#out of obligation to teenage me

[vegaseatsass]

Just rewatched DFF ep 9 and I really do think this show is so beautifully meticulously artistically written, with themes and layers and so much thoughtful care. I trust wherever it leads, even if it doesn't lead to the places I want most in my heart (PerthNon vs. PheeTan revenge teams at crosshairs, culminating in a heartfelt brotherly reunion, lol if playfully grudging at how much they fucked up each other's plans despite having the same goals, and a Non who has moved on with someone who has life experiences similar enough to his to actually understand him, listen to him, and trust him. But most importantly A HEARTFELT BROTHERLY REUNION). It's just always fun to watch a show where you can expect to be surprised, you can expect to be angry at the characters, you can expect to not get what you want, and you can still expect to appreciate the writing and enjoy the experience. Love to let the story seduce me you see

[garvalhaminho]

heartstopper has a specific talent to make me cry w the second episode of each season

[kutyaharapas]

i dont think my brain can conceptualize love. or at least from the information i gather

[pochapal]

blowing a kiss to my mutuals who i have been sorely neglecting. on account of the Horrors.

[starpros-sunshine]

Also I have to confess when Eichi does the the "I've heard usually people do this and this" or anything in that vein as a statement it's so real to me

[nohkalikai]

pretend i'm oversharing here

[tit-mouse]

Super sonic as something other worldly, something cosmic, or even holy

Star, specifically shooting star, imagery

The contrast between Sonic normally, being a kind and hopeful presence, optimistic for those around him, against being super, going against impossible odds he knows he might not beat, but not trying isn’t an option, he HAS to win, and the intensity the focus the drive for his friends, for the world and everyone in it, the brutality he goes through, the brutality he gives right back

He’s still himself, still in his right mind, but his priority has changed, no longer focusing on the fun of adventure, on encouraging those around him, on keeping up his smile for them, but instead on protecting them, the last ditch effort, the last thing standing between life and death of so many. What kinda weight does that put on his shoulders, holding all of this on his own, being the only person either able or willing to do this

At the end of frontiers when the end shots that giant beam, the one he braces his hands for and holds by himself, until sage uses supremes arms to shield him

For just a split second, you can see him lower his arms and relax, flying backwards, allowing someone else to carry some of that weight

[llycaons]

not that they were on the ships list but some of the boring default m/f ships reminded me of how much I hate wq/jc. like 🤢🤢🤢🤢🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

[bisexual-nightmare]

The more I go to shows alone the more I think people should also do that thing if they’re able. Seriously. Part of it’s my anxiety, I know, but if I ask someone to go with me to something I spend a lot of energy tuned into them and trying to constantly gauge whether or not they’re enjoying it.

But going alone? Yeah, there’s the initial awkward (I don’t know how to exist in spaces very well, it’s a self worth issue, I’m working on it) but when the show starts - I can be immersed in it. Because I’m not worrying about my seat mate, because there isn’t one.

And it’s so freeing.

the saddest sight in the world is a married couple at a musical and the wife is super excited and happy and the husband looks like he was dragged along and he’s making a big deal about how much he doesn’t want to be there and the wife gets embarrassed or ashamed. this isn’t a funny post, it’s actually heartbreaking and i see it happen at like every other musical i attend.

[leatherbookmark]

but also re: lrb, it kindasorta vaguely reminded me of this article. super recommended if you want to spend five minutes in utter bafflement

[mostly-imagines]

Random turn-ons Jason has vs random turn-ons I have

18+

Jason’s

he thinks its really hot when you’re focusing hard on something. its really sweet to him how serious your face gets and how you sometimes bite your lip trying to zero in. his favorite example of this is when you help him shave—you concentrate so hard making sure you wont cut him and that you get every spot.

he absolutely loves it when you undress in front of him casually, the idea that you trust him with seeing you in entirety with no barriers. he tries not to stare but he cant help it. definitely likely to pull you onto his lap before you can get dressed again.

he’s also a sucker for you touching him casually, in any way. touching his arm as you pass him, straightening his hair out, tucking a tag in on his shirt, anything. and if you do it soft enough, sweet enough, and give him that smile—he’s getting hard.

you wearing tank tops is a bit of a guilty pleasure for him, but without the guilt. bonus points if your bra strap is visible. and yeah, he feels like a hormoned teenager with how excited he gets.

seeing you in oversized clothes is another big one. like yeah, obviously seeing you in his clothes gets him hard on sight but honestly you in any clothes that are big on you get him going. yeah, he has a size kink, of course he does.

Mine

why does seeing a man with quick reflexes make me go ooooooh? idk. but he’s catching a glass before it falls off the counter, pulling you out of the way real quick when you’re about to get hit by something, supporting your weight before you even get the chance to fall. i love it

big fan of men wearing sweatshirts/hoodies. i just want him to be comfortable and warm. i also maybe love the idea of slipping underneath it with him when its really cold out and youre pressed right up against his chest and—

idle fidgeting: HOT. why? couldn’t say. but a man being tactile, having good fine motor skills? 😋

i love love love when men defend women that they don’t know/have no social obligation to intervene. im just really into the idea of jason seeing someone messing with some girl, cussing him out, and then going about his day.

him just knowing how to do stuff. a capable man is my cup of tea and i will be drinking it. jason can fix stuff like its nothing, he’s a great driver, an amazing shot, and a good cook. (i think he’s naturally good at a lot of things even though he doesn’t realize it)

[yieldtotemptation]

DEALS ft. Miyeon

... is this thing on?

written as a very late addition to @i-am-lifeform24's project.

miyeon x male reader smut

2k words

"Now that you're done with that," Miyeon starts, her voice firm, confident. The voice of someone used to giving you orders. "Take off your clothes."

The command hangs in the air between the two of you, and suddenly you’re under a microscope—but where most people would squirm, you stand tall.

"Okay."

"Okay?" If she was expecting a challenge, she wasn't going to find one here. After all this time, you know what she's looking for—what she expects from you—someone that can match her, that can meet her on her level. "No questions?"

"That is the deal," you answer matter-of-factly, your t-shirt already half-way over your head. "Money for my time, anything goes."

"Anything," she echoes, her usual stone-cold expression betrayed by a hint of excitement playing in her eyes, somewhat surprised that she managed to push the terms of a contract once made between two teenagers who didn't know any better into new territory.

Anything used to just mean silly tasks—cooking, cleaning, doing all the things that would absolutely not be suitable for her to do—but all just being an excuse for keeping Miyeon company.

That was until now.

Still, you don't have time to think about what’s changed between you fixing her sink and her watching you take off your pants—she’s decided that now is as appropriate an occasion as any to test your limits, and you’ve never been known not to oblige her.

It's only when you're stepping out of your briefs that you catch it—that break in her facade, the slight blush that creeps up her cheeks, that indication that maybe Miyeon isn't so far above the rest of Earth's mortals as she would like you to think.

"Having trouble finding somewhere to look?" You can feel her eyes following you, scanning up and down your body as you fold your clothes neatly, placing them on a corner of the nearby couch.

"The opposite." Whatever crack you just saw in Miyeon's composure is gone as quick as it arrived, and she's all business again, walking over to you, heels that let her meet your eyes clicking against the cold living room floor. "I don't have anywhere I don't want to look."

It's no secret that you feel the same—she's an absolute work of art. It's in the sway of her hips, the curve of her waist, the swell of her lovely, petite breasts under her sheer, near see-through shirt. But you're not here to just admire her. You're here to serve, to satisfy, to be of use.

She stops, close enough that her exhales become your inhales, close enough that the smell of whatever she's wearing—something smoky, something ludicrously expensive—drives you wild.

Close enough that when her eyes alone make you twitch, she feels it brush against her waist.

"Look at me."

Another demand obeyed—all part of the deal.

Maybe it's the light, maybe it's the proximity—her eyes are darker than you remember, a deep brown that would swallow you whole, if only you'd let them.

"Hands," she says next, and she's taking hold of your wrists, pulling them to her, to her body—her unfathomably-tight waist—squeezing down on your fingers to make sure she's locked in your grip. "Now kiss m-"

You're jumping the gun, pulling her closer to you, pulling her lips into yours, warming your tongue with hers, tasting sweetness, tasting her eagerness—or more correctly, her neediness.

She’s opening the door a little, letting you discover a part of her that she's been hiding from you, truly meeting her for the first time—her left hand finding the nape of your neck, her right reaching down below, wrapping fingers around you, holding you against her.

"Mmmph..." She's moaning into you now, her hands are on the move, feeling, stroking—soft, delicate fingers taking your full measure, all the way from the tip... all the way to the base.

It’s making you grow bigger for her, too big for her dainty grip, but she squeezes back against you, gliding her hand up and down, up and down, again and again—all for her pleasure, showing you that no matter how good she's making you feel, it's making her feel better.

That’s when you break the rules for the first time, taking the initiative and running your hands up her back to the lift up her shirt, wanting to catch just a glimpse of more of her flawless, porcelain-white skin. Before you can boldly make your move, she's pushing back against your chest with her free hand, releasing your lips and leaving you with a groan, halting you in your tracks.

"No," she whispers, her eyes darkening with something that isn't quite anger, but is definitely a warning. "Not yet."

A gulp and a nod is all you have for her in response, but it's enough to satisfy her—enough to return her lips to your body, to continue her excruciatingly delightful movements over your shaft.

Her breath is hot, heavy, as she plants kisses on your neck, your collarbone—tracing lines down your chest with her tongue, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake. Miyeon's eyes lock onto yours as she continues her expedition, watching you watch her work—watch her make you unravel.

Every movement is intentional—the lower her lips get, the slower her strokes, each more deliberate, each one a silent experiment of how much you can bear.

She takes her time, until at last, finally, she's on her knees before you—no longer stroking, no longer moving—just breathing on you, staring at you, frozen in fascination at your length—at what she's done to you.

And then she licks her perfect, pretty, pink lips.

"Miyeon-" is all you can muster, but it’s too late—she's taking you in—inhaling you—warm—fucking hot—lips wrapping around you, forcing you to hold your breath as she brings you deeper, deeper into her throat.

You had expected teasing, torture even—but not this—not her tongue sliding under your shaft, not her moans around your cock, not her eyes watering as she breathes you in, making a mess of you until her nose has met your chest and your tip has met the back of her throat.

It takes all your strength to keep your knees from buckling as she keeps you there, keeps you down her throat, testing herself against you. The pleasure is overwhelming, intense, but for the two of you it's the power play—she's the one looking up at you, her makeup smudged, eyeliner a disaster—yet she's in complete and total control, feeling your body tighten from just a flick of her tongue, feeling you get closer and closer to the edge.

"Gah-" she rises back up off you, unsheathing your cock from her throat, a glob of her spit following behind her, a glistening bridge from her lips to your tip. She's grinning wildly now, so fucking pleased with herself, so turned on by having conquered you—having conquered your cock. "I did it."

But you don't get to recover—how silly of you to think she would let you—and her lips are back on you, lightning shooting up your spine as she takes in half of you, before releasing—again and again and again.

She's bobbing up and down, putting on a show for you—letting you see how her cheeks hollow, how her lips take you in, how you make her eyes water and how her tongue does it’s best to break you—a masterful dance that somehow makes you feel both worshiped and utterly dominated.

"Mmmmm..." A flick of her tongue against your tip lets you know that she's tasting you, tasting the warm pre-cum leaking past her lips. "I fucking knew it," she murmurs, her voice low, but loud enough for you to hear. "Knew that you would be this big—knew that I could take whatever you had."

"God, Miyeon—" you eke out a groan as she starts to stroke you again, keeping up the pace, keeping up the pleasure.

"Knew that you would taste this good—knew that it would feel this fucking good in my throat."

She doesn't wait for an answer—doesn't need one—her tongue is already back on you, painting your cock with her saliva, up and down, around and around.

It's her moans around you—she's loving this, loving doing this to you—so much so that she doesn't even mind it when you thread your fingers through her hair, pulling on her more forcefully than you intended, desperately pushing more of yourself into her. She takes it, welcomes it, confident that if it came down to it, she would be the last one standing.

You still try—stopping her head still and start to move—start to pound away. Her eyes widen, but she doesn't pull away, not even when you pick up speed, not even when her moans get muffled and you're hitting the back of her mouth, not even when you're the one setting the pace and burying your cock down her hot, tight throat.

It's in her eyes—the challenge, the suggestion—use me, break me if you can—cum—give it to me.

Her hands are on your hips, beckoning you, pushing you to go faster, to fuck her face harder—encouraging you, egging you on. And so you do—you give in to the instinct that's been burning in your veins since she first made you strip for her—you fuck her mouth, her throat, ruin that gorgeous, fucking irresistible face as she struggles to keep up.

Tears are streaming down her eyes now, her breaths coming in ragged gasps around you, but she never looks away—her gaze holding yours, telling you that she's okay, that she wants this—that she can take this.

You shouldn't be fucking her face this hard—it shouldn't be possible to—but you keep going, groaning—"Miyeon", "fuck", "God"—and just when you're about to slip, just when you're about to completely fall apart in her mouth, she forces herself off you, seizing back control and holding you at your base, aiming directly at her picture-perfect visage.

"Cum for me," she squeezes you, wringing you, wanting you. "Do it."

You throb, you explode, you cum, you obey—because that's what she’s asking of you.

It takes every effort to keep your eyes open—to see Miyeon—as you feel the orgasm ripping through your body, the heat spilling from you and onto her face, her chin, her neck—onto a carefully manicured eyebrow, and an undeniably cute dimple. Your cum showers her, paints her, masking her with your release.

And Miyeon takes it, takes all of it, eagerly, smiling up at you through the mess, poking out a tongue to taste as much of you as she can, despite it still overflowing and dribbling down the corners of her mouth.

You shake, you want to collapse, but Miyeon keeps her hold on you, looking up at you like you're her fucking property—and maybe in this moment, you are. Her eyes are glazed over, her cheeks are flushed, and through the cum you can see that devastating smile as she swallows and drinks what remains of you down.

"So fucking good," she whispers, her hand still moving, still stroking you, placing soft, sweet kisses on your exhausted cock, still sending those tingles of pleasure shooting through you. "I knew you would be amazing."

"Fuck, Miyeon."

But she's already rising, on her feet and looking at you expectantly, wiping the excess from her chin with the back of her hand. "I want more," she states. It’s simple. It’s a command. "Take me to the bedroom."

And she's already walking away, peeling off her clothes, soft fabric meeting the floor as you catch a sight of the lovely slope of her back, the perfect curve of her ass—her body bared before you, calling for you to take it.

“Come on,” she calls out to you, “we’re just getting started.”

You stumble forward, following after her—obeying her wishes.

Because why wouldn't you?

That was your deal.

---

A/N: thanks again to @i-am-lifeform24 for actually managing to get me to finish something. what a legend.

[sainns]

SIGNS OF AFFECTION.

𝓢.ㅤ the portrayal of their love for you.

OT7ㅤ୨୧ ⠀ femreader⠀ . . .ㅤ fluff, riki's lowkey a third wheel in jake's part oops, he is also a d1 complainer in his part, not proofreadㅤ2224 words

LEE HEESEUNG “baby, stay with me,” heeseung all but whines, pulling on your arm in an attempt to drag you back down to his bed. his voice is hoarse from not having spoken in a while; you had been laying together in silence, the both of you doing your own thing in each other’s space.

“hee, i have to go,” you try to free yourself from his grasp and you almost succeed but once he notices that he’s losing his grip, he tugs you towards him and wraps his arms around your waist, head resting against your stomach.

“just spend the night, i don’t think your roommate will care,”

“of course she isn’t going to care but i care. i have to go study,”

he looks up, his chin pressing against your stomach, lips forming a pout as he stares at you with a pleading expression. you can’t help but smile at him, bringing a hand up to fix his tousled hair.

you like when he gets clingy like this—he’s always clingy—it’s comforting knowing that he likes your presence as much as you do his. maybe even more, considering he’s always asking you to go over or if he can hang out at your apartment even if you don’t plan on doing anything. when you ask why or propose actually doing something he laughs you off, saying that simply sitting in the same room as you is enough for him. 

“study here,”

“i don’t have my stuff,”

“okay, study tomorrow then,” he sits up, removing his arms from around you. though, he keeps his hands on your waist, squeezing, “i wanna stay with you,”

you stare at him for a moment, acting as if you were debating on whether or not to give in. it was all for show, though; you’re going to give in to him every single time and he knows it. so a smug smile takes place on his lips, knowing that he’s won when you let out a sigh, shoving his shoulder lightly so that he could make room for you on his bed.

PARK JONGSEONG you search for jay’s warmth right when you wake up, eyebrows furrowing and lips turning downwards when you don’t find it. you open your eyes to see nothing, jay nowhere to be seen.

you lay in bed for a minute longer before deciding to get up and go look for him in your small apartment, but before you can even pull the covers away from your body, your boyfriend walks in. 

he looks like he’s been awake for a while—you can tell he took a shower by his still damp hair and he’s already dressed, wearing simple jeans and a t-shirt. he smiles at you, “hey, sleepyhead,”

“hi… you’re up early,”

“i was making you breakfast,” you feel the bed dip from his weight as he sits next to where you’re still laying, “and i cleaned the apartment a little,”

you reach over and grab his hand, placing a kiss against his knuckles, “thank you, but you didn’t have to. it’s my apartment, i can do it myself,” despite saying that, you know he’s going to ignore you, continuing on with taking care of you, your needs, and your apartment.

he hums, but doesn’t respond verbally, instead squeezing your hand in his. the two of you sit in a comfortable silence—you trying to fully wake up and him waiting for you—for what feels like forever until he finally breaks it.

“i like doing things for you, you know?”

“do you?”

“yeah, i do. you smile at his response, lifting your head to silently ask for a kiss. 

he obliges, mumbling against your lips, “you gonna get up and eat breakfast now?”

SIM JAEYUN “how do you deal with jake being on top of you constantly?”

you raise your eyebrows at riki’s question, watching as the teenager throws a piece of popcorn at your boyfriend from the other end of the couch. 

jake throws it back, “dude, i’m not on top of her,” except he is on top of you—his arms wrapped around your waist, head resting against your shoulder. 

“uh… yeah, you are,”

the boys’ argument fades into the background as you think about riki’s question. honestly, you never noticed that jake was, in fact, always ‘on top’ of you.

you don’t mind it, obviously—you enjoy it—but now that you’re thinking back on your relationship, jake really is very physically affectionate towards you. you don’t think you can recall a time where his arms weren’t wrapped around you, or his hand holding wasn’t holding yours, or he wasn’t standing so close to you that the both of you looked like you’re glued together.

“jake,” you interrupt their argument, laughing as you poke at him cheek, “maybe you should pull away before you try and defend yourself,”

he scoffs at you in faux annoyance, doing the exact opposite of what you told him to do—he pulls you closer to him, practically forcing you onto his lap. you’re sitting sideways, your head against his shoulder now.

“nope, you’re warm,”

“i don’t think it’s cold,”

“i’m cold, though,” shrugging, he places a kiss on top of your head, “also, ki, she’s on top of me, so you’re making zero sense,”

“i just watched you move her on top of you,” riki groans, throwing a pillow at the both of you, making you laugh when the two begin arguing again, the movie you had been watching long forgotten.

PARK SUNGHOON everyday you are beyond thankful for park sunghoon, whatever higher power there is must really like you to give you the opportunity of being his girlfriend.

the fact that he’ll wake up at 3:28AM just to go buy you some kind of snack or food is one of the things you love about the man, simply because you know almost nobody who would ever do that—unless their partner was pregnant—but he does. 

“i love you, by the way,” you smile, tapping your feet in excitement against the car floor, stopping when you feel sunghoon’s hand squeeze your thigh gently.

“because i’m going to go get you an ice cream?” he turns on the blinker, stopping before turning to the right, driving to a nearby convenience store where you’re planning on getting said ice cream.

“that too, but i just love you in general,”

“yeah?” he glances at you, an eyebrow raised.

“yes,”

“good,” his thumb rubbing circles against your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, “i love you too, i hope you know i’d never get up this late for anyone else,”

“i hope not,” the car pulls into the convenience store’s empty—save for the singular employee’s car—parking lot, sunghoon putting the car into park. he gets out, leaving you alone in the car for a brief moment, rounding to your side and opening the door.

he leans against it, staring at you with a soft, fond smile. the look makes you nervous, your face heating up at the prolonged eye contact. it gets to be too much after a few seconds, and you reach up to cover his eyes with your hand, “okay, stop staring, you’re weird,”

he lets out a laugh, removing your hand from his eyes, “i’m weird? you’re the one who wants ice cream at three in the morning,”

“well, you still drove me here, so you’re equally as weird. you could’ve said no,”

“nope, i can’t say no to you. it’s impossible,” 

he doesn’t say anything else as he grabs your hand, helping you out of the car. you’re perfectly capable of stepping out of it yourself but you let him help you, not really thinking about it—a habit that’s formed after years of dating him. you smile to yourself, the cold air of the convenience store making you shiver while you follow behind sunghoon to the small freezer section.

KIM SEONWOO you smile when sunoo hands you a shopping bag, looking inside to see an album you’d been wanting for a while now. you’d only mentioned it to him once, an offhand statement that you moved on from immediately after saying it. you should’ve known sunoo was going to remember and buy it for you, even though you could have bought it yourself.

noticing something else in the bag, you move the album out of the way, your eyes widening in surprise when you see that he also bought you the phone charm you’d really wanted. you hadn’t been able to find it in any stores, though, and yet somehow sunoo did.

“those are the ones you wanted right?” his eyes go back and forth between you and the bag, watching your reaction, “i saw the charm and remembered you wanted it, so i got it. it was the last one,”

“mhm, it is, thank you,” you take it out, looking it over with a grin on your face, “you didn’t need to get the album, i could’ve bought it,”

he waves you off, “it’s fine. i just got it while i was there. you like them, though, right?”

“obviously, i like them,” you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, embracing him. he hugs you back, placing his hands on your waist. he can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh when you continue your sentence, “but i feel bad that you’re always wasting your money,”

“i don’t waste money, it’s for a good cause. as long as you like it, angel, then who cares. i’ll get you whatever you want, it’s not a big deal,” he pulls away from you, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, pulling you into a gentle kiss.

YANG JUNGWON “you look pretty in that shirt,” jungwon says, snapping yet another photo of you since you started your clothing haul. you giggle, looking at him through your mirror—he’s looking at his phone, probably scrolling through the pictures he’s taken so far.

“you don’t have to take a picture of every outfit, won,” you turn, walking over to sit next to him on your bed, “i’ll wear them again,”

“but i like taking pictures of you,” he shows you his phone, a photo of you from earlier on his screen. you hadn’t noticed him take this one—it was while you were wearing one of the first outfits you had tried on, your face in a weird expression. you assume jungwon had taken in while you were talking and you grimace when he continues speaking, “you look pretty,”

you give him a look, “i look bad in that picture,”

your boyfriend frowns, setting his phone to the side, putting your focus back on his face rather than his phone. he narrows his eyes at you, playfully glaring, “i don’t think so, you look good in every picture,”

“no,” you scoff, “you’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,”

“no,” he mocks you, sticking his tongue out at you. you laugh at his immaturity, moving to push his shoulder but he stops you, hand gripping onto your wrist. you pause, biting your lip to keep from laughing when you notice he’s still glaring at you, “it’s because you are pretty. so pretty that i go crazy every time i see you,”

“you’re overselling it,” you look away, feeling your face heat up at his compliments. you still aren’t used to him being so… nice. not that he was ever mean, but the constant barrage of compliments the boy gives you on a daily basis is enough to make anyone nervous.

“am not,” he gives you an offended look, letting out a huff of air, “i’m just telling the truth, lovely.”

NISHIMURA RIKI you glance to your side, stifling a giggle when riki lets out a loud groan, his feet dragging against the floor as you walk into yet another store.

you’ve been shopping for the past three hours, having gone into most of the businesses at the mall. riki, despite you telling him he didn’t have to come, tagged along but he started complaining almost immediately after you exited the third store.

“you definitely don’t have enough money to buy anything else—can we go?” he squeezes your hand, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles. the act almost makes you comply with his request.

“i told you that you didn’t have to come,”

you always tell him that he doesn’t have to go with you, whether it be to the mall or something else. every single time he insists, telling you that he’ll go with you so you don’t ‘feel lonely’, only for him to start complaining within five minutes of whatever it is that you’re doing. you know that it’s lighthearted, but you can’t help but (lovingly) roll your eyes at him every time he does this.

“i didn’t think we’d be here for five days,”

you scoff, bumping him with your shoulder while you card through a rack of t-shirts with your free hand, “you’re dramatic,”

“no, i’m not. my feet just hurt,”

humming, you pull out a shirt, scrutinizing it for a few moments before ultimately deciding to buy it, “go sit in the car then, babe,”

“uh, no,” he gives you a dirty look, grabbing the shirt from your hand so that he could hold it instead, “i came ‘cos i wanted to spend time with you, not the car.”

note. PHEWWWW whyd this take me a week to write bye sunoo was making me go crazy. anyways yay guess their love languages!!!! i think it's obvious but if it isn't oops + layout inspired by my fav bywons <3

[jsprnt]

you and your boyfriend fight about how much less time he’s been spending with you

jude bellingham x reader

A/N: first jude one-shot after writing a 16 part series of him, let’s go!! based on this request!!

W/C: 1.936

"where are you going? you told me you were off today..”

you say, brows furrowed as you look up from your laptop. you're greeted by an obviously frustrated-looking Jude, dressed up and ready to go out.

"I am off today. I'm about to head out with the guys.." he says, opening the fridge, sticking his hand out, and grabbing a cold bottle of kombucha.

"oh.." you trail off, eyes gliding back to your laptop screen, words dancing on your word document.

you'd been fully focused on writing your essay for your university class. school had kept you incredibly busy lately, and you had only a matter of a couple months left before you could finally graduate.

jude had also been very busy with his career. long hours of training, his matches out of the country, keeping him from spending time with you.

you had found it difficult to even sit and talk together for more than an hour, because either you had to work on something for university, or jude needed to go out for his work.

you had not told him yet, but it drove you absolutely insane. before you both had moved to madrid for his career, you had a fair amount of time to spend with each other , but now that he'd transferred to real madrid- even a moment together felt impossible...

unbeknownst to you, you clench the pen in your hand tightly, trying hold yourself back from spitting out absolute nonsense.

your eyes flicker back to the kitchen when you hear jude rummage through the kitchen cabinet.

"what're you doing?" you ask, sucking in a breath, and getting off the chair you’re sitting on. walking over to him, and leaving your laptop behind on the dinner table.

"looking for a bottle opener.." he mumbles, opening a few drawers halfway, before closing them haphazardly.

"it's in the third one.." you mumble, mood noticeably down, as you open the drawer and hand him the silver bottle opener. 

"here.." you say, snarky tone slipping, even though you try your best to suppress it.

"what's up with you?" jude asks, opening his drink with a 'pop', before pouring the contents of the bottle into a glass. 

"nothing.." you mumble, not daring to look him in the eye, knowing you'll explode in frustration if you do.

"you're definitely hiding something.." he says, chugging his drink down, before slipping his phone into his back pocket, indicating he's about to leave.

the action triggers you instantly, and you look up, your eyes burning holes into his face.

"can you just go already? you're so eager to leave, just like every off day you've had for the past month.." you spit, fingers gripping the kitchen counter, as a scowl is plastered across your face.

jude pauses for a second, eyes widening for a moment, before he looks at you with furrowed brows.

"what are you on about? can I not enjoy my day off with my mates or something?" he asks, voice clearly upset. his brum accent is thick, annoyance showing as wrinkles etch into his forehead.

“no, it’s not like you’ve spent every single fucking day off with them or anything…” you raise your voice slightly, frustration rising up and making your face hot.

you knew that you’d messed up by raising your voice, but the amount of both sadness and aggravation that had been building up in your heart for the past month needed an outlet.

channeling your emotions into a proper conversation was definitely better, but jude wasn’t a clueless teenage boy anymore.

there’s absolutely no excuse for him to not realize how much time he’d been spending out of the house. neglecting his relationship- partially to both work obligations, and his own decisions to go out on his off days.

“really? you’re actually going to tell me how I should spend my days off? like I haven’t busting my arse to train, to be in top shape for the euros?”

the frown on jude’s face deepens, and his hands fall to his side. annoyance written all over his handsome face.

“oh, please. go ahead and think of why I’m saying this. use your brain for a second and think for me, yeah?” your voice is full of venom, and you turn around, slippers hitting the floor as you make your way up the stairs. leaving your boyfriend in the kitchen.

a scoff falls from his lips, absolutely astonished by the harsh words you’d spat. in the three years of your relationship- you’d never exchanged any harsh words like this before..

yes, you fought and had disagreements with each other, like many healthy couples. but, it had never gotten to the point of any of you using condescending tones and sharp words.

from the beginning of your relationship, communication and understanding were always important values for you both. though with how busy the both of you had been lately, you barely had any proper conversations, let alone upkeep the values, that kept you so connected to each other.

“y/n!” jude calls out, placing his half-full glass next to the sink, before dashing up the stairs, behind you.

“where do you think you’re going? hey, finish the conversation!” he says, grabbing onto your hand, before you can enter your shared bedroom, and can slam the door in his face.

“you don’t even care about what I say- so what’s the point? we’ve practically been ignoring each other for the past few- whatever weeks! and now you decide, ‘let me spend the day off with mates, and not my girlfriend- who I’ve been neglecting for so long’.”

you take a deep breath, trying to control your breathing as you spill all your thoughts and emotions.

jude’s body goes rigid, the grip on your hand slipping away. making your hand fall back against your side. his thoughts and rationality swirl through his brain, and he can only let out a sigh.

“you know, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just trying to have some fun, am I not allowed to have fun?” the words spill from his mouth before he can register them fully, and he almost clasps a hand to his mouth.

the words raise your blood pressure, and you feel the urge to scream at him becoming bigger.

“of course, being with your girlfriend of three years is so boring.. you need a new bitch to entertain you, so can have your ‘fun’. you don’t need a girlfriend who’s moved her entire life for her boyfriend. moved universities, left family behind- okay, jude.”

your breath hitches, tears of both anger and sadness threatening to fall. wet eyes staring up at your boyfriend’s chocolate brown ones.

“y/n-”

he begins, but you don’t spare him a single extra look, before stepping into your shared bedroom, and slamming the door in his face.

“leave..” you mutter, just loud enough for him to hear.

you jump into your bed, bringing the covers up to your chest and place your head on your pillow. jude’s side empty, just like it had been often lately.

you rub your eyes, allowing the tsunami of tears to overtake your emotions. crying for minutes on end.

you feel both relieved and horrible. glad you could finally let the emotions eating up at you, for the past few weeks out. horrified, because you had just both yelled at your boyfriend and accused him of doing the most trust-breaking thing ever..

you sob until your eyes are red, and swollen. eventually falling asleep from exhaustion and energy loss.

you only wake up a couple hours later, feeling something cold and wet on your skin, mainly your forehead. opening your eyes, you’re immediately greeted by jude, sat next to you on the bed.

his eyes are mirroring yours, swollen and dark circles more pronounced than ever.

it’s obvious he’d been crying, and his attire had changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt.

he hadn’t gone out..

you shift your head away from his touch, only to realize he’s holding a wet cloth to your forehead.

“baby..” he breathes out, concern etched into his face, he leans down. other hand placed on your cheek. you don’t respond, waiting for your boyfriend to speak first.

“you’re burning up..” he finally says, lifting up the cloth before dipping it into a bowl on your nightstand. he squeezes the water out, wiping down the rest of your face, before placing the white cloth back onto your forehead.

“and- I’m sorry, I just need you to know that, while I try to keep your fever down. I’m sorry, darling. we’ll talk about it in a minute, I promise. you just let me take care of you..” he trails off, thumb caressing the soft of your cheek, before wiping down your face again.

“I’m- I have a fever?” you finally say, shifting and trying to sit up.

“yeah, must be from all the stress or something..”

the words are said quietly, laced with guilt and an apologetic tone.

it doesn’t take much longer, and you’re almost feeling suffocated due to the tense and awkward atmosphere. having enough, you bring your hand up to grab onto jude’s hand, stopping him mid-wipe.

“jude..” you begin, sitting up quickly, before he makes you lay back down. you grab the cloth out of his hand, throwing it into the bowl next to you.

“I’m sorry as well..” you can already feel the tears prickle in your eyes, and you clench your jaw, making your temples hurt.

“I yelled at you instead of talking normally, and- accused you of-”

you choke on your sobs, not being able to finish your sentence, before you feel jude’s strong arms wrap around your back.

he brings you closer, slightly cold hands touching your burning skin.

“no, I’m sorry, baby- don’t you apologize, hm..” he presses multiple kisses on your temple, fingers running up and down your back.

he allows you sob into his broad chest, touch and words comforting.

“I know you and I were super busy. but- I should’ve put in more effort to make plans, or even just make sure I gave you the attention and love you deserve, I’m sorry darling,.” his brum accent whispers into your ears, and you slowly calm down, hearing his words- made your feelings, feel valid.

“I unconsciously thought you’d be busy, so I made plans immediately without thinking of anything else..” he explains, hands running up and down your arms, finally rubbing circles on your elbows.

“I will never, ever in my life- for any other breath I take, hurt or ignore you like this..”

“I don’t ever want to make you feel unwanted or unloved. I love you baby, I’ve loved you since the moment you caught my eye..”

he leans back, wiping the remaining tears on your face, coming closer to place a kiss on your lips. not caring about the fact that you are sick..

“you got that, darling?” his voice sounds like honey, and you can feel your tears drying up slowly.

you nod, looking up and grabbing onto his hands.

“good, let’s lay back down, okay? you’re still burning up..” he helps you, chuckling when you grasp at his shirt, and bury your face into his chest again.

“you comfortable?” jude asks, running his hands down your side, and kissing your forehead.

you nod again, humming in response.

“okay, why don’t we lay down a little, and then we’ll have dinner, ‘kay?”

“deal..” you agree, soft touches lulling you back into a slumber, sweet words being whispered into your ear, helping you relax..

[myballsyourballs]

OKAY IVE BEEN IMAGINING A HAWKS X BAKUGOUS OLDER BROTHER READER?? okay but here me out bro, reader has been dating hawks for a while now, occasional family dinners at readers house with his parents, not brother, due to the fact that he’s training.

reader never brought up the fact that his younger brother goes to ua, and hawks never said anything about teaching 1a gym time-to-time, one day, reader goes to pick up katsuki early from school, and he realizes hawks is teaching, basically how everyone would react to one, finding out bakugou has a brother, and two he’s dating hawks??

(ps, hawks knew of readers last name, but never thought anything of it,)

big bro

keigo takami x male! older bakugou brother! reader

genre: fluff and slight crack oneshot (1,300ish words)

notes: i’m not a massive fan of how i wrote this (i don’t think it’s very good) but it’s been sitting in my drafts for months so here you go

synopsis: reader is katsuki's older brother who is dating hawks -- katsuki doesn't know reader is dating hawks, and hawks doesn't know katsuki is reader's brother. it stays that way until reader has to pick up katsuki from school early while hawks is teaching.

masterlist | make a request

Principal Nezu is shorter than you expect.

You expected him to be a man-sized rat, not a rat-sized man; though you suppose that isn’t an apt description either, given that he’s at least 2 feet tall and most rats aren’t 2 feet tall.

Regardless, he's still pretty intimidating when you run into him in the hall and he starts to ask you what you're doing.

"I'm looking for Bakugou Katsuki -- uh, my little brother. My parents wanted me to pick him up early since we're leaving today to go on a trip." Nezu seriously makes you nervous.

“Bakugou Katsuki is in Hero Training as of right now. You’ll be able to find him in the gym!” He smiles at you, teeth surprisingly white for a rodent. “Make sure to alert his teacher before you leave,” Nezu continues, an unnerving glint in his abyss-like eyes. You decide not to ask why he knows Katsuki’s timetable by heart.

“Sure. Thanks, Principal Nezu,” you smile, offering him a handshake kindly.

“Anytime, Bakugou-san.”

As you step into the gym, the first thing you notice is the smell of sweat. That, and the temperature. Despite the amount of heat emanating from the fire quirks of a select few and the body heat of everyone in the gym, it’s — surprisingly — rather cool. UA's unflinching ability to invest copious amounts of money into air conditioning was impressive. Your eyes trail across the sweeping ceilings and expensive equipment, whistling lowly. I should come here more often.

1-A looks to be split into pairs — sparring, maybe? — each student difficult to view clearly under the thin blanket of steam and smoke that surrounds them. Katsuki, however, is easy to spot among them. His explosions light up the room, the sound of the loud booms only rivalled by his rage-fuelled yelling. You watch, amused. Glad he’s… letting that out.

As much as you didn’t want to interrupt class (the idea of 20 different teenagers having their undivided attention on you was a terrifying thought), the teacher was nowhere in sight and you were running out of time. “Katsuki!” you call, waving at the angry red glare that lands on you. The boy, in response, rolls his eyes snidely and stays rooted on the spot.

You sigh. Little brothers are so goddamn annoying. “Let’s go, dude,” you urge, emphasising your words with a vague ‘hurry up’ gesture. He scowls, but obliges nonetheless, walking slowly over with his hands shoved into his pockets. Once he's in front of you, he stops.

“My teacher isn’t here. I can’t leave yet.”

“Isn’t it their job to, you know, teach? Where the fuck did they go?” You furrow your brows.

“Fuck if I know,” Katsuki responds, matching your curses with equal indifference. “He went with Deku to go and get something.”

“Izuku’s here?”

“Why wouldn’t he be, dumbass? He’s in my class.”

And that’s when you notice the rest of 1-A. 18 pairs of eyes stare at you in utter shock and confusion, burning with questions. Your body stills, awkward under their gazes.

“Is that… your brother?” a red-haired boy with sharp teeth asks, looking between you and Katsuki slowly.

“Yeah,” Katsuki replies nonchalantly.

You take in the other boy's appearance: the insane amount of gel in his weirdly-styled hair, pointed teeth and the fact that he was sparring with Katsuki. Close friend, bad hair?

“You must be Shitty Hair.” you say, prompting half of the class to erupt into giggles. Vaguely, you recall his name is Kirishima, but Katsuki says it so rarely that you barely even associate it with him. ‘Shitty Hair’ blushes at the attention, nodding bashfully with an awkward smile. He rubs the nape of his neck, glancing once again between Katsuki and you.

“I can see how you’re related,” he laughs uncertainly.

“I can see who got the good genes,” a pink-haired girl with horns calls, “clearly not Bakugou.”

“YOU WANNA SAY THAT AGA—”

The doors slam open. You first see Izuku, who pauses at the commotion, and behind him you see… your boyfriend? What the fuck?

“Keigo?”

“[Y/N]?”

“[Y/N]-nii?” Izuku adds.

“Nii?” someone whispers in confusion.

“Hey, Izuku,” you respond weakly.

Silence falls. You take a moment to appreciate Keigo in his hero costume before the dots connect and you turn to Katsuki accusingly.

“He’s your teacher!?”

“He’s your brother!?” Keigo counters.

You turn to your boyfriend. “I told you I have a brother. You know my last name. You’ve literally met my mother and she’s the carbon-copy of Katsuki. Keigo, what even?”

“Er, well, in hindsight, maybe you’re right— but... you’re so nice,” he says, disbelief evident in his wide eyes and confused brows. “And he’s so… not—”

“The fuck did you just say—!?”

“Young man, I will give you a detention if you swear at me again,” Keigo says sternly, schooling his face into something unnaturally serious and crossing his toned arms over his chest. You can see the humour dancing his eyes, prompting you to chuckle quietly.

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Yes, Hawks-sensei,” he mutters, face contorted into a scowl. He angrily taps his shoe on the ground.

“Stop being a shit,” you chide, grabbing Katsuki by the shoulder roughly and rubbing your knuckles into his skull. The rest of 1-A watches on in absolute disbelief. (Except Izuku. He’s used to this.)

Katsuki groans exasperatedly, “You stop being a shit.”

“Hey!” Hawks gasps dramatically, “don’t call my boyfriend a shit!”

Silence.

You rub a hand over your temple in an attempt to ease your oncoming headache.

“YOUR FUCKING WHAT?!”

“Katsuki—”

The rest of 1-A is left in shock. (Including Izuku, this time). Some start yelling, some look like they’ve turned to stone, the usual. You’re too busy trying to hold back your feral little brother from attacking Keigo — you know he won’t actually, you’re just hoping Keigo knows that too.

“Wait, you’re gay?” A boy who you can recall as Kaminari splutters. Your face crinkles into confusion, nose scrunching like you’ve smelt a bad odour. You can see why Katsuki calls him Dunce Face.

“It runs in the family,” you say, with a pointed look to Katsuki.

His exhaustion must’ve caught up to him since he only offers a middle finger in response. Kaminari bursts into startled and slightly scared laughter.

A warm arm makes its way around your waist and it takes an embarrassing amount of effort for you to suppress a smile. You don’t even have to look at Keigo to know that he’s grinning.

Neither of you are big fans of PDA, but the urge to hug him right now is particularly strong; especially since he’s right there, but there’s also 20 kids right there which sucks and you have to go—

Right. You and Katsuki need to go. That was the point of this whole ordeal.

“Keigo,” you murmur, quiet enough for only him to hear. The rest of the class has ignored the two of you in favour of chatting amongst themselves or questioning Katsuki. Keigo hums, meeting your eyes. He smiles, his golden irises pooling with affection and his arm squeezing gently around your waist, seemingly in a trance. You chuckle, “I need to go.”

He startles. “Right! Right,” he says, clearing his throat. You pretend not to notice the faint tinge of red high on his cheekbones.

“Okay, 1-A. I’m gonna go sort this out quickly,” Keigo says to the class, his voice raised slightly in order to drown out the talking. “So please continue sparring — without quirks — until I’m back. I won’t be long.”

The class answers an affirmative, and then the two of you (plus Katsuki) are out the door. You turn to face Keigo, placing a quick peck on his lips. “I thought I just needed to tell you Katsuki was leaving and then you’d sort it?”

“That’s true… but I missed you,” Keigo sighs wearily, acting like he hadn’t seen you in years. (You spent the night with him literally yesterday.)

“Stop before I tear my fucking eyes out,” Katsuki interrupts. Keigo lifts his head to glare unhappily at him.

“Piss off, Katsuki,” you grumble, placing a slightly longer kiss on Keigo’s lips. You pull away at the realisation that you’re probably late, which means you’ll probably have to face the wrath of Mitsuki Bakugo. “I should— we should go. I’ve stayed way longer than I needed to.”

“Thank fuck,” Katsuki grumbles, occupying himself with his phone. Teenagers.

Keigo groans dejectedly but lets you go nonetheless. He watches you walk away, waving. “Bye, honeybear!”

“Don’t call me that!”

[starlightdelrey]

the view between villages

platonic ! f1 grid x reader

summary: f1 is a dangerous sport - it's common knowledge. but accidents - bad accidents - aren't as common. seeing the youngest (and only female) driver crash and not immediately respond is something the boys never thought they'd have to experience, and the rest of the world is just as devestated.

cw: major accident, graphic descriptions of injury and vehicular damage, graphic descriptions of car accident, mentions of death, blood and gore, negative emotions such as sadness and regret, angst, mentions of religion,

song pairing is "the view betwen villages" by noah kahan

(not based on any particular race)

today's race felt off to begin with. When y/n had attempted to leave her aging yorkie, comet, in her hotel room - like she had done for the past couple months - he began to whine.

"poor baby," she mocked, but turned the small TV on and switched it to the channel that would be broadcasting the race live. "look, com. watch me on the tv."

the dog had complied and jumped onto the un-made bed, but when she left and closed the door, he had whined once or twice before calming down.

she made a mental note to get him checked out at the vet, but got distracted when she showed up to the paddock and got a look at the track.

"the weather wasn't as shit yesterday during quali," she said off-handedly to max verstappen, who was chatting to the engineers.

"are you worried?" y/n was a good racer, it was clear - but whenever max saw how small she looked in comparison to everyone else on the team he had a small sense of dread. it wasn't new, just annoying.

"nah." she grinned at him, her hair already pulled back into a french braid for ease during the race.

---

"lights out.... and away we go!"

the lights blink out and y/n is already gunning it, attempting to bypass the boys from mclaren.

she discovered early on that locking up would be her main issue today, and she made it clear on her radio.

"i keep locking up."

her voice was calm but shook a little as she struggled to steer, and she spoke only in short sentences to prevent stuttering.

"copy."

finally, she worked out a system to braking that prevented the struggle, but in speeding up, found that she'd made her way into a mass of cars.

"watch out, y/n. keep out of trouble - wait until everybody else has moved out of each others way."

"ok. pulling back-" the radio crackled and then went silent as a car careened into the side of her.

---

the audiences at home got to watch a replay of the impact.

somewhere in australia, a family consisting of two parents, a teenaged boy and a little girl are watching the race.

the boy reacts first, jolting. "was that logan sargeant and y/n y/ln?"

"yeah... turn up the volume?"

the mother grabs the remote and obliges, terse.

"was that the girl driver?" the barely 5 year old asks, brows furrowed.

"baby, go play in the other room." her father dismisses her, and when she slowly shuffles out, eyes trained on the screen as the commentators relay the details, her dad huffs.

"now. and don't look at the screen anymore."

she squeals and runs out, and the boy starts to jiggle his knee up and down as they wait for more information.

across the world, houses go silent.

---

"and it looks like logan sargeant attempts to pull away from the crowd but misjudges the distance between himself and y/ln. we can see him here slam right into the right side of the body of her car, and she goes spinning out, right into barricades. oh! and if we slow it down, you can see that the force of her chassis hitting the barricades not only forces the car to lift fully off of the ground, but it also tips - the top of the vehicle flips up into the barricade until it falls back into place. that is a nasty hit for rookie red bull driver y/n y/ln."

the commentators keep talking, thinking nothing of the accident, until the cameras switch to the red bull team, who are trying to get into contact with the girl.

"y/n, are you okay?"

silence.

"can you respond? y/n we need a vocal response. anything, okay kid? even if you can just hold down on the radio button so we know you're there."

no response.

the commentators continue.

"and it looks like we're getting no response from red bull driver y/n, who has just crashed."

---

his whole body jerks on the impact, and he spins out off the track, coming to a shaky stop.

"shit, shit, shit!" his voice cracks.

"are you okay, mate?" the radio crackles at him as he's fighting back tears.

"yeah - was that y/n i hit?"

"yes, we can confirm the crash involved both you and y/ln. we are receiving word that it is a red flag crash."

"is she okay?" he doesn't get a response at first, so he tries again. "is y/n okay?"

"no word yet. sorry, logan."

"fuck! i'm so sorry - i really thought it was clear, i just... fuck."

"calm down, sargeant. wait for pick-up and keep yourself collected. we'll tell you as soon as we find anything out, okay mate?"

"sure."

he lifts himself from the smoking chassis and the world watches as he kicks it out of frustration before letting his head lower.

there's a sickening feeling in his stomach as he sees the girls unmoving vehicle.

he pictures her inside, and the fact that she's so much smaller than the older men cause his mind to unravel with pictures of her limp and unconscious.

---

inside the car, y/n blinks her eyes open, groaning.

her ears are ringing and her head hurts, and the body of her car is so warped that it's vacuum sealed her into the vehicle.

in the back of her mind, y/n feels the pain in her right thigh and left ankle, and her right shoulder feels dislocated.

"kid, we need an answer." the radio's muted and crackling, and when y/n tries to respond, she realizes that something on her end is fucked because they're still begging for an answer.

she goes to climb out of the car, but a sob tears out of her chest at the immense pain that suddenly blooms throughout her whole body.

she falls heavily back onto the seat and pants, closing her eyes.

she feels slight relief from the pain when she fully relaxes and closes her eyes, and nestles into her seat a little to get comfortable.

the need to sleep takes over her and she obeys, nodding off.

---

inside her hotel room, comet's ears pull back in concern as he hears his owners name being called out repeatedly from the television.

---

"red flag, max. we need to restart the race."

verstappen stills, his ears suddenly ringing. he has a bad feeling about the red flag but just can't place it.

"what's happened?"

"there was a crash between a williams and y/n. to the pit lanes, please." the voice on the other end seems calm, but there's a waver to it.

"fuck, are you joking? are they both okay?"

"the williams driver... logan sargeant, we're hearing, is up and out of his chassis. we've heard nothing from y/n yet."

he'd fight them, ask for more information, but knows that red bull would be the first to hear anything.

"tell me if you find anything out."

"copy."

as he drives to the pit lane, max replays her grin at him as she reassures the dutchman.

"nah." her nose is scrunched and hair pulled out of her face.

he thinks about how bulky the helmet looked on her, the barely 20 year old driver somehow never managing to put on any muscle, no matter how hard she tried.

he prays to jesus, zeus, allah, and even the virgin mary - surely she'd have sympathy to max's prayers, as she's lost someone dear to her before. any deity he can think of is immediately begged to ensure the safety of his partner.

---

a whining noise pulls y/n back into consciousness, and she furrows her brows.

"i'm trying to sleep, com. shut up." when she opens her eyes and sees the battered cockpit in front of her, she realizes that she's not hearing her dog cry, it's just the ringing in her ears that are back.

and then suddenly all she can see is comet waiting for her. comet, waiting in a hotel room that she'll never re-enter. what's gonna happen to the mutt if she dies? her parents are over-seas, she has no boyfriend to look after him. comet would be all alone.

and then all the guys on the grid are flashing through her head. she knows, vacantly, that logan crashed into her. he'd never forgive himself if she died. verstappens win streak would be fucked if he was grieving over his teammate. even lewis hamilton, who was the first driver to openly back her as the only woman on the grid.

she screws her eyes shut and lets out a heavy sob, steeling herself.

---

the commentators are no longer focused on the race.

"and i think i can speak for all of us when i ask, where is the goddamn safety car and ambulance? young driver y/n y/ln has been stuck in the wreck for about a minute and a half now, and there has still been no aid for her. which is a cause for concern about the overall safety of f1, as- oh my god!"

---

charles is already on his way back to the pit lanes, muttering manifestations under his breath for y/n to be okay.

he's shaking, filled with lead and a lump in his throat. he and y/n aren't super close, due to their team differences, but every time he spoke to her she had a certain gleam in her eye that one only had when they weren't afraid of death.

this worried him. racing was her life - would she succumb easily? it was a known fact that many drivers drove as if they had nothing to lose.

the idea of her choking on mortality in her chassis scared him more. maybe her body was broken, and the pain was all she could feel as the life drained from her? he worried for those that would have to witness the blood and bruises when she was pulled from her car.

"we've got an update on y/n."

he was pulled out of his mind. "tell me. please."

"she's getting herself out. the paramedics were taking too long, so she took it upon herself, apparently." a startled laugh falls out of charles' lips as he cheers back.

---

muscles screaming, y/n forces herself to lift out of the cockpit, allowing her body the only relief of rest once her upper half is slung over the halo. for about five seconds she stops, before she forces herself to continue.

the safety car and paramedics are here now, and camera crew for the live footage plus the netflix crew are close behind.

people are shouting at her to stop, but she continues to claw her way out of the wreckage.

she's crying and praying to a god she never knew she believed in as she forces her broken legs out of the car, sliding over the side to the ground.

she stands and looks around at the medical crew who are advancing towards her and tries to take her helmet off. she can't, and they're reassuring her that they'll do it for her.

y/n looks out at the audience and raises one arm to greet them. she's met with immediate raucous applause and, swaying for a few seconds, she falls.

---

"you would never believe it. this lady is pulling herself out of her car. as the camera zooms, you can really see the absolute strength this is taking her - hold on, we're getting audio now."

the world watches with bated breath as the coverage of her climbing out of the car begins to play. you can hear the agonised screams she lets out as she forces herself to exit, and just how broken some of her limbs look. her left ankle hangs limply, and she has to use both arms to force her right leg out of the cockpit.

"what a magnificent scene. y/n y/ln has kissed death, and still lives to tell the tale. we see her now, standing on the track as the medical staff come to her aid, and she falls. a very fair response to what she has just gone through. a round of applause to y/n y/ln, the girl who kissed death!"

---

"so lando, congratulations on p4. obviously, the whole crash between logan and y/n caused a damper on the overall race. how do you feel about it?" the interviewer pushed a mic at his face.

"the crash? yeah, it was terrifying not knowing if she was okay or not. i'm not surprised she ended up climbing out of the chassis herself," he laughs softly. "i've never known her for being patient."

"how do you feel about her new nickname?"

"nickname?"

"people are calling her 'the girl who kissed death'."

lando can't stop a high-pitched laugh from escaping. "girl who kissed death? that's stupid. oh god, i can't wait for her to find out about that. she'll be proper pissed off."

"right, well, thanks lando. have fun celebrating!" the interviewer bids him farewell.

---

a few months later:

over the healing process, y/n was forced to give multiple statements, post social media posts, and even a quick video from the hospital bed, but when she sees comet, her resolve finally fails.

she begins to tear up as the scruffy dog barks at her, jumping up and down.

"someone's excited to see you," lewis hamilton, the temporary guardian of the dog, grins.

roscoe stomps his feet and licks y/n, panting at her.

"awe, little babies. i was so scared of dying and leaving comet all alone, but i think he would've been fine."

lewis glances down at the kneeling girl in front of him and tsks, nudging her with his foot. "don't say that, y/n. nobody would've been fine."

"yeah?"

"yeah. have you seen all the tiktok edits of your crash? people were terrified. i was terrified."

y/n doesn't say anything, but stands to hug the british man.

he holds her back, before clearing his throat. "save that love for death. heard you've kissed it before."

"fuck off."

--- la fin ---