New Evangelion Au Update

I’m in a good mood so here’s another little thingy I wrote.

Not entirely satisfied with it but I hope you guys enjoy nonetheless!

Retired Kimi hears about Seb crashing at a race nearby. Panicking he makes his way to the track and tries to call him but for obvious reasons he’s always ending up at Seb’s voicemail.

Voicemail 1:

[16:23]

Kimi: "Seb, it's Kimi. I just heard about the accident. Where are you? Please call me back. I'm on my way."

Voicemail 2:

[16:23]

Kimi: "Seb, it's urgent. Are you alright? Let me know what's going on. Call me back as soon as you can."

Voicemail 3:

[16:25]

Kimi: “Seb, this is Kimi again. I’m on my way to you. Stay calm, buddy. We’ll sort this out. Just let me know where you are.”

Voicemail 4:

[16:31]

Kimi: "Seb, please pick up. I need to hear your voice. I'm almost there. Hang in there."

Voicemail 5:

[16:35]

Kimi: "Seb, it's Kimi. I'm at the track now. Seb, please pick up. I’m getting worried here. Let me know you’re okay. Please.”

Voicemail 6:

[16:37]

Kimi: "Seb, I see the crash site. Are you okay? The team won’t tell me anything. Please answer me, Seb."

Voicemail 7:

[16:40]

Kimi: "Seb, it's Kimi. Help is on the way. They won’t let me go with you in the ambulance. Stay with me, buddy."

Voicemail 8:

[17:38]

Kimi: "Seb, I’m at the hospital. They still won’t tell me if you’re okay. Please talk to me. I’ll wait here."

Voicemail 9:

[20:13]

Kimi: “It’s me again. They won’t tell me how you’re doing and they won’t let me see you as well. I’ll stay and wait. Please call me back”

Voicemail 10:

[01:17]

Kimi: "Seb, they send me home. Didn’t want to but the doc said you're going to be alright. Just focus on getting better. I’ll try to be there when you wake up. See you soon."

End of voicemails.

Voicemail 1:

[06:24]

Sebastian: “I’m all right. Don’t know if I can say the same about you. The doctor told me you were pacing up and down the hallway all night so I hope you sleep well. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Voicemail 2:

[06:25]

Sebastian: “And please bring me a good coffee. The ones from the hospital suck”

End of voicemails.

sometimes i think im funny

F1 x Neon Genesis Evangelion au

Max.

Story post to my previous drawing.

"Cut the signal! Shut it down!" Voices overlapped in his comms, frantic and useless.

His hands trembled against the controls. He wasn’t piloting anymore. He was inside something alive, something hungry, something that had always been waiting for an excuse to take over.

Max’s hands gripped the controls, fingers slick with sweat, blood pounding in his temples.

The Angel before him was relentless, its form twisting and shifting with eerie fluidity. Every strike was a surge of primal energy—a force that Max couldn’t seem to contain, no matter how hard he pushed Unit 33 to retaliate. His EVA was battered, bruised, the armor cracked and peeling away in places. But still, it stood. Still, it fought.

Another wave of energy hit, sending Max reeling inside the cockpit. He gritted his teeth, his body jolted violently as his EVA staggered backward, but it didn’t fall.

He couldn’t fall.

He had been fighting this Angel for what felt like days. The city around him had become little more than a memory—broken fragments of steel and stone scattered across the battlefield. But he was still there, still standing.

But he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

His vitals were spiking. The monitors flashed with warnings, but Max barely registered them. His breath came in ragged gasps, the LCL in his lungs thickening with each inhale. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his body, the kind that echoed deep into his bones, but it didn’t matter. He had to keep going. He had to fight.

There was no room for weakness.

He wanted to retreat—just for a moment, to assess the damage, to regroup, to think. He wanted to find a way to make sense of it all. But every time the thought crossed his mind, his heart raced. His chest tightened. Because if he stopped, if he gave in, lives would be lost.

People were counting on him.

He was their perfect pilot.

A perfect pilot didn’t retreat.

A perfect pilot didn’t allow failure.

Not when there was a city to protect. Not when people needed him. Not when NERV was watching, waiting for him to perform—to succeed.

Max’s heart hammered in his chest. His breath came out in short, sharp bursts. Every muscle in his body screamed for rest, for release, but he refused to listen. His hands trembled, but they didn’t leave the controls.

NERV had no patience for weakness. They never had.

They didn’t care if he was hurt. They didn’t care if he was dying.

As long as he was standing, as long as he was able to fight, he had no choice but to keep going.

No one else should do this. No one else could do this.

He couldn’t stop.

With a deep, shaky breath, Max drove Unit 33 forward again, the EVA’s claws scraping against the cracked asphalt. The Angel was already charging toward him, its limbs twisting and shifting, ready to strike once more.

His pulse raced. His sync rate spiked dangerously. The cockpit shook violently as the Angel’s tendrils slammed into his EVA, throwing him back again. Max’s vision blurred as he fought to maintain control, his hands gripping the controls so tight his fingers went numb.

Pain flooded his chest. Pain shot through his head.

But he couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t give up.

“Max! Your vitals—!” The voice crackled over the comms, but it was distant, muffled, like someone shouting from far away.

It didn’t matter.

Max’s jaw clenched, his breath harsh and uneven. The world around him felt like it was spinning, the edges of his vision darkening, but he pushed it all down. He could still fight. As long as he could move, as long as he had breath in his lungs, he could keep fighting.

He had to.

He was their perfect pilot. The one who never stopped. The one who never failed.

Even as his body screamed for rest, even as his mind teetered on the edge of exhaustion, he kept going. Because the world demanded it.

Because they expected it.

A flicker at the edges of his vision. The sync rate display spiked.

85%... 90%... 94%...

He growled, shaking his head. "Not now. Not yet."

A second strike. The Angel’s attack tore into Unit 33’s plating, exposing the writhing mass of muscle beneath. Pain surged through him—not real, but real enough. His nerves lit up as if he had been struck himself. The sync rate climbed again.

97%... 99%...

"Max! Keep control!" The voice—his comms officer? His strategist? He couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter.

The anger came in a wave. A deep, all-consuming heat. The walls of the entry plug pulsed around him, the LCL thickening, as if alive. The heartbeat of the EVA—his heartbeat—pounded in his ears.

100%.

Then, silence.

It felt like hours had passed.

Unit 33 twitched. Its jaw cracked open wider than it should. A low, inhuman snarl vibrated through the battlefield.

The EVA moved—and Max wasn’t the one moving it.

With a deafening roar, Unit 33 launched itself forward, faster than before, limbs contorting, armor splitting as its organic form expanded. It tore into the Angel like a rabid animal, ripping through its core with bloodied claws. The once-monolithic creature writhed and screeched, but Unit 33 didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

Max gasped, trying to override the controls. Nothing responded. The EVA thrashed wildly, breaking the Angel apart piece by piece, ignoring the fact that it had already won. The thing was dead. And yet, Unit 33 was still moving, still destroying, still devouring.

"Cut the signal! Shut it down!" Voices overlapped in his comms, frantic and useless.

His hands trembled against the controls. He wasn’t piloting anymore. He was inside something alive, something hungry, something that had always been waiting for an excuse to take over.

The last thing he heard before everything went black was the sound of his own laughter—low, broken, and not entirely his own.

—

The cockpit disappeared.

The battlefield disappeared.

Everything disappeared.

—

Max floated.

Drifting in a vast, endless sea of nothingness, weightless. lost in a space without shape, without form.

It was as though the air itself had melted away. There was nothing. No edges, no boundaries. Just an infinite softness wrapping around him, enfolding him like a cocoon of silence. He couldn’t name it—the color, the sensation. It wasn’t light, but neither was it dark. It was... something. The absence of something. Or everything.

Every time he tried to name it, the thought slipped away, like sand through his fingers.

A slow breath.

The emptiness felt warm in his chest. It wasn’t his breath. It wasn’t his body. But the air still moved. It still filled him, and in that slow rise and fall, he felt something.

He knew this place.

A sense of relief bloomed, quiet and deep. It was as though something heavy had been taken from him, something unspoken, something he had never let himself acknowledge. A breath that he hadn’t known he was holding.

He Knew. Unit 33 was tearing apart the Angel—or worse, something else.

He could hear it. NERV was screaming through comms, trying to reach him.

But he didn’t care.

Because this was the only place where he could be vulnerable.

No battle. No expectations. No weight crushing down on his shoulders, forcing him to be perfect. Here, he didn’t have to hold up the façade of strength, didn’t have to wear the armor he’d built around himself.

Here, there was nothing.

And in that nothingness, it was waiting for him.

A figure stood above him. Watching. Protecting.

It had no metal, no restraints, no plating to hide behind. It bared its true form—muscle and sinew, raw and unshaped, not human, but something close. Its eyes, deep and endless, held something he couldn’t name. It reached for him, but did not touch him. It didn’t need to.

Its presence was vast, too large to understand, and yet its outline was etched into his mind as if it had always been there. It didn’t move, but he felt it, hovering above him like a shadow without a form. Or maybe it was light—he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that it was watching.

A strange pulse—faint but unmistakable—washed over him, and the space around him seemed to shift, as if the very nothingness breathed with him.

He felt held.

It was holding him.

Keeping him safe.

It was not a grip, not an embrace. It was a knowing, an understanding that didn’t need words or touch. It existed between the silence, in the place where nothing could reach him.

And for a moment, he allowed himself to float in it.

Weightless.

There were no edges. No time. The concept of moments felt like waves, but they never broke. He drifted, and yet he didn’t move. And somewhere beneath it all, he could feel it—the thing that had always been there.

He didn’t know if it was his.

He didn’t know if it was him.

But it was with him.

His fingers twitched. His body, for the first time in so long, felt light.

His eyelids grew heavy.

He let them close.

His mind felt detached, his thoughts soft like ripples in water, fading before they could take shape. There was no rush. No urgency. Only the slow, quiet rhythm of something waiting.

The figure above him remained, and in its presence, he didn’t feel the need to understand. He only existed—floating, breathing, and being held by something that wasn’t quite light, and wasn’t quite shadow.

A moment, perhaps. Or maybe, no moment at all.

It didn’t matter.

He let go.

Let it take over.

And for the first time in a long time, Max rested.

Okay pure Simi Angst

I don’t really know if I feel 100% comfortable with writing character deaths in rpf so this will probably be the only story containing one.

If you are looking for a happy ending my last ficlet post is this story but with Seb answering Kimi’s calls <3

Kimi had been watching the race from the comfort of his living room, a glass of whiskey in hand, until the camera shifted to a horrifying scene. A massive pile-up had occurred on the track. Cars were strewn across the asphalt like broken toys, smoke rising in ominous plumes.

His stomach churned with dread as he recognized one of the damaged vehicles—a Ferrari. The Fin didn’t dare to let out a breath as the commentator’s voice echoed through his living room, struggling to identify the drivers involved.

Kimi's heart stopped. Without wasting a moment, he grabbed his phone and called Sebastian. The call went straight to voicemail. He tried again, his hands trembling, but there was still no answer. His mind raced as he left a message, his voice taut with fear.

"Seb, it's Kimi. I saw the crash. Where are you? Please, call me back. I need to know you’re okay."

Abandoning his drink, Kimi dashed out of his house, his keys already in hand. He jumped into his car and sped towards the track. The roads blurred around him as he dialed again, each unanswered ring tightening the knot in his stomach.

He left another voicemail, his voice breaking with desperation.

“Sebastian, it’s Kimi again. Please pick up. I’m on my way. Just let me know what's going on, if you’re alright. Please.”

He weaved through traffic, pushing his car to its limits, desperate to reach his friend. Another call, another voicemail.

"Seb, I'm getting closer. I’m almost there. Just hold on, okay? We'll sort this out together. I promise. Call me back when you get this."

As he neared the track, the scene grew more chaotic. Emergency vehicles swarmed the area, lights flashing, sirens blaring. Kimi parked haphazardly and ran towards the paddock, his phone still in hand. He left another voicemail, his voice raw with emotion.

"Seb, it’s Kimi. I’m here. I can see the car. Please, God, let me hear your voice.”

Officials tried to hold him back, but Kimi’s determination was unwavering. He pushed through the crowd, eyes scanning for any sign of his friend. He reached the barriers, the sight of the mangled car making his heart drop. He left another voicemail, his voice shaking.

"Seb, where are you? Tell me you got out of there. Please. Pick up the damn phone and tell me you’re alright.”

He spotted the paramedics, their faces grim, working around the wreckage. His stomach churned as he dialed again, refusing to give up hope.

"Seb, please tell me you’re alright. Why won’t you answer? Answer me, Seb, come on. Don’t do this to me."

Kimi watched helplessly as they pulled Sebastian from the car, his body limp. The medics worked quickly, but there was a finality in their movements that made Kimi's blood run cold. He called once more, voice cracking with desperation.

"Seb, it's Kimi. Help is on the way. Stay strong. I’ll try to get to you."

The paramedics loaded Sebastian onto a stretcher, and Kimi saw the truth in their eyes. He dialed again, one last time, knowing it was futile but unable to stop himself.

"Seb, they're here. Hang tight. We'll get you out safely. I’ll be there. I won’t let you go. You won’t be alone. I promise.”

Tears streamed down Kimi’s face as he climbed over the barriers and stumbled forward, his worst fears realized. The medics tried to keep him back, but he broke through, reaching for his friend, his voice a broken whisper. All those voicemails, all those desperate messages, and now he was too late.

“I’m here, Seb. I’m here.”

The paramedics pulled away the grip he had on Sebastian. Pushing him back and telling him to stay back as the ambulance doors closed and drove off without leaving him a chance to go with them.

As he got guided off of the track and back into the pits he left one final voicemail, his voice raw with emotion.

“Seb, they’re going to fix this. The docs will take good care of you. You’re going to be alright. Just focus on getting better. See you soon.”

But deep down, Kimi knew. He knew that Sebastian wouldn't answer. He wouldn't call back. The reality of the situation crashed over him like a wave, and he sank to his knees, collapsing onto the floor of the Ferrari garage, the phone slipping from his grasp.

The following days were a blur of sorrow and disbelief. The racing community mourned the loss of one of its brightest stars, but for Kimi, it was a personal hell.

He listened to the voicemails he had left, each one a painful echo of his desperate race against time. He visited Seb’s memorial, leaving flowers and sitting in silence, the memories of their friendship playing in his mind.

He spoke to Seb in those quiet moments, his words filled with a deep, abiding love.

“Hey Seb, it’s Kimi. I hope you look down to us once in a while. I’ll keep racing through life, just like you taught me. Last week I won at rally but you were all I could think about. I stood there, while the whole crowd was cheering, thinking how I wish you could be there with me. I miss you.”

Though Sebastian would never answer again, Kimi found a measure of solace in those voicemails. He had tried, he had loved, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

If I had the chance to start over || Launt

It got out of hand. I got lost in my own writing while listening to chances on repeat. I startet writing this fic at around 10:30pm and its now 3am so please excuse any mistakes etc and let me know if there are any!

Summary: James has had feelings for Niki for a long time now. He never ends up confessing tho and one day the despair hits him so hard he gets himself so fogged with alcohol and drugs that Niki has to come and save the day once again. Meanwhile James finally opens up about his feelings.

Silverstone

The roar of engines filled the air at Silverstone as James Hunt pulled his helmet off, shaking his golden hair free. James leaned against the pit wall, he glanced across the pit lane as his gaze fell on Niki Lauda, cool and composed, discussing strategies with his team. There was a magnetism to Niki that James couldn't quite shake off, a quiet strength and an enigmatic presence that drew him in.

James found himself watching Niki more than usual. Every precise movement, every calculated decision, and the sheer determination etched on his face fascinated James. He wondered if Niki ever noticed the stolen glances, the lingering looks. It was a fleeting thought, quickly buried beneath a brash smile and a casual shrug. James Hunt wasn't the type to dwell on feelings, especially not feelings as confusing as these.

"Hey, Hunt," a voice called, snapping him out of his reverie. It was one of the mechanics. "We filled her up. Ready for another round?"

James smirked, masking the tumultuous feelings inside. "Always am."

But as he climbed into his car, his mind still kept wandering to Niki.

Monaco

The glamour of Monaco was intoxicating, with its sun-soaked streets and opulent yachts. The competition was fierce, the stakes higher than ever. Yet, James found his thoughts straying towards Niki. They had become rivals on the track and, somehow, confidants off it. There were late-night conversations, hushed and intimate, where they shared dreams and fears over drinks.

One such night, James almost blurted it out. They were on the deck of a yacht, the sea breeze ruffling their hair. Niki was talking about his plans for the next race, but James couldn't focus. His mind was racing with words he couldn't say.

"I admire you, Niki. More than you know," He managed, his voice thick with unspoken emotions.

Niki smiled, a rare, genuine smile. "I know, James. I feel the same."

The words hung in the air, open to interpretation. James' heart pounded, but he said nothing more. The moment passed, leaving him with a bittersweet taste of what could have been.

Belgium

There was no reason for him to be this happy. After McLaren made changes to the car it became difficult to drive and James ended up lurching all over the track, holding other drivers up, and eventually retired with gearbox failure.

As the race ended and Niki emerged victorious, James found himself clapping louder than anyone else, his admiration barely contained while his engineers just scoffed at him in disbelieve. He didnt care though. He stopped doing that a long time ago.

Zandvoort

James often caught himself watching Niki, thinking about what might happen if he took the leap and confessed his love.

But he never did. Instead, he masked his feelings with a reckless lifestyle—partying, women, and substances. Each time he saw Niki's determined face, the longing in his heart grew stronger.

The celebration after James's latest victory was in full swing. Champagne flowed, laughter echoed, but James felt a hollowness inside. Across the room, Niki was engaged in conversation, his sharp features softened by a rare smile. He was talking to Marlene, a beautiful woman who seemed to be the only one who could break through Niki's stern exterior.

James's heart ached. He downed another glass of champagne, trying to drown the jealousy and longing that gnawed at him. What if he had taken that chance, back in '73? What if he had told Niki how he felt?

Watkins Glen

James stood in the shadows, watching Niki with Marlene, her laughter ringing out like a melody. He turned away, unable to bear the sight, and retreated to his hotel room. He saw them together often, and each time, a part of him shattered, and James cursed himself for never having the courage to confess his feelings. He never dared to hope.

Trying to numb the pain, he drowned his sorrows in alcohol and drugs. The party raged on, but James felt increasingly isolated, lost in his thoughts.

Tokyo

The neon lights of Tokyo painted the city in vibrant hues. The race was over, the celebration in full swing, but James was nowhere to be found.

In his hotel room, James poured himself another drink, the alcohol mixing with the drugs he'd taken earlier. The room spun around him, memories of races, laughter, and stolen glances merging into a painful blur.

He wondered what might have been if he had confessed his love. "What if I told him?" he muttered, downing most of his freshly poured drink "What if I just told him I love him?"

What-ifs and could-have-beens crashed over him in relentless waves, each one more unbearable than the last. His vision blurred, hot tears spilling over and streaming down his cheeks.

James collapsed onto the floor, staring at the ceiling as a sob ripped through him, raw and guttural, shaking his entire body. He tried to wipe at his eyes, but the tears kept coming, a torrential flood that refused to be stemmed. His fingers brushed against his cheeks, smearing the tears, mixing them with the alcohol he spilled.

Each sob grew louder, more desperate, as if he could cry out the anguish that had settled deep within his soul. Arms wrapping around his knees, he curled into himself, rocking back and forth in a futile attempt to find comfort.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, the pain in his chest tightening with every exhale as the room around him seemed to dissolve into a haze of sorrow, the shadows closing in, suffocating him with their presence.

The desperate banging on the door was muffled at first, almost as if it were part of the whirlwind in his head. James barely registered the noise, consumed entirely by his grief. It grew more insistent, a rhythmic pounding that seemed to match the frantic beat of his own heart. He heard voices calling his name, but they were distant, like a dream slipping away.

The door swung open with a force that startled him, and there, framed in the doorway, stood Niki Lauda, breathless and wide-eyed. Niki’s face was a mixture of confusion and concern, his eyes wide as he took in the scene before him.

James looked up, his vision swimming through the tears, and saw Niki standing there, silent and stunned. For a moment, everything froze. The banging on the door had stopped, replaced by an eerie silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Seeing Niki there, so vividly present when he’d only imagined him in his sorrow, was both a comfort and a fresh stab of pain.

Niki took a step forward, his eyes never leaving James’s. “James,” he said with a forced calmness, the name hanging heavily in the air. “Scheiße, James, what happened?”

"I'm sorry," he choked out between sobs, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm so, so sorry."

He didn't know who he was apologizing to—Niki, himself, the universe. It didn’t matter.

James tried to speak once more, but the words caught in his throat. He could only stare up at Niki, his emotions laid bare, his sobs a stark admission of his despair. He wiped at his face, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but the effort was futile. The weight of his sorrow and regret was too much to bear.

Niki knelt beside him, his expression a mix of sadness and empathy. He reached out a hand, carefully pulling James into a sitting position, supporting him with a firm but gentle grip. “I’m here, alright? We’ll get through this.” he said, his voice steadier than James’s own trembling hands. “Just… just breathe. In Gottes Namen was tust du dir nur an.”

James clung to Niki, his sobs finally quieting and his breathing slowing down. The room still spun, but now there was a lifeline amid the chaos.

Niki stayed with him, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them, but in that moment, the silence was enough. They sat together on the floor until Niki was convinced James wouldnt fall over or start sobbing again as soon as he let go of him.

He helped James to his feet and guided him to the couch, ensuring he was seated comfortably before moving to fetch a glass of water and some painkillers.

“You can't keep doing this to yourself. Ich kann nicht immer da sein um auf dich auf zu passen." Niki murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. " You need to stop this—drugs, alcohol. You’re destroying yourself."

James’s eyes followed every movement of Niki’s. His gaze was unwavering, even as he struggled to stay conscious. He was too weak to respond verbally, but his eyes spoke volumes, filled with a mix of regret and adoration.

Niki moved about the room, tidying up and picking up the discarded bottles with a practiced efficiency, cleaning the mess and making sure James was well enough to avoid a trip to the hospital. Despite his frustration, there was a tenderness in his touch, a silent promise that he wouldn’t leave James in this state, no matter how much James had hurt himself.

As Niki worked, James began to whisper to himself, his voice barely audible over the sound of Niki’s movements and his own ragged breathing

"If I had the chance to start over… the first person I’d seek out would be you, Niki."

Niki froze for a moment, his hand hovering over a dirty glass. He looked down, catching James’s eye for a split second. There was something in James’s gaze that made Niki pause, his heart aching despite the anger he felt.

“I should’ve... I should’ve told you, should’ve taken the chance while I could” James continued as he looked up into Niki's eyes “I would’ve done it right this time. I would’ve told you everything. I would-”

"You need to drink your water." Niki interrupted harshly as he turned to put the glass and the empty whiskey bottle on the counter.

“I’m sorry,” James whispered again, his voice breaking. “I didn’t... I didn’t know how-”

Niki leaned in to check James's pulse once more but remained silent, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of James’s emotions. The weight of the words that James had never said lay heavily in the room.

In a halting voice, he continued, "I... I love you, Niki. I've always loved you. And I know I've messed everything up, but if I had another chance, I'd do it all differently. I'd do it right."

For a long moment, Niki said nothing, just knelt there, processing the words that hung heavy in the air. He finally shook his head slightly, as if to clear his thoughts, and resumed tending to James, his movements a little gentler now.

Making sure James was settled in bed, his head resting on a pillow and a glass of water within reach, Niki turned to leave, casting one last glance at James.

“Rest, James. We'll talk more when you're sober. I’ll be around if you need anything." he said softly, his voice lacking its earlier harshness.

He turned off the light and quietly left the room, leaving James alone in the darkness.

James lay in the darkness, tears streaming down his face once more. He had finally said it, but it felt like he had lost everything. He clung to the hope that maybe, somehow, he could fix things. But for now, he was alone, begging the universe for a chance to turn back time.

The room was silent, save for his whispered plea, "I didn’t mean for it to be this way. Please. Please, let me go back. Let me fix this."

But the past remained unchangeable, and James was left to face the consequences of his silence, his heartache echoing in the empty room.

Seb having a Niki Lauda helmet and Kimi a James Hunt one is the definition of couple goals ❤️‍🔥🫶🏻

Niki as Karl Lagerfeld and James as Jacques de Bascher.

I said what I said

Mentally preparing for writing a tragic love story about Niki and James atm (I’m listening to sailor song by Gigi Perez on repeat)

“Kimi doesn’t care about any-“ shut your disgusting ass mouth. And just LOOK