My Honest Reaction....

( idk the name of the fic )

I don't know if I should write the next of this fic , Is chapter 1 good enough to write it ?

Mark was five years old when he woke up crying in his mother's bed, a burning sensation from his wrist to his left shoulder, far from uncomfortable, akin to medieval torture. He'd been taught that water extinguishes flames, so he ran with all his meager strength to the bathtub to soothe the ache, but it had no impact other than to make him shiver in the bathroom. He tried to call his father for help, but he was away on business, as was his mother, who had promised to return from her walk with the dog two hours ago.

He had no choice but to endure this ordeal, his tear reserve already dry, and his face full of snot. He cursed the witch who had cast this spell on him, for no one but an evil sorceress could have made him suffer this pain, as he had seen in the cartoon on TV. He wondered, however, if he'd made a mistake; every child like him who'd been punished by a witch had made a mistake. He hadn't eaten too much candy like Hanzel and Gretel, or trusted strangers like Snow White, perhaps because he'd forgotten to feed the dog! His mother had already scolded him several times for this. So he promised himself, in the solitude of his living room, to always look after Pluto, his Australian shepherd, like his brother. He'd make Pluto play with him every day, and in time, he'd even teach him English - if he could do that, so could Pluto.

His mother finally returned after 30 minutes of pure torment, Pluto at her heels, the dog immediately licking Mark's tears under the young woman's appalled gaze. Breathless from crying, the dark-haired boy grabbed his mother's skirt with his working hand, begging her to help him.

"Mom! My arm is burning!"

She took her child from her arms, drying her tears by whispering words to him. What kind of mother was she to let her son suffer like this! She kissed his forehead and checked his arm, where now stood a scrawl-like set of letters that together formed two words: Fernando Alonso.

The moment she touched the mark, the burning suddenly stopped, the sudden change making her poor son's head spin. She made him sit on her lap, ready at last to talk about what would be a very important subject in her son's life.

"It's all right, darling, you've finally found your soulmate. she explained in a soft, pleasant voice.

- Soul-mate... ?

Mark had heard that word somewhere before, when he watched TV shows with his mother, and people always referred to it, either positively or negatively. But no one had warned him that his soulmate was going to hurt him so badly, so Fernando must have really hated him to burn his whole arm.

- Yes, soul mate. When someone's born, they're linked with two people, a soulmate and an soul-opponent. The soulmate is someone who's made for you, often in love, like me and your father, but it can also be a friend or even a family member. And then there's the opponent soul, who's like your sworn enemy, you know Batman?

- Yes! He's so cool!

- If they had a soulmate and a soul-opponent, it would be Robin, because they complement each other perfectly, and the Joker, because they hate each other and will do anything to fight the other.

- Do you know your soul-mate? Mark asked, looking amazed at this new horizon.

- Yes, I do. He was a very bad person in my life, so try to stay as far away from him as possible.

- What about Fernando?! Is he my soul mate or my soul-opponent ?

- That's for you to decide. You'll understand as soon as you talk to him.

- Mom... Do people exist without a soul mate?

- Yes, there are. she says with a nostalgic smile. There aren't many, but they do exist. You mustn't insult them or hit them! Tell yourself that they, at least, can choose anyone, they don't have to follow any rules.

- I'd rather not have had a soul mate then! Fernando really hurt me!

- It's not his fault, he's only just been born, and it's incredible to have a soulmate, it's like being completely whole.

- And if Fernando dies! Mark exclaimed with a frightened look on his face, "If he doesn't have a Fernando to spend his days with, who will he have? Pluto? No! His mother prefers Pluto to him, she'll forget all about him!

- So you'll be looking for someone who doesn't have a soulmate or who has also lost his soulmate like you have, living with the person you're meant to is not synonymous with happiness, as I told you there are people without a soulmate who live their lives very well."

Mark remains a little skeptical about this explanation: if Fernando dies, he'll fall back on his soul-opponent, and even if they hate each other, they'll have to learn to coexist together. Besides, it's hard to hate him, as his father said, and he's always right.

One last question came to him as he stroked the mark on the back of his wrist, which was blood-red, whereas his mother's was golden. Perhaps it was because Fernando was a boy? Did it matter if he fell in love with Fernando, he'd never seen two boys kiss, nor two girls. He then looked for his mother, who had started cooking for the two of them, eager to learn more about what would surely dictate his life later on.

"Why is your mark golden and mine isn't? he asked plaintively, having always preferred yellow to red, even if they liked the harmony of these two colors when black was added to the equation.

- Because I've met my soul mate, the same thing will happen to you when you meet Fernando.

- Will it burn again? Mark asked, pouting. The last thing he wanted was to get burned again by Fernando, especially not when he met him.

- I don't know, I was born with my mark so I don't remember anything, but I felt a slight tingling when I met your father, it was nice. said his mother with a gentle smile, making her son taste the sauce and lick his lips.

- I hope he gets burnt too! At least he'll experience what I've experienced! Mark finally exclaimed, before running off to his room to his mother's laughter.

He grabbed his cuddly toy and gave it a long hug, trying to forget the torture he'd been through an hour ago. Cuddling cures everything, as his father said, and he's always right.

And what else? Should he learn Spanish?

--

Mark is eleven years old when a gentle tingling sensation in his lower back puts him to sleep. It feels like a caress and seems to relax all his muscles, which are tense from Mr. Johnson's incomprehensible history lesson. A beha smile appears on his lips, which makes his friend at the other end of the classroom laugh. He cherishes the gentle caresses until recess, when he is confronted by his friends about the nature of his cartoonish expressions.

"It's my new brand of soul that just arrived. he explains, to the surprised looks of his classmates.

He'd been waiting six years for his other mark, the person he'd love or hate for the rest of his life. And he'd learned so much more about the subject, here's a quick summary:

1. The color of the mark has no influence on whether the person is a soul-mate or a soul-contrary, red is not synonymous with bad, and blue or green is not synonymous with good.

2. People with a single mark exist, either because the other soul-mate has already died at birth, or because a single person combines the soul-mate and soul-opposite attributes; research is still in full swing on this question.

3. Never reveal the name of your soulmate to a stranger. It's very private and could get you into trouble.

4. Trying to find your soul-mate at all costs is pointless: it's totally random, and some people never meet their soul-mate.

5. A mark can take years to come, you have to be patient until the end, some people have their mark when they are adults and their soulmate is their child.

6. Marks can be on any part of the body, most often on the arm, but not always.

7. Having two male soulmates is weird (he learned it from his two best friends).

- Really?! Man... Eleven years difference with someone, I didn't know you liked kids that much. mocked his friend with a perverse expression, quickly followed by the rest of the group.

- No! Besides, I don't care about soul mates, I'd meet them sooner or later, so..." he said nonchalantly, hoping to hide his nervousness behind his i-don't-care air.

His friends took him at face value, and quickly changed the subject under Mark's unspoken entreaties. It was a good thing his friends weren't trying to get under his shirt, or he'd be in big trouble.

He spent the day with mild excitement, wondering what name had appeared on his back. He ran home despite the fact that he hated physical exertion, slamming his bedroom door and taking off his shirt with a deafening crash. His father would surely argue with him about it later, but his soul mate was more important.

He stood in front of his bedroom mirror, looking for the angle that would allow him to perfectly read the name on the small of his back. He managed to read a few letters: S , B , I , A , V , T , L.

And after several minutes in which he tried increasingly outlandish poses, he was finally able to read the name in full: Sebastian Vettel.

His body immediately froze; he hadn't imagined a name other than masculine, but seeing it in real life changed the whole picture... The name was far too high to be hidden by boxer shorts, but far too low not to be visible if his shirt was pulled up a little. He's ruined! Completely ruined! What will his friends think?

His anxious gaze fell on his wrist, nobody had ever paid attention to his arms, and he hadn't seen anyone trying to read what was written on them. If he can't hide Sebastian, he'll hide Fernando. Because even if there's the possibility that it's totally platonic, the looks of disgust he'll get won't be fictional.

Mark likes women, but he doesn't share his desire to go out with them, more out of laziness than real lack of attraction. He finds them beautiful, attractive and intelligent, but men... He likes them too, he definitely doesn't let his eyes wander in the locker room during gym class, but he's already seen attractive men and enjoyed looking at them. All this is a purely scientific, objective judgement, he's only got eyes, and knows how to recognize beauty.

Besides, German women have always been more his type, beautiful blondes with blue eyes have always caught his eye. Much more so than brunettes with golden eyes.

What's more, his father had advised him not to learn Spanish, and he's always right.

Don't forget , Mark's dad is always right. ☝️

HAPPY FERIC FRIDAY !!

inspired by the post of @hufflepuffhabs

"His husband"

Chapters : 3/3

Words : 9 k

Tags : Fluff , domestic fluff , misunderstanding, wedding fluff , Hurt / comfort

SUMMARY:

Daniel had thought it was a dream when Max had called him that, but had he really just said that? A beatific smile formed on his lips as Max fell asleep, oblivious to the impact of his words.

Or 5 times Max inadvertently calls Daniel "his husband" and once he says it knowingly.

Not driver Au ! :

Lance as head of Aston Martin F1 subsidiary ( because he's still a F1 fan )

Esteban engineer Au !

I HOPE SOMEONE GET IT TOO !!!!

( I can yap it about until the end of the days )

phone case for the CHARLOS FEST 2025 !! :

( I thought my phone was going to die because of the layers on Canva😓)

Anyways !

HAPPY CHARLOS FEST !!

" His husband "

Chapter : 2/3

Words : 5500

Summary :

Tag : fluff , domestic fluff , misunderstanding

Daniel had thought it was a dream when Max had called him that, but had he really just said that? A beatific smile formed on his lips as Max fell asleep, oblivious to the impact of his words.

Or 5 times Max inadvertently calls Daniel "his husband" and once he says it knowingly.

CHARLOS!!! The kind of trope that screams i miss my husband , or he wouldve done this if he was still here since they pretty much are divorced now

"I miss you "

Word : around 1 K

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Charles moved gently under his sheets, his skin shivering from the cold. After almost four years with a certain Spaniard, he had forgotten how lonely it could be to sleep alone in a bed three times his size. He had got used to his husband's light snores, Spanish words whispered in the night. The memory of a vanished warmth engulfing his body, he had tried to hold on to it as best he could, trying to rediscover the softness and comfort that had lulled him through the nights, but nothing had helped, Carlos was no longer there, and everything in their house was a reminder of that.

His old toothbrush was still in the bathroom, sitting next to the Monegasque's, the two objects forming a pair so inescapable that Charles was obliged to abandon his own to buy a new one, unable to throw both away.

The kitchen cupboards were always full of products straight from Spain, sauces, pastes, spices, all used by Carlos, most of the time to reproduce the recipes of his beloved mother, which Charles was delighted to taste, although he didn't know how the dark-haired man managed to make these recipes so delicious.

If you looked at the entrance to the flat, as Charles sometimes did when he was bored, you could see a bag full of golf clubs. They had been put there after Carlos had the unfortunate tendency to drop things in his haste after being told about a round of golf by his friends. So, whenever the Spaniard wanted to go out, he had his clubs close to him. An ingenious decision by a more carefree Charles, a bitter reminder of his companion's absence for a mature Charles, but one that Carlos would surely have called a killjoy.

The previously bright flat seemed far more macabre, part of it being shamelessly ripped away, the place now haunted by a soul in perpetual search of the one who had once completed it.

Even Leo seemed less enthusiastic, the young puppy only chewing on what was up to him, his master becoming his only interesting toy, the cushions, clothes and duvets finally living without the fear of being torn apart by the mutt's jaws.

However....

Carlos had only been gone for 2 months.

2 short months.

Which seemed interminable to the younger man, they were still a couple, sending each other frequent messages. But Carlos was no longer physically at his side and Charles felt it.

And while Carlos was no longer living with the Monegasque.

Charles had no time for the Spaniard.

The man was constantly busy with the Italian team, being invited to the most sumptuous dinners as well as the most pointless meetings, always there to put on a good show, to represent the 'soul' of Ferrari.

And there was nothing Carlos could do about it. Already, when they were team-mates Charles was overwhelmed, the luxury brand asking much more of the younger than the older, after all Ferrari fans had become addicted to his smile and his eyes, much more than any physical or mental trait of the Spaniard, who had accepted his position as Side-kick.

But since he'd left for William, everything had speeded up, and he no longer even had the chance to call Charles, only being able to send him messages that he hoped the chestnut would have time to read. Perhaps where he lived was warmer, and traces of his loved ones could be seen everywhere. The fact remained that he no longer had any of Charles's possessions, not an accessory, not a piece of clothing, not even a gift, everything had remained in Monaco, their home.

He only glimpsed the Monegasque's life through social networks and the media, a bitter taste spilling into his mouth as soon as he remembered that not so long ago, he was the man behind the camera. The Monegasque loved having "artistic" images of himself or his dog, and Carlos in turn enjoyed taking photos of them, freezing this shared happiness so that he could savour it a little more later.

A promise had kept them going for a while, a simple promise but one that was so important to them, both of them knowing that if he broke it.....

Their relationship would be over.

It was entitled:

"If one of us calls at 16:55, the other is obliged to answer"

Quick, easy, concise.

And as the winter chill consumed his body, Charles thought about it, his eyes glued to the time on his phone. Should he do it or not? He had missed several of Carlos's calls unintentionally and the Spaniard had never complained, so it was his turn to make the first move, wasn't it? And then.... He missed the dark-haired man's voice, his slight accent warming the younger man's body, imagining the tired smile on his partner's face after a tiring, tedious but fortunately victorious race.

The minutes passed like drops falling one by one on a pane of glass, creating a trickle of water like a torrent. Charles counted them, the wait being both too short and too long, the hope of calling but the fear of having no one at the other end of the line growing inside him.

16:53

Charles hastily put his phone under his pillow, short of breath, there was no point in calling Carlos at this hour, he was bound to disturb him. Wouldn't he?

16:54

He fumbled around in bed, almost dropping his phone and breaking it. The screen of the device reflected on his pupil, where it read "Chili 🌶️❤️". His heart skipped a beat at the nickname, it had been a long time since he'd called his husband that. More affectionate nicknames replaced it, the sensation of them still beneath Charles's lips, waiting to be uttered once more....

16 : 55

Time did not stand still as the Monegasque expected, he was not after all in a romance a l'eau de rose, no important moment came, his fingers trembling in front of the icon to call.

And just as he was about to go back to sleep, his eyes darting around and the thought that had been haunting him for a week now finally seeming to come true, he heard a hum. It was short, quick, almost inaudible, but it was there and its mere existence was a breath of fresh air after weeks of swimming in doubt.

"Amor? asked the voice over the phone, a silly grin forming on Charles's face.

-Oui chéri ? replied the Monegasque, slowly catching his breath.

- I.... I mi-Wait! Are you still buying Leo the kibble I recommended?

- The ones that cost more than a gourmet meal?

- Hey! He deserves luxury, he's our prince after all.

- Yeah.... Our prince.... Charles replied, a melancholy smile forming on his lips as he remembered Carlos's love for his dog, their dog, and how jealous he had been of it.

-....

- You only called me to talk about this?

- Why would I call you about anything else? The Spaniard replied point-blank.

The answer was like a dagger to the heart. The Monegasque wasn't sure he could get over it.

- No reason.... I was just imagining things.

- See you in Australia? Promise?

- Promise!"

The call then ended, Charles curling up in his bed, while Carlos insulted himself because of his stupidity. It was the only time the Monegasque had answered him and he hadn't even managed to talk about what he wanted, the feeling of being too much growing inside him as the conversation progressed.

He did, however, write one last little message, hoping that the younger man hadn't fallen asleep yet:

"I miss you"

A little heart being sent in reply, breaking the brunet's heart even more.

Bloody hell!

Why wasn't he in Charles' arms!

He could have comforted him all he wanted, cooking pancakes until he was obese, singing the cheesy French music that the Monegasque loved.

He would have loved to be by her side so much....

So much that it consumed him.

The memories of this shared life were the best fuel for the fire that was destroying him little by little.

But hey...

They were going to meet again, or so he hoped.

The stolen kisses between each race, hidden from everyone's eyes, were surely the best way to stop this destructive fire.

But in the meantime, as it grew day by day, perhaps it would be unstoppable? The damage it would have caused was too deep, incapable of even being cured with any kind of treatment.

This....

Only time will tell.

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I hesitated whether to make the ending happy or sad and I ended up with the open ending, I'm not sure if I'm 100% on theme but all in all I enjoyed writing this little story, I hope you enjoyed reading it 🤗

If someone had a request too

My early Christmas gift 🎁 :

CHRISTMAS LETTER

Ship : Yukierre ( Yuki X Pierre ) and Charlos ( Charles X Carlos ) in background

Tag : Fluff

Word : around 2000 words

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Yuki scanned the 'thing' in front of him with fear and curiosity. There were no other words to describe what looked like a pile of biscuits straight out of a Ketamine workshop. The smell of burning made the Japanese man cough as he opened the windows, sending a quick apology to his neighbours who would have to smell this filth on New Year's Eve.

Now it was time to look for the culprit of this culinary crime, so he chose not to throw the biscuits away despite the nauseating smell, and went to investigate. The first thing he found was Charles gazing lovingly at his partner, Carlos, dancing to the applause and laughter of the other guests. The Monegasque wasn't the most skilful with a whip or a knife, but he knew how to manage a minimum, he wasn't at his boyfriend's level, but as the days and months went by, his level had increased significantly.

Nevertheless, Charles had never tried his hand at pastry-making, and where Carlos excelled, Charles excelled, golf being a perfect example of that. The Spaniard could pride himself on having made some magnificent swings, while his companion struggled to hit the ball, dropping it three quarters of the time into the water, which made him wonder whether he should become a diver instead of a pilot. So the question arose, and Yuki was definitely not known for his tact.

"Charles? Did you bring us biscuits? It's nice, but it was definitely not necessary. Asked Yuki, pointing to the experiment that boasts the name of edible food.

- Oh, that! It was already here when Carlos and I came, we hesitated to throw it out but we kept it here because of the note next to it.

Yuki frowned at the Francophone's explanation, there had been no words when he'd seen the pile of 'defective' biscuits, perhaps he hadn't been paying enough attention? Or looked carefully enough? He thanked the older man for his answer and went to check the kitchen again, looking for the overcooked biscuits.

After having to greet at least five people to get to his favourite room in the house, he was surprised to discover that the pile had disappeared! He would have said good riddance, but with it, the paper that had intrigued him had also magically evaporated.

So he resumed his little investigation, this time in search of the mysterious thief or gourmet, although he doubted it very much, who had stolen a note that was surely intended for him. After all, everyone knew that the kitchen was Yuki's territory, and those who had forgotten must have remembered to their cost. Daniel sometimes stroked his head, remembering the blows he'd received from the Japanese when he'd let his greed do the talking on New Year's Eve last year. It had amused the crowd, but it had also made it clear that if anyone entered this sacred place without the Asian's permission, they would receive his wrath or worse.

The only one who was guaranteed never to receive any physical punishment was Pierre, the Frenchman who enjoyed immunity thanks to his status as, and I quote: "Boyfriend of the paddock's favourite gremlin". This made more than one person smile, especially Pierre who enjoyed his privilege as he saw fit, having fun annoying the Asian while he was cooking, distracting him either by showing him videos while he had to watch the dough, or by incorporating new ingredients himself. Luckily Yuki was a real chef, the Asian redoubling his ingenuity to hide his partner's blunders, often making his dishes even more succulent. Definitely, the duo worked like clockwork.

Well, not necessarily, or at least not any more, given the Frenchman's smile of both laughter and regret as he ventured into his partner's realm. His eyes averted, he placed the object of the Asian's covetousness in front of him, embarrassment showing on his face. In the end, Yuki didn't need to make any enquiries, the source came to him, perhaps he had such a force of attraction that problems were solved as soon as he knew they existed. He'd talk to Lance about it, I'm sure he'd understand.

"So? Did you make his biscuits? he asked, looking frankly unconvinced by his boyfriend's cooking skills.

- It was supposed to be a surprise, but Esteban's just tasted them, and he's throwing up in the toilet right now. So I thought I'd take them out quickly before you discover them. Explained the Frenchman with a slightly proud smile. Definitely, anything that could make the life of his French colleague more miserable was beneficial to him.

- Don't try to cook on your own again! You're wasting ingredients for nothing. exclaimed Yuki, Pierre's face breaking down at his boyfriend's remark.

- Come on Yuki! I wanted to please you! I even wrote you a little note! Pierre defended himself, taking the Japanese man in his arms and quickly stealing a kiss. Yuki let out a quick insult in his native tongue and his cheeks flushed at the chestnut's amorous gesture.

The Japanese man, finally overcome by his partner's murmurs of love, took the pretty decorated Christmas card from the older man's hands. The many drawings on it surprised him as he opened it, seeing his initials and Pierre's, his name in Japanese and a whole bunch of other terribly useless but endearing scribbles, which framed his boyfriend's message.

"Dear Yuki,

It's been 3 years since we celebrated our Christmas together, I would have told you that it's only the food that has embellished these moments with you, but you surely know that there are many other things.

Here's a non-exhaustive list:

• Your little mumbles in Japanese when you're angry or thinking

• Your habit of talking while you sleep (you've already confessed to me 4 times like that)

•Your cheeks that turn red as soon as it's less than 5 degrees.

•Your addiction to fry chicken

• Your Christmas jumpers that are too big (I've bought you a new one, by the way, look on our bed)

•Decorating the tree is becoming a competition with you

•Your long phone calls with your family, while you cry because you can't see your nieces (there's something waiting for you there with the jumper)

•Your fear of Father Christmas (it's just because he's bigger than you, admit it)

•Your collection of collector's snowballs.

And many more, but I don't have the space to write them all down.

Every holiday I spend with you makes me want to celebrate Christmas every day, just to see your excitement over the presents and the look of pride on your face when you see someone enjoying yours.

I hope we can all celebrate together.

Pierre, your beloved boyfriend

To my favourite elf."

Yuki felt tears fall down her cheeks, her vision blurring as a result. His boyfriend was sometimes stupid, even very stupid, but he loved him and it was during these moments that he remembered him the most.

"Me too.... He whispered as he leaned his head against the chest of the man he liked to call his soul mate, he'd never tell him, it would give him too much of a headache.

The Frenchman's heart quickened at his boyfriend's words, he hadn't expected him to cry, Pierre wasn't the best at comforting. But his arms would always be there to support him, whether in moments of joy or sadness, after all it was his duty as his boyfriend. And he would never fail in this task. Because Yuki deserved it, he deserved this tenderness and this love, and the Japanese man had to realise this sooner or later, because the Frenchman would remind him of it for the rest of his life.

- Is that all? I expected more, given everything I've written. Pierre commented with an amused smile, a lack felt deep inside him as he felt the youngest leave his arms.

- I've already complimented your shopping list enough! replied Yuki, trying to sound annoyed, the tears in the corner of his eyes making him lose all credibility.

Pierre laughed at his words, his hand taking the younger man's, leading them towards their bedroom where a gift wrapped on their bed was waiting, the Frenchman's apprehension growing as he saw Yuki quickly tear open the gift packet, his eyes lit up with curiosity.

These were soon extinguished by the tasteless garment in front of him. A picture of a shrinking man with the phrase "I love my PETIT-ami* " and the usual Christmas motifs in the background. He changed his jumper, however, putting on the new one, which was once again too big for him. He was sure that Pierre was now deliberately bringing back one size larger, but he was giving him the benefit of the doubt, after all he had taken the time to write him a letter.

While he was putting on his top, he saw some plane tickets at the bottom of the gift packet. Pierre had prepared a trip for them? But there were far too many, the date on the tickets had expired, and the destination was Italy. And just as he was about to question his boyfriend, the latter covered his eyes with his hands, whispering to him to turn round and wait a few seconds. Yuki hesitated to bite him, Pierre deserved to be bitten for the jumper, and was about to do so when Pierre took his hands away from his eyes, letting him see several people in front of him shouting "Suprise! ".

His vision finally clear, he recognised his niece running into his arms, her expression shocked as he turned towards Pierre who was smiling lovingly at him. The amazement in his eyes as he heard his family talking to him.

"It's not thanks to me, it's thanks to them. Pierre whispered, pointing to his nieces as he left to let Yuki enjoy her time with her family.

- Your Prince Charming took us on a tour of Italy! exclaimed the youngest.

- How did he do that?

He'd often complained to Pierre about not being able to see his nieces because of the time difference, or even the shopping schedules that never coincided with their school holidays.

- He called Mum on 3 November to talk about our trip. It took a while, but we managed! explained the taller of the two.

Yuki had felt hurt when Pierre hadn't wanted to spend the night with him after the victory, but that was to prepare his Christmas surprise.

The hours passed like that, his family and friends mingling under the mistletoe, the smell of gingerbread and the fir tree towering above them. Finally came the time to say goodbye, his close friends returning home while some of his family stayed in the many guest rooms.

And as he cradled his youngest niece, he spotted Pierre admiring them from the corner of the door. He finally finished his story over the snores of the youngest, and joined the one he could now call 'mine'.

The two whispered a sweet phrase to each other, close to falling into Orpheus's arms.

"Joyeux Noël Yuki"

" メリークリスマス Pierre"

End.

---------------

* Petit-ami = boyfriend in french and literally " Little friend ".

* Joyeux Noël = Merry Christmas, same for Yuki.

I'm reluctant to write another little one-shot like this, I had to do it for the Yukierre because I love this ship and it doesn't get enough attention. I hope you enjoyed it.

" Dépaysement "

Ships : Lance stroll / Esteban , background: Webbonso

Chapter : 1/?

Tags : emotional hurt/comfort , slow burn , Not traditional ABO

Word : 3.3 k

Summary:

Dépaysement : French word to describe the emotion felt when changing habits or environments. It often refers to the feelings associated with immersion in an unfamiliar environment, different from the original one.

"However, there was still one problem in Lance's life, a problem as annoying as it was addictive, always at Lance's side and terribly vital to the Canadian's routine. This problem came in the form of a person, a driver to be precise.

Esteban ocon"