F1 Rpf Fic - Blog Posts

Chapters: 9/25

Fandom: Formula 1 RPF

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris & Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris/Original Female Character(s), Oscar Piastri/Original Female Character(s), Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri/Original Female Character(s), Pierre Gasly & Original Female Character(s), Carlos Sainz Jr & Original Female Character(s), George Russel & Original Female Character(s) 

Characters: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Pierre Gasly, Carlos Sainz Jr, Max Verstappen, George Russell (Formula 1 RPF), Alexander Albon, and rest of the grid are here too, Original Female Character(s)

Summary:

"this is what happens when three people love each other and make it everyone's problem."

Piper Hastings was supposed to be the invisible girl behind the McLaren Instagram account — scheduling posts, writing captions, and making sure Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri didn't roast each other on main. She was not supposed to become the third point in whatever the hell triangle the two of them were drawing around her. It starts small — inside jokes, teasing comments, too-long glances when they think nobody's watching. The whole grid clocks it before she does. The fans start making memes. The group chat won't let it die.

Nothing's happening. But everyone's already watching.

OR Challengers AU but make it McLaren, make it slow burn, and make it the grid's collective problem.

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soooo, this is my first fic, the chps are a little short and it takes a little time start getting good. BUT please check it out, its a fun ride i promise!

Please ask your friend (an international treasure) about "classic" f1 drivers and their designations. I so want to know what she thinks of Fittipaldi,Senna, Prost, and Vettel specifically.

ask and you shall receive my dear anon!! 🥰

(also I did add on a few picks of my own because i was so curious)

once again she slays and I personally have no notes 💅

that omegaverse poll on f1 twitter crossed my timeline so I sent it to my bestie who loves omegaverse but is not within the f1 fandom and she delivered a masterpiece

and for additional context, she did look up the ones she wasn’t as familiar with and listen to a few reels to hear their voice/mannerisms etc ✌️

anyway I’d love to hear thoughts and discussions from yall 🫶

the way Lando was given the babies to fawn over and nurture and Oscar was given the seniors and special needs dogs to be calm and gentle with

parents landoscar night times are canonically Lando as the "oh! you're so good!! brushed your teeth without me even asking!" parent and Oscar as the "hey, hey shhh I'm here, baby… monster can't get you, okay? it was just a nightmare!" parent

smth to do with Lando thriving on positive reinforcement and Oscar thriving on stability and reassurance

the funniest things happen when your brain rot for Oscar Piastri collides with a fanfic prompt.

I should be writing other things but sometimes I write fanfic instead. if you want to read, you can find it here 👀💖

(did I make a collection so I can a.) write more landoscar fics and b.) call it pastry and poetry as a play on both Oscar's name and my need to wax poetically about him? yes.)

the mclaren boys are driving me insane lately and I must be a part of my cycle where I want to write soft love and sweet kissing.

crawling out from the void of writing for my career to toss this silly thing out into the aether. I had a free few moments while waiting for my laundry to be done and I let my brain rot take over.

bodyguard!Nando anyone?

do I find myself funny? yes and that's all that matters.

one day I might have enough time to dedicate actual brain power to this strollonso!bodyguard au that is rotting the darkest corners of my brain.

25 questions for smut writers

i've been thinking for a while that i've never seen an ask meme that was specifically focused on writing smut — so creating one in honor of @silmsmutweek! share some smutty thots and recs 🥰😈

feel free to edit, remove questions you'd prefer not to answer, etc. this list is intended for tolkien writers but also feel free to modify for another fandom ✨

Share your philosophy of smut. Why do you write it, and what does it mean to you?

What was the first smut fic you ever read?

What is the smut fic you read most recently? 

What was the first smut fic you ever published?

What is your most recently published smut fic?

How do you think your smut writing has evolved?

If you write non-smutty fic as well, how does it interrelate with your smut fic? 

What is your favorite comment you have received on a smut piece?

How did you learn to write smut? Were there specific fics or authors that inspired you? Or novels/movies/other texts?

Do you have music/playlists that have inspired your writing? Share some smutty song recs. 

Do you have some favorite smutty or erotic fan art? And/or non-fan art? 

Who are your favorite characters/pairings to write smut for?

What’s the most surprising smut pairing you’ve written? 

What are your favorite smut tropes?

Do you have favorite words, phrases, or imagery to use in smut?

What do you think is the sexiest part of actual Tolkien canon? Inclusive of the books, onscreen depictions, etc. 

Who are your favorite canon couples to write smut for? 

What’s the weirdest thing you have researched for the sake of a smut fic? Can be within the scope of Tolkien canon or on a topic completely outside it. 

Share a favorite passage from one of your smut fics. 

Share a summary of, or excerpt from, an unpublished smut fic.

Share a smutty headcanon about [character(s)]. 

Share a DVD commentary on [one of your smut fic/smutty scene from a longer work]. 

Share a smut rec for [character]. 

Share a smut rec for [ship]. 

Share a smut rec for [trope].

If I had a nickel for every time I wrote about a quirky interaction happening in a fic between the main couple and a funny new yorker in New York City, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it is weird it happened twice, right.

I really thought I'd write some good old-fashioned orgasm delay/denial smut and be done with it.

but here I am, being introspective about things I don't know nearly enough about. anyway, as a girlie who wants and isn't getting, I've been using this f1 rpf fic as therapy too much.

(this is a teaser (I suppose) for the next chapter and don't let it fool you, it's got a lot of sex in it.

just sometimes my silly little brain gets in the way and writes a lot ode to a man I barely know)

find this fic on ao3 here

sometimes my brain gets the beginning lines of a fic and it sprawls into something with spice and sex and feelings.

I just wish it didn’t take so damn long to get a new ao3 account 🫠

(she says with the fic not even being done yet 💀)

anyway, I’ll keep yelling into the void and hoping I one day manage to get any of these swirling fic ideas out of my head

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 )

" 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"

May I request Brazil 2003 inspired fic where fernando's injuries were worse than it was and since mark indirectly caused fernando's crash he felt extreme guilt and worry as he tried to help fernando before the medic arrive?

"BRAZIL 2003 "

Word : around 1 K

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Mark took a deep breath, his vision blurred, his limbs weak, he had to get out of here quickly before someone else crashed into him. Almost half the grid had crashed at turn three, the last survivors fighting in the Brazilian rain, Mark had been one of them before losing control.

He now found himself in the middle of the road, the wreckage of his vehicle surrounding him as he tried as best he could to get out of it. He felt gusts of wind whip past him as the survivors still in the race made their way across the minefield.

However, one of them didn't make it and Mark saw a car come into contact with one of the pieces of debris before bouncing off the railings, the front of the car completely destroyed. It all happened so quickly that Mark didn't have time to shout the Spaniard's name before he crashed. The deafening noise made the Australian grit his teeth as he hastily removed his seatbelt.

He only managed to do so after a few seconds of pure struggle, his hands trembling from stress not making the task any easier. His thoughts blurred as he ran towards the brunette, his legs loose, the Jaguar driver on the verge of collapsing. His torrent of thoughts had only one thing in common, tending towards the same point, a person to be precise.

Fernando Alonso

Guilt made his steps heavier, even as he hoped the Spaniard hadn't been too badly hurt. The dark-haired driver never stopped, the dopamine in his blood becoming his drug, the youngest unable to get rid of it, so if someone had told him to slow down, he obviously wouldn't have listened. His only objective was to overtake the one in front of him by any means necessary.

Mark knew that his crash could injure people, he sensed it himself, but now that he was in front of the carcass of Fernando's Formula 1 car, the Spaniard trying as best he could to get rid of it without succeeding, he felt like the world was falling apart.

Shit!

Why was he driving so badly! Fernando had been injured because of him, the Spaniard grumbling in his native tongue before stopping suddenly, staring at the Australian with a frightened look in his eyes.

"What's up? Nando, are you okay? I'll help you out!

- Mark.... My leg's stuck... I can't feel it...

The older man's heart rate suddenly increased, as he imagined all that could have happened as a result of this injury.

Was Fernando going to stop driving because of him?

The Spaniard was born for speed! And Mark was going to crush his dreams.... The brunette will hold a grudge against him for the rest of his life, he's sure of it. He'll look at him with a look of disgust, never forgetting the man he loved but who destroyed him.

At least that's what Mark hopes .... Perhaps Fernando will never want to speak to him again, quickly forgetting him and their life together, their time together, their stolen kiss, their shared laugh....

Mark never wanted to do that.... Damn it.... Why didn't he pay more attention? Why did he keep driving through the torrential rain?

Why did- Mark! Damn it! Mark, help me! shouted Fernando, bringing the Australian's thoughts back into focus.

- Shit, shit, shit," said the Australian quickly, "I'm so sorry Nando, I.....

He hastily removed Fernando's helmet, throwing it on the ground as he checked his condition, the younger man looked lost, his jaw clenched in pain, blood trickling down his left flank.

- Just.... Get me out of here, then we can talk again, the others are still driving, I thought I saw you dead as you ran towards me. Fernando said, his eyes fluttering with fatigue, his head spinning as he felt part of his body bleed to death.

Mark couldn't hear very well, too busy undoing the Renault driver's seatbelt, his trembling hands still failing him as his stress mounted.

- I had to do it, I wasn't going to let you get hurt in the middle of a race!

- You're more likely to die walking on the circuit than I am to get hurt! Fernando replied fervently, his raised voice creating a headache.

Mark preferred to ignore the Spaniard's comment, too busy trying to get him out of the carcass of the vehicle. A sigh of relief left his lips as he finally managed to remove the seatbelt, and he lifted the Spaniard up, but the latter cried out in pain, Mark putting him down immediately.

- It's my leg.... The Spaniard explained breathlessly, the pain making him increasingly irritable and unstable.

Mark bit his lip, a habit he'd had since he was very young, indicating his stress and fear. Fernando had laughed about it once, saying he looked like a lingerie model trying to look sexy.

- Hang on, hang on... I'm going to try something, it might hurt you.

He tried once more to pull the Spaniard, this time more gently, but it was no use, the dark-haired man always screamed in pain when they tried to pull him out of the Renault.

- Mierda", said the Spaniard into the wind, a small tear of pain running down his right cheek.

Mark's anxiety reached its peak, terrified of the consequences of this collision, which he had caused entirely himself.

He can't do it...

He can't help the youngest, even though he promised him.... Promised to be by his side, promised to help him despite their rivalry, promised never to harm him. These weren't promises made in haste, nor written on a contract to make it "official", but they were the basis of their relationship, a shared trust that seemed almost indestructible.

Mark could do nothing but watch the agonised cries of the man he loved as he was finally rescued by competent people, the Australian's helplessness tearing at his insides, a fish making his thoughts fuzzy and his movements slow, his only certainty being his inability to help Fernando.

"Sorry, Nando, sorry" he whispered to himself, as he felt the Spaniard's gaze on him, his eyes watering and his jaw clenched with pain. The Spaniard did nothing, apart from perhaps preventing Mark from looking at his bleeding leg, using his voice as a distraction.

"It's nothing, Cabron, just a scratch! The Renault driver assured him, before leaving for good with the medical team, who were carrying him and preventing the various cameras around and Mark from being able to see the damage caused to the driver's body.

Standing up to face the fruits of his deeds, Mark finally felt the rain stop, bringing this tortuous race to a close. The rain reminded him of a distant conversation he'd had with the Renault driver.

Shit....

He had promised a candlelit dinner after the race....

Having already imagined Fernando's smile when he learned that Mark had learnt some Asturian recipes just for him....

The hospital was the last thing on his mind.

But perhaps if he brought back a dish on the sly, the Spaniard would still be happy.

It was this glimmer of hope that kept Mark from collapsing under the guilt of his actions.

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HAPPY WEBBONSO WEDNESDAY!!!

You made me laugh because I've already written about Brazil 2003 in one of my fanfics, and it was a webbonso

OK, I'll stop talking!

I hope you enjoyed the fic 🤗

For those who want to do a request too

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

REQUEST ARE OPEN :

1. Only F1 RPF / Football RPF

2. Only Driver X Driver / Footballer X Footballer ( ❌ X OC or X reader )

3. Not smut / nsfw ( okay for some innuendo but nothing explicit )

4. I write about specific ships , if your ship is not here so I don't write it ( they can be a Background ships ) :

✓✓ : it's a ship I KNOW

✓ : it's a ship I know we'll

~ : it's a ship where i'm not sure to write well

• : It's a ship where I don't read a lot of fic

| : Only in a platonic way

-- F1--

- Maxiel ( ✓)

- Brocedes (~)

- Yukierre (✓)

- Lesteban (✓)

- Webbonso(✓✓)

- Landoscar (~)

- Charlos (✓)

- Hulknussen (~)

- Galex ( ~ )

- Simi(•)

- Versainz ( | )

- CarCar ( | )

--Football--

- Gadri ( ✓)

- Eric Garcia/ Ferran ( ~ )

- Cubayamal ( ✓ )

- Cressi ( ~ )

- Serard ( ✓✓ )

- Jude / Mbappé ( ✓ )

- Bravertz ( ~ )

5. I'm okay with any type of trope except those who are illegal/immoral ( Mafia Au ✓ / Brother-in-law or Step-brother ❌ )

6. I give myself the right to refuse requests

(I'll often give an explanation but I won't force myself to do it if I don't see the point)

7. I only write in the third person , I don't care if it's a pov omniscient, internal or external ( like you want )

8. I can write in English or in French

That's it !

You can ask me in " Writing request/ ask "

Bye ! 👋

"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.

"It's you , Despite everything, it's still you. "

Words: around 1k

Inspired by this amazing fanart by @padiduys :

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"IT'S YOU "

Mark gently brushed Fernando's cheek, his loving gaze shimmering in his eyes. The Spaniard took no notice, talking to Kimi about the upcoming race, his eyes full of challenge and his proud smile. He was a competitor, one of those rarely seen, those who live for glory, victory and, in his case, speed. It's all about speed, and always will be. And under these conditions, one wondered how a love affair could be created. But Fernando wasn't just a competitor, he wasn't just greedy, he was greedy too, and that was another sin, but don't hold that against him, he's human after all. In his greed, he had kept deep down his love for his friends, his family and Mark...

He cherished them and didn't want anyone to take them away from him, his sweet words in Spanish, his discreet caresses, his secret and often unexpected kisses, his freshly bought flowers from the local florist, his lame jokes, his charming smile. He dedicates them all to one person, whom he likes to call "Mine". Mark, too, appreciates this attention, moving in it, flanning like the sun, with the certainty that their love will fight anything.

Their love so sweet, their love so strong, their love so secret. Because, as Fernando had said a few lines earlier, he was greedy, and his greed manifested itself in his need for secrecy, for "their things", for lies.

After all, perfect love means discreet love.

" DESPITE EVERYTHING "

I'm not going to Ferrari," says Mark.

And his words destroyed everything. Absolutely everything, a chaos of screams, insults, annoyance, everything but crying. Because why cry over so little? He was just a colleague, after all, just a colleague....

Yet this sentence had been like a bomb, said in public, the atmosphere previously ecstatic, the moment now as if frozen by this sudden coldness.

Mark knew what he was getting into when he said this, because it wasn't Ferrari's refusal that had led to the dispute, it was the confirmation that next year, he would be retiring. That the words were heard by all only added fuel to the fire, for even if Fernando's greed was proven, Mark's was far greater. So when he destroyed the open secret, everything went with it.

Fernando had done his best to get him to stay, trying to convince him to change teams, to finally leave Red Bull, which no longer respected him. But he was tired, terribly tired, but his love for Fernando is intact. For, despite the fact that he was leaving, he had hoped to stay with him, to share his days and nights, and so had Fernando, but the separation was too strong, and sooner or later one of them would have cracked.

So it was on one of their dates that Mark accepted his sentence, knowing the consequences but unable to accept them. But if it wasn't him who put an end to it, it would have been Fernando, and that would have been far more heartbreaking and destructive. For Fernando loves passionately, a flame seemingly burning in his heart, fueling his will, his hope and his love. And Mark had plunged into it, unafraid of getting burned, but perhaps he should have, for now he could only see himself as a charred corpse.

So....

He said the word.

"It's over"

He bitterly regretted the second he said them, then knew he couldn't go back when Fernando cried in front of him. He'd never made him cry before, not from joy, not from sadness. He'd hoped the Spaniard's tears would flow when he proposed, the mark of his ring box still visible on his faded jeans. But he'd dreamed too much.

And when he'd left the restaurant, he too had felt drops on his cheeks, his vision blurred, but he hadn't noticed them. Probably too absorbed by the sadness he'd caused the man he loved, and would love forever, to feel.

" IT'S STILL YOU "

Seeing Fernando in a green outfit was confusing for him, as he was far too used to Ferrari's reds and Renault's bright blues. Yet this color suited him like a glove, as did all the others if you asked him, but I doubt you'd be interested in hearing a middle-aged man's monologues about his husband.

His beard was grayer than the last time they'd shared a podium, wrinkles adding to his face as age crept into both their lives.

It had made them mature, Mark hoped, they had seen each other again, after a long time, but they had still managed this small step after years of radio silence.

Their first conversations had been tinged with nostalgia, remorse, sometimes resentment, a strange taste of bitterness sticking to both men's palates. Yet Mark had recognized one thing he'd forgotten after their break-up, and that was gentleness.

The gentleness in Fernando's voice when he spoke of them, his smile, his touch, shorter than before but as comforting as ever. He'd created a portrait of the fearless, fearless Spaniard, but he'd completely overlooked a part of the Spaniard's personality.

His concern for his loved ones, his love of animals, his desire to advance the next generation, his muted anger, always more impactful than shouting.

All this less flamboyant side of the Spaniard had been forgotten after so many years. But it was this one that made him fall in love again, even more strongly than the first, because it was still him and had always been him.

And maybe now the ring on Fernando's hand would be the talk of the town, maybe this time the secret would be less guarded, maybe this time Mark wouldn't be able to deny it.

But it's about time, discretion has a limit and for Mark it stops at affection. For he has no intention of stopping dating Fernando for any reason as stupid as fear.

Fear of other people's gaze, fear of a distant and unpredictable future. Because he knew he had Fernando Alonso by his side, always by his side despite the passage of time.

Because it's him , despite everything, it's still him.

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

I hope you enjoyed it! Credit goes to @padiduys for his incredible fanart, I think my idea was pretty far from the fanart, but Fernando's smile was just too tender for me not to write about it.

" 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.

Because I almost screamed when I saw the news, you'd feel my despair :

He get jealous of euthanized dogs.

Word : around 500

Inspired by @allphatauri and his amazing fanart :

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Yuki took the news calmly, knowing deep down that he would not be chosen once again. Liam had never played a full season, nor beaten Yuki in the qualifying rounds, let alone reached his level. But the cycle repeated itself tirelessly, and despite all his huffing and puffing, crying and bleeding, the seat seemed so far away. Maybe it wasn't worth it, he knew what was waiting for him, just a second seat that would never trouble Verstappen. He'd seen it with Ricciardo and Pierre, completely decimated by the Dutchman, he didn't think he was up to his level. But nonetheless, the observation was the same:

He get jealous of the euthanized dogs.

How was this his fault? He'd been promised this seat since his arrival, he could die in it if he had to, the driver who took it having to force the steering wheel off Yuki's lifeless body. Christian knew, Helmut knew, everyone knew. Alpha Tauri had never really been his home, he'd performed for one purpose and one purpose only, that damned Red Bull seat. But in doing so, he had created his own gilded cage, become indispensable to the team, and needed to find a replacement if he was to finally have the chance to achieve his goal. But that wasn't up to him, as the phrase kept repeating in his head:

He get jealous of euthanized dogs.

He was still full of life, or so he hoped, he could still chase that batton he was told to catch. But in the back of his mind, he hoped he'd finally be able to rest, euthanasia was a rest like any other after all, it had the particularity of being eternal, that's all. He could already feel himself shuddering at the sting, his last ounce of life extinguished when he hadn't even been able to achieve a victory. But at least the deathbed he'd find himself on would be comfortable, bloody red, pinching yellow and deep black, as if to taunt the next puppy waiting his turn to die painlessly. But he wasn't there yet, the same blue-and-white blanket enveloping him as he watched his pairs join the destructive machine one by one under the bull's banner. His eyes attentive to every process, the desire to join him as soon as possible, but always with the same taste in his mouth:

He get jealous of euthanized dogs.

He knew one of them intimately, and Pierre made him believe he'd escaped the sweet breath of death. He didn't last long, his lifeless body quickly returning to the soft, warm blanket he'd once abandoned. Despite his ardor and eagerness to conquer all, there were times, in the dark Italian nights, when the scar of an injection adorned his shoulder, a constant reminder of who he was. Yuki had never dared touch her, even when the two of them were wearing their simplest clothes after a wild night out. The Frenchman never spoke of it, his eyes always gazing at Yuki with tenderness, knowing that he had yet to taste his slow, sinuous destruction by a team that would suck his talent down to the marrow, discarding him after his body had run out of energy, with only a swift, gentle and painless death to save him. Yet Yuki continued to huddle against his right flank, where he wore his death like an ornament, the Japanese man's eyes always pointed towards the mark he wanted to wear one day. After all:

He get jealous of euthanized dogs.

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I hope Yuki gonna have his seat in RB a day , but now I need to scream or cry , or both.

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.

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* 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.

( 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. ☝️

Wicked Game - Launt

Launt Fic I promised!

It's a bit late but here it is: A songfic involving Wicked Game by Chris Isaak. A/N: There are switches in PoV but they aren't mentioned.

The world was always on fire for Niki. Every race felt like a battle against time, against death, against the relentless pull of gravity that could steal his life in an instant. But there was one fire he hadn’t expected—a different kind, one that no amount of precision or discipline could extinguish.

James Hunt.

The first time Niki saw him, James was laughing, surrounded by people, completely at ease with the world.  Hunt was wild, unpredictable, everything Niki had learned to avoid. But there was something in that reckless charm, in the way James laughed like the world couldn’t touch him, that pulled him in.

Niki knew, even then, that this man would upend everything.

"The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you."

It had crept up on him, this feeling—like a slow burn he couldn’t control.

Racing was their life, and in that world of speed and danger, they had pushed each other, driven each other mad, and yet there was something—a feeling—that neither could ignore.

It was in the stolen glances across the pit, in the unspoken understanding that only they could know the depth of what it meant to live on the edge. 

But it was more than competition—it was desire, unbidden, unwanted, but there.

"It's strange what desire will make foolish people do."

Niki would never have admitted it, but there was a strange kind of thrill in James' presence. He hated that about himself. Niki wasn’t supposed to feel like this. His life was about logic, about calculated moves, and this? This was the opposite of control. 

Every time James flashed that boyish grin, every time his eyes lingered a moment too long, Niki felt something stir within him—something that threatened to break the walls he'd carefully constructed. He couldn’t allow it.

Love wasn’t for men like him, not in this brutal world where everything could be taken away in an instant. But every time he saw James, the cracks in his walls deepened.

"I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you."

This wasn’t part of his plan. Niki had never intended to let anyone in, especially not someone like Hunt. They were rivals—two men pitted against each other, both striving for victory, for glory. But every race, every heated exchange only tightened the knot in his chest. The truth was inescapable. He had fallen. Fallen hard. And he hated it.

Niki had tried to push him away, tried to focus only on the race, on winning. But James... James was always there, like a persistent flame that refused to die.

"And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you."

Niki could feel it, the inevitable heartbreak that loomed just beyond the horizon. This world wasn’t kind. It didn’t care about love, about fragile connections between two men who should have been enemies. It was all going to come crashing down. And when it did, Niki knew it would break him.

"No, I don’t wanna fall in love..."

James was not supposed to fall in love. Not with Niki Lauda, of all people. Love was not for men like them. He lived for the thrill of the race, for the freedom that came with speed and danger. But there was something about Niki—something that had slipped through his defenses before he even realized it.

"No, I don’t wanna fall in love... with you."

He had fought it, tried to brush it off as just another twist in their rivalry. Niki was meant to be his opponent, not someone who made his heart race faster than any car ever could. But it didn’t matter. He was already in too deep. Every argument, every moment of tension between them was laced with an undercurrent of something more—something neither of them wanted to admit.

"This world is only gonna break your heart."

It was a dangerous game, and James knew it. Love in their world was a risk, one he wasn’t willing to take, not in this world of fast cars and faster lives. They were destined to burn brightly and fade just as quickly. They both lived on the edge, and sooner or later, something would give. And when it did, James was terrified it would shatter them both.

"What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way."

Niki didn’t understand how it had happened. James had wormed his way into his thoughts, into his heart, and there was no turning back now. It wasn’t just the racing—it was the way James smiled like he held the world in his hands, the way he could make Niki feel alive in a way nothing else ever had. It was maddening, this pull between them.

James Hunt had made him vulnerable.

James tilted his head, that trademark smirk playing on his lips, but there was something deeper in his eyes—something that mirrored Niki’s own torment. He wasn’t just toying with him; James was as lost in this as Niki was.

"What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you."

James could see it in Niki’s eyes—the same fear, the same hesitation. It was a game they hadn’t meant to play, but now they were both trapped in it. James had let himself dream of Niki in ways he never should have. But the reality of it all? It was too much. It was too dangerous. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting more.

"What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way."

There were moments when James would catch a glimpse of something in Niki’s gaze, something that told him he wasn’t alone in this. But Niki was too guarded, too afraid to let it show. And that was the cruelest part—knowing that, despite everything, Niki would never let himself feel the way James did.

"What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you."

Niki had tried to keep his distance, tried to tell himself it was just a fleeting attraction, nothing more. But James had gotten under his skin, and now, Niki couldn’t stop the dreams from coming. He dreamed of James more than he dreamed of winning. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.

"And I don’t wanna fall in love."

Niki could feel the heartbreak coming, like a storm on the horizon. He had let himself fall, despite every instinct screaming at him to stay in control. But it was too late now. James Hunt had stolen his heart, and there was no getting it back.

"No, I don’t wanna fall in love... with you."

James looked at Niki and knew it was already too late for both of them. He had fallen in love with the one man who could break him completely. And even though he knew it was going to end in heartbreak, he couldn’t help himself. This was the wicked game they had been playing all along.

And there was no way out now.

Breaking Point - Valewis FF

Valewis fic i talked about earlier!

Won't be able to finish it today but decided to post the first part of it anyway! Please read the warning!!!!

TW/CW: eating disorder, Vomiting

And as always: Any mistakes please ignore or let me know. Thank you!

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Valtteri sat at the long table, the buzz of voices around him fading into a blur. The air in the meeting room was heavy with the usual technical jargon, the upcoming race strategy, tire choices, and performance analysis, but none of it sank in. Valtteri was staring blankly at the figures flashing across the screen. The lights where too bright, and the words spoken by the engineers and team principal felt distant.

He hadn’t eaten properly in days, and his body felt it. The tight knot in his stomach was a familiar companion now, gnawing at him relentlessly. The hunger was always there, but the idea of eating, of trying to force food down when everything inside him felt twisted and wrong, seemed impossible.

At least he was weighting less than Lewis now.

His chest tightened as the pressure built inside, a familiar gnawing feeling creeping in. No matter how hard he pushed, how much he trained, it never felt like enough. The weight of never being enough—never quite living up to the expectations, to the dominance of his teammate, Lewis—sat on his shoulders like an unbearable burden. He had been struggling with this for months—long, agonizing months of trying to control something that seemed so utterly out of control.

He was drowning in it, struggling to stay afloat.

But it's his own fault, no? It's what he signed up for all those years ago. Valtteri should be used to it by now. It was part of the deal.

He glanced at Lewis across the table, the man who made everything seem effortless. Lewis, always calm, always composed, with a confidence Valtteri could never seem to find in himself. His thoughts raced, louder than the voices around him.

It's not his fault. I just need to be better. Why can’t I be better?

The room felt smaller.

His palms grew damp with sweat, and his pulse quickened.

His stomach churned, a twisting pain that had become all too familiar. The pressure of racing, of constantly being compared to Lewis, of always feeling second-best, had chipped away at him. The pressure had seeped into every part of his life, his mind a relentless critic.

He could feel the room spinning. His throat tightened, and he knew if he didn’t leave now, he wouldn’t be able to hold it together much longer. He needed to get back into control. Quietly, almost cautiously, he rose from his seat, quickly moving toward the door. His legs felt shaky beneath him, but he forced himself to walk, head down, hoping no one would notice. No one usually did, after all.

Of course they don’t care.

He headed down the hallway, heart pounding in his chest, his footsteps growing faster as he neared the stairs leading up to his Room, a place where he could break down in peace. But his body betrayed him. He couldn’t hold it back any longer.

The nausea surged, and he darted into the nearest restroom. Slamming the door behind him, he fell to his knees, hunching over the toilet. His whole body trembled as he gagged, trying to keep what little food he had managed to eat earlier from coming up.

---

Lewis had noticed.

He always noticed when Valtteri disappeared. He had been watching him for weeks—how his mood shifted, how his energy seemed depleted, how his once hearty laughter had dwindled into almost nothing. At first, he thought it was just the stress of the season, but there was something more, something darker lurking beneath the surface.

It wasn’t until he saw Valtteri’s hunched shoulders hastily leaving the room that a sinking feeling settled in his gut.

Lewis followed.

---

Valtteri knelt on the cold floor of the small bathroom, his hands gripping the porcelain edge of the toilet. His body trembled, the shame of what he was doing hitting him in waves, but it was the only way he felt in control. He hated it. He hated himself for it. But he couldn't stop.

He felt utterly alone in that moment, as he always had in the shadows of the team. But then, through the haze of sickness and shame, he heard the door creak open.

"Valtteri?" Not now. Not him. It was Lewis. Of course, it was Lewis.

His chest ached, too late to hide, too late to pretend everything was okay. He heaved, gagging as his body rejected the little food he had forced himself to eat earlier, his body convulsing as he struggled to breathe between violent retches.

"Go away," Valtteri choked out, his voice hoarse. His knuckles turning white from the force he held onto the porcelain with. He heaved again, his body shuddering as another wave of nausea hit.

Lewis stood frozen in the doorway. His breath hitched at the sight before him. Valtteri, the strong, composed teammate he had always admired, was hunched over in a position that spoke of agony and desperation. His heart clenched painfully in his chest.

"Valtteri…" Lewis's voice was a whisper, filled with concern but to Valtteri, it felt like a stab to the gut.

Valtteri lifted his head but didn't turn around. He couldn't. He couldn’t face this—couldn’t face Lewis. Not now, not like this. His eyes were wide, chest tight, as if even breathing hurt. He wanted to tell him to leave, to walk away and pretend he hadn’t seen any of this. But the words caught in his throat, choked by the raw shame and exhaustion.

He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself, to act like it wasn’t what it looked like. But it was. He knew it, and Lewis knew it too. He couldn’­­t help it. His body trembled as he hunched over the bowl once more, dry heaving, retching with nothing left to give. His stomach was painfully empty, but still, he gagged, his throat burning from the bile coming up in harsh waves.

Lewis stepped forward, the weight of the moment hanging between them like a thick fog. "Val, what—" Valtteri could feel the concern radiating off him, but he couldn’t bear it.

His body was still shaking, and he could feel Lewis’s presence close behind him. Why did he follow me? He had always tried so hard and managed to hide it before, always kept this side of himself locked away. He couldn’t bear for anyone, especially Lewis, to see him like this.

"Don't," Valtteri cut him off, his voice hoarse, raw from the strain. He didn’t want Lewis to see him like this, vulnerable, broken. "Please, Lewis, just-" His body convulsed, another dry heave shaking him as more bile rose in his throat. He gagged, coughing, the sound echoing in the small restroom. His whole body ached, exhausted from fighting this battle for so long.

"Just… go," Valtteri croaked, his voice ragged, barely audible "please."

People I got 13535 words and I’m not done yet…. Maybe this will be an ao3 exclusive 😭💀

I’ll probably upload a chapter every two to three days or smt over there once I’m ready and have polished the first few chapters

Struggled to come up with a full story line to build up on and suddenly I get a burst of energy in the middle of the night.

Now I’m writing with the ideas flooding in and tears lowkey welling up in my eyes. Had to take my glasses off in between 💀

My writing isn’t nearly as good as the scenes playing on repeat in my head so don’t expect too much but I can promise that I’ll do my best.

Tragic Launt story will be longer than the ones I’ve written before so it takes a bit longer. Sorry!

Struggled to come up with a full story line to build up on and suddenly I get a burst of energy in the middle of the night.

Now I’m writing with the ideas flooding in and tears lowkey welling up in my eyes. Had to take my glasses off in between 💀

My writing isn’t nearly as good as the scenes playing on repeat in my head so don’t expect too much but I can promise that I’ll do my best.

Tragic Launt story will be longer than the ones I’ve written before so it takes a bit longer. Sorry!

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

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.

Was gone for a bit but I’m back!

Fic coming later today about Launt based on the song Chances by Athlete because I can’t stop imagining them to this.

Launt ficlet time!

Full version of the extract I uploaded a few days ago!

Hope you like it

The sun hung high over the Silverstone Circuit, casting a relentless glare over the bustling paddock. Reporters swarmed like bees around Niki Lauda, who stood, as always, in his immaculate Ferrari racing suit, patiently answering questions. Among the throng was James Hunt, known as much for his off-track antics as his on-track prowess.

With a wicked grin, James maneuvered through the crowd until he was right next to Niki. The Austrian glanced at him briefly but continued his measured response about race strategy. Without warning, James grabbed Niki by the shoulders and pulled him into a kiss.

The world seemed to freeze. Cameras flashed furiously, reporters gasped, and Niki's eyes widened in shock and confusion. As they broke apart, the paddock erupted into chaos.

Niki shoved James away, his face a mix of shock and fury. “What the hell, James?” he spat out, his voice trembling with anger.

James leaned in closer again, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that was still loud enough for the microphones to catch. “Just wanted to see if those rumors about our little rat were true.”

The reporters, sensing blood in the water, pounced. Questions flew at Niki from all directions, each more invasive than the last. “What was that kiss about?” “Are you and James together?” “Do the teams approve of this kind of relationship?”

James, still grinning, raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just having a bit of fun, lads,” he said, backing away. “Looks like I got my answer.” With that James turned and left the scene, the smirk never leaving his face.

The reporters didn’t relent. “Niki, care to comment? Is there something you’d like to share about your sexuality?”

Niki’s patience snapped. “No comment,” he barked, forcing his way through the crowd. His mind was a whirlwind of anger and humiliation. He knew he couldn’t let this slide.

He found James leaning against a wall near the paddock, still chuckling to himself. Niki’s approach was swift and purposeful. “What the hell was that, James?” he demanded.

James’ smile faded slightly, but he remained defiant. “Oh, come on, Niki it was just a joke. You never seem to have any fun. I thought I’d help you out.”

Niki’s fists clenched. “Fun?” His voice was a dangerous growl. "You call this fun? You think it’s funny to humiliate me? To expose my private life in front of the world?”

James’ eyes glinted with a challenge. “So, it’s true then? You like guys, don’t you? Is that why you never want to go out and pick up ladies with me?” He said with a mocking laugh.

The insinuation cut deep. Niki stepped closer, their faces inches apart. “You don’t know anything about me,” he growled.

James pressed on, his voice low and mocking “Admit it, Niki. You enjoyed it. Why else would you be so angry?” He looked down at Niki as realisation struck him “is that why Marlene broke up with you?” He asked with a chuckle

Niki’s control finally shattered. “Halt dein verdammtes Maul, du Arschloch! You think you know everything, don’t you?” His breath came in ragged gasps “You don’t get to ask me that. You don’t get to use my past against me for your amusement.” he shouted with tears prickling at his eyes.

James’ grin faltered, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. “I didn’t think it would bother you this much. I didn’t mean to—”

Niki cut him off, shoving him against the wall. “You never think, do you, James? You never think beyond your own amusement. You just act, and damn the consequences.”

For a moment, they stood there, breathless and glaring at each other. Then, something shifted in James’s expression. He stepped closer, brows drawn together in a frown “I didn’t think it bother you that much. I just wanted to have a little fun and get a laugh out of it.”

“Well, congratulations. You succeeded,” Niki said bitterly, his jaw clenching as he stared at the Brit. “If you can’t win you just go and ruin your opponent’s career with something else, huh?”

James’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Niki. Really. This wasn’t my intention! Why would I want to ruin-”

“Just shut up. You don’t understand. You have no idea what you’ve done.” Niki interrupted, his voice breaking.

The Brit took a step closer, confusion evident in his eyes. “Why is it such a big deal to you, Niki? What am I missing?”

“Just leave me alone, James.” Niki muttered as he turned to leave, but James grabbed his arm, desperation in his grip. “Please, Niki. Tell me what I’m missing. What’s going on?”

Niki stopped, his shoulders tense. He turned back to James, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to live like this? To hide who I am because I’m afraid of what people will think, of what it will do to my career? it’s not just a joke. It’s my life. It’s who I am. And you had no right to expose that.”

James blinked, confused. “Hide who you are? Niki, I didn’t know—” He cut himself off, realization dawning. “I didn’t know you were really… I thought it was just some stupid joke. I mean, if I had known it was really true I—”

“If you had known you what?” Niki asked, his voice tight. “You wouldn’t have done it?”

“No!“ James said without hesitation

Niki’s anger seemed to deflate, replaced by a sudden deep and aching sadness. “So you wouldn’t have kissed me if you knew” he muttered, more to himself than to James.

James buried a hand in his hair with frustration “Niki, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, yes, I wouldn’t have done it if I knew it would upset you like this. I wanted to kiss you so badly but now I’ve only made things worse. I’m sorry, Niki. I just—”

Niki cut him off again. “Wouldn’t you? Or would you?” Hoping that he heard right and that James wanted to kiss him so badly. “Would you kiss me again?”

James stared at him, taken aback. “What? Niki, I—”

“Do it again” Niki blurted out, his voice trembling. “If you really mean what you say then do it again.”

James opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out, instead he just stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. When he found none, he stepped closer, gently cupping Niki’s face.

Niki closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “But this time, mean it. Not for the cameras, not for a joke. Just… for me. Please.” he whispered before worrying his lip between his teeth.

James took a deep breath. Hesitating for a moment before gently dragging his thumb over Niki’s lower lip - a fleeting touch to stop him from chewing on it.

Slowly he leaned in and kissed Niki again, slow, deliberate, and full of unspoken promises, this time not for the cameras or the reporters, but for Niki.

It wasn’t a joke this time. It was real.

When they broke apart, Niki’s eyes were once more filled with tears “Thank you” he whispered, his voice breaking.

James pulled him into a tight embrace, his own eyes glistening. “I’m sorry, Niki. I truly am. I’ll never make light of this again.”

Niki nodded “you better not. Arschloch.” He muttered, burying his face in James’ shoulder. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of peace. And perhaps, just perhaps, a glimmer of hope for what lay ahead.

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.