screen as the marshals started removing pieces surrounding you and the car, and the ambulance arrived. They started checking you and were about to pull you out of the wreckage.

Then, the cameras were cut off, showing the drivers and everyone in the garages. Sebastian knew that for the transmission to stop showing, it meant the crash was really bad, it meant that however they were pulling you out, it was ugly. Sebastian felt a shiver up his spine as he thought about the possibility they were removing your dead body from there.

With that, he marched out of the Ferrari garage and towards RB, and he found other drivers were already making their way there too, everyone desperate for any news. A few minutes later it was reported that you had been taken by helicopter to the nearest hospital. Sebastian breathed again as they reported you were alive, but unconscious.

The race was interrupted officially a few minutes later, Sebastian and Lewis along with a few other drivers were still waiting by the Red Bull garage for more news on you. Slowly, everyone was sent away when the news came from the hospital that you were hurt, but not in a life threatening situation and you’d stay in the hospital for observation.

That was when Sebastian finally left, a little shaken as he went through his post race duties.

The following morning, after a tossing and turning almost sleepless night, the official representatives confirmed that you were alright but had unfortunately fractured a leg, and would not take part in the remaining two races of the season.

Even after he got news on you, and there was this sense of relief that you’d recover, the knot in his stomach remained, his gut saying that something was off. But he brushed it off, thinking it was just lingering anxiety from the accident.

He wanted to talk to you, see you. He got your number from Lewis and texted you but you never replied and he kept trying. A few days later, Lewis commented with him that you hadn’t replied to his text either. And later they found out you actually had not replied to any of the drivers or anyone from the Formula 1 teams.

After Abu Dhabi, when the season ended, he got a hold of your manager, leaving an office in the Red Bull garage. He stopped her, gently taking a hold of her arm.

“How’s she doing? Do you have any news on her?” He pressed.

“She’s alright, still recovering.”

“Why hasn’t she answered her phone?”

“She’s recovering and took a break from social media and the internet, so she hasn’t been able to communicate well. I’m sure once she’s fully recovered she’ll get back to you.”

“Do you have a home telephone, e-mail or even an address where we can reach her? See her?” He asked, almost desperate.

“I’m sorry. Just give her some time, I’m sure she will come around.”

With that, your manager left quickly, holding a small stack of files with both hands, the “classified” stamp boldly branding it. Sebastian kept trying to contact you, failing miserably each time.

When the Prize Giving ceremony came, he was bouncing with nervous energy, hoping and praying he would get to see you again. If anything, just to know you’re really okay and well. You didn’t show up to the ceremony, but suddenly you were awarded the Personality of the Year award.

Then, your face showed up on the big screen, and Sebastian felt his breath stuck in his throat. It was a simple, regular video of you, you were wearing a pretty dress and your hair was in an up-do. Your face had makeup like you always wore in these kinds of events, pretty eyes and big lashes, and a scarlet lipstick. Your face looked healthy, despite your eyes lacking its usual brightness.

“Hi, everyone!” Came your recorded voice with a smile, “It’s such an honor to receive this award. Thank you to everyone who voted for me and congratulations to all other drivers on the season. I’m well and recovering, and I’m grateful for all the well wishes all of you sent me these past weeks, I truly appreciate them.” Your smile faded almost imperceptibly, but Sebastian noticed as you inhaled softly, like you were resigned to something, “I will take this opportunity to let you know that I’m retiring from Formula 1 from now on. I’m grateful for all the opportunities, all the dreams achieved and the amazing people I got to know and work with. Thank you very much.”

As the video cut off, there was a stunned silence since absolutely no one saw that coming. No one expected you to announce your retirement like this. So suddenly, especially considering you had one more year of contract with your team. And you were also very young, just 28.

The event went on but Sebastian couldn’t move on from your video, from seeing your face and hearing your voice again. He went through the motions for the rest of the night, and at some point, Lewis stopped him to chat about how glad he was that you looked healthy. But Sebastian couldn’t shake off that pit in his stomach.

The following week, once he was done with his postseason duties, he called Lewis and a couple of the drivers you were the closest with. Still, none of them had any news on you, no text, no calls, nothing. He went digging further and found out you lived in Monte Carlo, in the same building as a few other drivers. Desperate for anything he went there personally to look for you. After giving your name and being recognized, the staff member checked on their computer for a moment.

“Unfortunately, she moved out of this building around a week ago.”

“What…?” Sebastian whispered to himself, shocked, “S-she… um, do you know if she moved to another place here in Monaco? Or she moved to another country or something?”

“I don’t have that information, sir,” the woman replied, looking at him with a smile apologetically.

Sebastian nodded and left, helpless.

Time went on, the world spun, and he never heard about you again. The holidays came and went, and a new season started. People still spoke about you, whispers about your retirement and the accident, many conspiracies theories about why you had disappeared. But oddly enough, the FIA and the F1 representatives never spoke much about you.

Not seeing you again was eating him alive, especially whenever he remembered the last time you had talked, the promise of a future that never came. One time, he went to the Red Bull to try and get any information about you. He kept bothering the staff for months, everyone including Christian, who was the one to put a firm stop to his nonsense of bothering the team’s staff about you.

“I need to talk to her, it’s important,” Sebastian pleaded.

“Have you considered that maybe she doesn’t want to be bothered? That she doesn’t want to speak with you or anyone for that matter?” Christian said, “This stops now, Sebastian. Stop bothering my team about this or I’ll have to go to Todt.”

Sebastian deflated, feeling defeated, only nodded, walking away.

He still talked about you on occasion, mentioning a battle in passing, or whenever the only woman to win a Formula 1 championship was mentioned. Sometimes he hoped you were watching, that you could see the longing in his eyes, that you’d feel something and reach out to him. And then later, he felt silly, stupid for wishing so.

Late at night, he stared at the ceiling, trying to commit to memory everything that had ever happened between you. The fights, the shouts but even more the chats, the making love and the silly conversations you two had late at night, your naked bodies covered by a thin blanket as you chatted about anything and everything. He always thought about your hands mindlessly drawing on his skin, you two drifting off to sleep, and then one of you sneaking out in the middle of the night. No goodbyes to make it easier.

And now the lack of goodbyes felt like an open wound for him.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five years passed and Sebastian believed he had learned to deal with your absence, with the lack of closure. But it was a lie he kept telling himself, even if every year, he kept trying your phone number, your email, sending texts and notes, until your phone number was discontinued and probably sold again, for a new owner and your email stopped receiving and his letters would not go through. He never changed his own number, expecting you to eventually call.

When he announced his retirement, a small part of him hoped you’d reach out once you got the news. You never did.

After his announcement, he decided to resort to desperate measures and hired a private investigator. And finally, after a couple months since the end of his last season, he got news on you.

Ben, his P.I., got an image of you in a café in a quaint little town, you sitting down, sipping some coffee and reading a book. The image was a little blurry, probably taken from a long distance, but it looked like you.

Now, Sebastian was retired and had free time, and he immediately packed a suitcase and went to the town. He arrived there on a friday morning, and after checking in at a small but comfortable inn, he went straight to the café. Ben had told him the photo was taken in the late morning, so since very early, he went to the café and decided to wait for you. Ordering a coffee and a muffin, he waited.

And waited. And waited.

Hours and hours and a bunch of coffees and muffins later, the staff were looking at him strangely, and one of the ladies looked at him with pity, warning they were about to close.

“Were you waiting for someone, boy?” She asked.

“Yes, uh- a friend,” He sighed, standing up. He said your name, and the woman seemed to recognize the name, “She’s this tall,” He gestured, showing your height, and gave a brief physical description of you, and the woman nodded.

“I know her! Very sweet but also a bit stubborn.”

“I thought I might find her here, but…” He shrugged, giving his best puppy look to the older woman.

It didn’t take much for the woman to give him your address, and despite the urge to go straight there, Sebastian knew it was late, signaled by the café closing and he knew small towns like this usually went to sleep early. So he went to the inn, taking a shower and going to bed, trying to sleep, trying to get to the following day.

But his racing heart was making it impossible to sleep, and he laid on the bed, thinking of you, going in and off sleep, dreaming of you.

In the morning, he had breakfast and went to your address in a moment that wasn’t too early in the morning. Your house was a medium sized family looking home, cozy, a big front and backyard. It looked like somewhere to have a family in and to grow old.

He walked up to your porch, drying his hands on his jeans and before he could hesitate, he rang the doorbell.

He wondered if you would welcome him, at least as a friend. His nerves wondered if you had gotten married, had a family, and he was just a pathetic and creepy guy for never moving on from you. He wondered if-

You opened the door, freezing the moment your eyes met his. Sebastian looked at your face, still as stunning as ever, showing small signs of aging, but they suited your face beautifully. Your hair was longer, natural, and your face looked healthy, with a beautiful sunny hue to it.

“Principessa”

“Sebastian…” You said, shocked, “What- How…?”

“Can I come in?” He asked. You nodded, awkwardly scooting away from the doorway so he could come inside.

“I- do you want some tea?” You offered, unsure of how to feel with his presence so out of the blue.

“Yeah,” He nodded, following you inside and sitting on an armchair as you signaled him to. A small teapot on the coffee table between you, “I’ve been looking for you. Why did you disappear?” He asked, his voice almost tinged with despair.

You tried to think of what to say for a moment, pouring two mugs of tea to gather your thoughts, to grapple with the fact that Sebastian Vettel, your rival, lover and friend was there, suddenly, after five long years.

“What happened to you?” He asked again, his voice almost in pain.

“That crash happened…” You said, hands around the warm mug.

“It was worse than they made it seem, wasn’t it?” Sebastian said, a knowing look on his face when you nodded, getting up and slowly walking to a drawer on your bookshelf, he noticed how you favored one leg. You pulled a file from the drawer and walked back to the couch, handing it to him.

Silently, Sebastian opened the file, going through medical reports of you, all dated back to five years ago on that fateful night. You looked like you were avoiding looking at the files, busying yourself with preparing tea for the both of you. Sebastian read through the papers, and what caught his eyes were an x-ray of your knee, the one you were limping now, and a transverse fracture of your spine.

“Oh, my god…” Sebastian whispered, horrified. He stopped on a picture of you laying in a hospital bed, eyes red and puffy from crying that weren’t the main focus of the image, instead it was your knee, immobilized, held in place by a lot of metal pins, “What did they do to you…?”

“The crash, it bursted my knee. I almost lost my leg… Fracture, torn ligament, it was hanging by a thread. And my spine, a fracture that could’ve hindered me to a wheelchair for the rest of my life. It was brutal, my knee took the brunt of the impact, and my back was the split car…” You explained, almost robotically, like you had rehearsed that speech, your eyes were wet as you fought the tears, “They said I was lucky. Lucky I didn’t lose a leg, lucky I didn’t end up paraplegic…” You sighed, swallowing the tears, “They said I could never go back to a racing car again, because the G Forces could put too much strain on my injuries, not to mention, if I injured these two spots again, it would be risking more permanent damages. I was lucky I pulled through.”

There was bitterness in your voice, and how could you not feel bitter about that? How could you not feel angry and sad and mourn the life you once had. A life where racing had been everything to you.

“I’m so sorry,” Sebastian reached for your hand, his expression completely crestfallen, “We had seen how that car was completely unreliable, how sometimes it worked and sometimes it was a hazard to you. I never thought it could end this badly…”

“And… I’m sorry I disappeared. I know you tried contacting me for a while, but… I just couldn’t see anything related to Formula 1. I couldn’t be near all that without feeling a gut wrenching pain, without feeling anger for anything related to motorsports… I just had to get away from all that.” You explained, looking lost and Sebastian could understand your pain. Despite the times he felt angry and sad for your disappearance, now that he knew about your reason to leave completely… he understood, “I’m sorry. I know you and some other drivers tried reaching out, but I just… I wasn’t in the right mind.”

“I understand. I can’t even imagine what you went through…” he said, his voice so understanding that a lump lodged into your throat, “how was recovery?”

“About a couple of years between the back fracture and the knee… A few surgeries, lots of physiotherapy. Lots of pain and sleepless nights…”

“Did you think about fighting, suing…?” He asked softly.

“I did… I was so angry. I wanted to sue all of them, the team, the FIA, the president. But then…” You paused for a second, “It’d drag out for god knows how long, they would surely bring all the weapons, smear campaigns, defamation, and… My image as a driver, as a person, would just be even more exploited. And I was so tired, I just wanted to heal away from all that.”

“I was so worried for a while. One day I saw your manager leaving the Red Bull hospitality…”

“There was a deal. They offered me an absurd amount of money for me to not sue them, to not bring to light what happened. They also paid for all my medical bills. I also made sure they would review the safety regulations, so no driver would have to risk their life like that again. And I know you’ll say it’s not fair, that they got away with it, but… I was just so tired. I spent my whole life playing a role, being the image they wanted… that tragic ending to my career was all I got? I genuinely wanted to disappear for the longest time after that,” You said, voice cracking for a moment, “Racing was my driving force and suddenly it was ripped away from me.”

“I wish I could’ve been there for you.” He whispered, which made your eyes water for a bit, but you looked at the ceiling, willing the tears away.

“I was a mess, there would be nothing you could do for me…” You said with a devastatingly sad little smile, “And I kept myself completely blocked from Formula 1.”

“Do you still feel pain?” He asked suddenly after a few seconds of silence.

“Physically?” You shook your head, “Sometimes a little discomfort when I’m in places where the weather is very cold.”

“And emotionally?” He whispered and you looked away, swallowing.

“You’re a racer, you can imagine…” That’s all you said.

Sebastian nodded softly, he couldn’t imagine being stopped from doing the one thing he loved the most right in his prime, in the heights of his career like you. And in one fleeting moment having that all stripped away. Your ability to do what you trained your whole life for.

“How-” He cleared his throat, deciding to change topics, “How are you living here? Enjoying?”

“Yeah, lots of free time and new hobbies…” You said, looking grateful for the change in topic, “Wanna see my garden?”

“Sure,” he nodded and you both stood up, he let you lead, his eyes dropping to your slight limp, and the constant sound of the cane hitting the floor with your steps.

You took him around your garden, where there were plants, flowers and even a small cultivation of vegetables. Everything was well cared for and groomed, there was even a small greenhouse where you guided him inside. He could barely look away from your face, your pretty eyes, your lovely lips and beautiful face that only got prettier with time.

“And here…” You stopped inside the greenhouse, “Some plants that are a little more sensitive… Tomatoes, some strawberries…” You grabbed a small clipper and handed him a fresh strawberry.

He stared at you, a silly smile on his face, watching as you grabbed a strawberry and took a small bite, the juices coating your lips in a pinkish color. His eyes dropped to your hand, noticing the absence of a wedding ring, or an engagement ring.

“Do you have a significant other?” He asked, interrupting your ramble for a moment, which made you blink, blushing slightly.

“No, I-” You paused, timid, “No…”

He walked closer, entering your personal space, his hand on your jaw, holding gently, his thumb slowly wiping the leftover strawberry juice on your lower lip.

You looked at him, tempted, looking like you wanted to risk everything. But then you scolded your face, walking away from him and back to your house. He just followed you, until you two were back in your living room. He went after you, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Sebastian,” you sighed, unsure of what to say.

“What about us?” he asked, and there was so much unsaid, but you didn’t need words when you could see it all in his eyes.

And despite wanting so badly to give in, to give a real shot to something you never got the chance to explore, you also knew you were still a mess, and being away from Formula 1 for so long, you didn’t want to bring back all the bad feelings you had regarding it. It would put an even bigger strain on you two.

Things were so complicated now, you didn’t tell him you never stopped thinking about him. That you were haunted by what-ifs, that you would have vivid dreams of a family and a future with him. You didn’t tell him about all the sweaty nights when the memories of your shared passion kept you awake. And you didn’t tell him the last thing you saw before passing out after the crash were his shiny blue eyes.

“I’ve been away from motorsports for so long, and I don’t know if-”

“I retired. Last year,” He interrupted you, “and it won’t matter to us. We have so much else to explore…”

“Sebastian… I’m a mess. I look okay now, but I still have bad days. Awful days. And it’s ugly.” You said, voice clipped. Like you weren’t allowing yourself to want, to just take a leap and do what you have yearned for so long.

“I don’t care, don’t you see that I lo-”

“You need to go,” You said walking to the door to open it, as Sebastian paused like a dejavú, “Leave, Sebastian.”

He swallowed, remembering that time you said the exact same words that sent him away. That time he did exactly that, respecting your wishes instead of his own. Gulping, Sebastian took a step forward and turned around on your porch, walking away. He stopped midway to his car, looking over his shoulder. You were still rooted to the spot, watching him. He looked down at his own feet.

“Fuck it,” He muttered under his breath.

He marched back, long strides up to your porch, so fast that you could barely register when he wrapped his arms around you and picked you up in a hug, his face nuzzled into your neck, breathing in.

“No,” he whispered against your skin, “I’m not letting you go again. Ever.”

And then finally, finally, you hugged him back, tightly around his neck silently because there was no need for words, a silent understanding of finding each other again. Of having someone like him, who fought for you, to find you even when you thought you shouldn’t be found. When you broke the hug, Sebastian held your face with both hands, his thumb gently wiping the tears you had shed during the hug.

“I love you, Principessa.”

“Even now? Even after all this time?” You asked, voice shaky but your eyes with a glimmer of hope.

“Even after all this time,” He nodded, blue eyes shining in happiness, a barely contained smile on his face.

“I love you too, by the way,” You said, shyly and hiding your face into his chest.

“No, that won’t do,” He laughed, a playful cocky chuckle, “I need you to look me in the eyes when you say it,” He tangled his fingers on your hair at the nape, tugging gently so he could make you look up at him, when you did, there was this playful look in his face and you almost melted right there.

“I love you, Sebastian,” You smiled, feeling silly. Sebastian nodded, leaning forward to peck your cheek, his lips slowly descending your jaw and neck.

“Let me stay,” He asked, his lips brushing your skin and making you shudder, closing your eyes.

“Only if you stay forever,” You smiled, and he started walking you backwards, entering your house again, his hands on your hips helping you stay up as he gently nipped your neck.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” He said, kicking the door closed behind him, “You also owe me a date, Princess. Remember?” He gently laid you down on the sofa, slowly laying down on top of you, “And I intend to charge it, with all the interest fees…” He joked, pressing a soft kiss to your chin.

-----

TAGLIST: @ririgy @ironmaiden1313 @w4ltmeister @vellicora @hopefulsophie @chloeannabelle @rebelatbay @crashingwavesofeuphoria @zoeyjadetice2010

[hearts401]

before anyone tells me anything about my medical inaccuracies relating to sprained ankles

ive sprained my ankle four times and never been to a doctor for it. im pulling this from my own stupid experiences. "he'd have a brace/cast" idk abt all that im just plopping him in a bed for a few days for plot convenience

[hugh-lauries-bald-spot]

11th

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say?

"WILLINGLY!!! WANTINGLY!!!!"

(this is about letting my partner point out the medical innacuracies in house when we watch it)

[torchickentacos]

ok this has actually been bothering me for a while. Note that everythign I say is my own opinion and while I do think what I have to say holds merit, I do not claim to be an expert in any field I am mentioning here and if you see innacuracies in my statement, feel free to kindly let me know in a reblog and I'll reblog the corrected version. When we discuss ai art, (usage of the word art being left to open ended interpretation and debate since that isn't my point at all), I wish we could kind of section off the areas of artificial intelliegence we're actually talking about and SAY ai ART or ai WRITING instead of ai as a whole (though I understand its shorthand usage, that leads to conflation of it as a whole). Because AI, while very questionable in its usages right now, is more than art and writing.

AI is the screen reader I use in classes to help me read. AI is eye trackers people use for computers when they're immobile. AI is google add-ons that block certain things for visually sensitive people like epileptics. AI is medical pattern collecting and identifying in at-risk populations (which does have implications which I will mention more later). AI is auto captioning services, though they kind of suck half the time and give you very funny but innacurate youtube subtitles (shoutout to 'palkia you son of a bitch', though I think it's edited). It's voice commands for devices for people with limited hand mobility.

I am NOT an AI bootlicker asskisser whatever. I have opinions on ai art and artist ownership, but here's the thing: we can't condemn the term ai in its entirety when it's been such a huge acessibility thing. We can't immediately see someone use the word ai and immediately put them down as a crypto finance nft ai art bro. because GOD i hate nft bro ai whatever nonsense, the people who steal artist's work to put through their algorithms and create copies of it, but ai is also used for so much more and I feel like the current climate around ai is very pinpointed negatively at one aspect of it, but brings down other helpful aspects of it in the process of pointing out the very valid flaws with it. So, if someone skims this and sees me saying 'hey, can we please use some nuance here', I'm just waiting for the 'why are you on their side, ai is terrible, it steals from artists' or 'why do you hate ai, stop being a sjw whateverthefuck' thing when my entire point here is that we need to be able to separate what we're actually talking about here in a meaningful way. You can condemn negative parts of ai that are genuinely concerning for creative folk everywhere WHICH I FUCKING AGREE WITH while also saying that we need to be mindful of the fact that AI also means screen readers, translators, epileptic flash blocker add-ons, and so many other things, and by condemning anyone who uses ai as a whole you are bringing down SO many people with that in the area of effect of your sweeping statements.

TLDR the internet is doing that 'you're either with us or against us' thing and as usual it's marginalized communities, disabled people this time, being used as talking points and what-ifs on both sides instead of our actual input being valued as people who do use other forms of ai.

And we can talk about aspects of accessibility and medical ai in a nuanced way, too. there's definite data collecting implications in medical use of ai and machine learning. There's definite demographic collection and pattern recognition that can be used by medical professionals to misattribute things with more of a focus on data and statistics rather than on how medical statistics are skewed by sociological factors. (for instance, are southern 'people of walmart' rednecks all fat, or is it more in line with impoverished rural communities and food deserts leading to a link in demographic and weight?) There's negativity and hesitation and issues in all branches of AI and this isn't saying medical use AI is perfect because honestly, I'd argue there's more to be worried about with that than creatively used ai. BUT my point stands: you cannot use the term AI as an immediate marker for who's a bad person for supporting it and who isn't, because they very well may support ai as accessibility and condemn ai as an art tool.

[king-casino]

Wanted to point out an innacuracy in one of your drawings. Medic couldn't be weak to apples because he's not a doctor

Gicixgkxkgxgkxit. Some one throws an apple at him and he just adjusts his glasses in an anime pose like "heh....you fool..."