I Might Start To Post My Little Launt Notes If The Fandom Is Still Alive.

James Hunt giving his opinion on the 1982 drivers strike, topless, of course

Ok here’s the promised Simi ficlet

You can actually read this as platonic and romantic so I hope you guys like it.

I greatly appreciate any feedback and maybe even some prompts or requests if y’all want me to write more specific ficlets.

Anyway here’s Kimi being a gentle sweetheart and wiping away our golden puppy’s tears

Please ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes or dm me if they are too annoying lmao

In 2010, Vettel’s rise was meteoric. His sheer talent and the prowess of the Red Bull Racing team created a formidable combination. The first championship was a dream come true. Yet, even then, whispers of criticism began to surface. Some questioned whether his success was due to the car rather than his skill. The phrase “a champion built by engineers” started making rounds in the press.

By 2011, the whispers had grown louder. Journalists began to dissect every aspect of Vettel’s driving. “Does Vettel really have the racing intelligence of a true champion?” one headline questioned. Every maneuver, every decision on the track was analyzed with a fine-tooth comb. If he won, it was expected. If he faltered, it was headline news.

The 2012 season was perhaps the most grueling. The competition was fiercer, and Vettel’s dominance was no longer a given. Media outlets latched onto any sign of vulnerability. “Is the pressure getting to Vettel?” they asked after a rare mistake at the Malaysian Grand Prix. The relentless questions about his mental fortitude began to chip away at his once unshakeable confidence.

By 2013, despite securing his fourth championship, Vettel was exhausted. The constant barrage from journalists was relentless. At every press conference, the questions were sharper, the critiques more pointed. “Does Vettel’s dominance signal a lack of real competition in F1?” and “Is Vettel ruining the sport’s unpredictability?” were common refrains. It wasn’t just about his driving anymore; it was about his very presence in the sport.

In private, the toll was evident. Vettel, once full of vigor and passion, found himself questioning his own abilities. The joy of racing was being overshadowed by the fear of making mistakes that would be ruthlessly dissected. His team noticed the change, often finding him deep in thought, a shadow of the exuberant driver they once knew.

One particularly grueling press conference after the 2013 Japanese Grand Prix became a turning point. Despite securing yet another victory, the press conference that followed was anything but celebratory.

The room was filled with journalists, eager to ask their questions. However, this time, the tone was more aggressive and personal. One after another, they peppered Sebastian with questions that implied his success was hollow. The atmosphere was charged with a palpable tension, and it wasn’t long before the questioning turned hostile.

“Sebastian, do you think your success is more about Adrian Newey’s car than your driving skills? Do you think you’ve had an unfair advantage with the car?” one reporter asked, his voice dripping with skepticism.

“How do you respond to claims that your championships are less valuable than those of past legends because you never had real competition?” another chimed in, eyes narrowing.

His voice, usually steady and confident, wavered. “I have always given my best, on and off the track,” he said, his frustration palpable. “I respect the history of this sport and the champions who came before me. If you think my achievements are less because of the car I drive, then you underestimate the effort it takes to win consistently. This isn’t just about me; it’s about the entire team. We work hard for every single victory.”

The questions were thinly veiled accusations, each one more cutting than the last.

Vettel’s usual composed demeanor began to crack

“Do you think your dominance is ruining the sport’s excitement?”

“Isn’t it true that without the best car, you wouldn’t even be a contender?”

The relentless barrage of accusations and doubts hammered at Vettel’s psyche. He tried to maintain his composure, but the weight of the criticism was overwhelming. His answers became shorter, his voice strained. The room seemed to close in on him, the once supportive walls now echoing with doubt and disdain.

Finally, a particularly harsh question broke him. “Sebastian, do you think you’ll ever be as respected as drivers like Schumacher or Senna, given that your success is seen as less earned?”

Vettel’s eyes glossed over with a mix of frustration and hurt. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the words caught in his throat. “I… I think that’s enough for today,” he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. “Excuse me.”

He stood up abruptly, leaving the room in a hushed silence. The journalists, momentarily stunned, watched as he walked out, his shoulders slumped under the weight of their words.

Sebastian sank onto a bench, his head in his hands. The tears came unbidden, hot and silent, as he fought to keep his sobs from escaping. The weight of the season, the constant scrutiny, and the relentless pressure finally broke through his defenses. He felt small, overwhelmed, and terribly alone.

“Seb?”

The voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it cut through the fog of Sebastian’s misery. He looked up to see Kimi standing a few feet away, his expression as unreadable as ever. Kimi had always been an enigma, a man of few words, but there was something in his eyes now—a depth of understanding that Sebastian hadn’t expected.

“Are you okay?” Kimi’s voice was gentle, devoid of the usual sarcasm and aloofness.

Sebastian tried to muster a response, but the words caught in his throat. He shook his head, his shoulders trembling with the effort to hold back his tears. Kimi’s presence was both comforting and disconcerting; the Finnish driver had never been one for emotional displays, and Sebastian didn’t know what to expect.

Kimi took a step closer, then another, until he was standing right beside Sebastian. Without a word, he sat down on the bench, his arm reaching out to rest gently on Sebastian’s back. The gesture was simple, but it carried a world of meaning. It was an offer of solace, a reminder that he wasn’t alone in this moment of vulnerability.

After a moment of silence Sebastian lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with unshed tears. “I can’t do this anymore, Kimi. They keep tearing me down. No matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

Kimi pulled him into a hug, strong and reassuring. “Listen to me, Seb. You are an incredible driver. You’ve proven it time and again. The media… they don’t understand. They don’t see the hard work, the dedication. They only see the results, and they twist them to fit their narrative.”

Sebastian shuddered, hot tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and Kimi leaned back just enough to be able to look into Seb’s glassy eyes and wipe away the tears while he spoke, his voice a soothing murmur in the quiet room.

“You’ve achieved so much. Four World Championships, countless won races. Don’t let them take that away from you. Remember why you started racing. The love for the sport, the thrill of the race. That’s what matters.”

As Kimi held him, he reached up to stroke a stray curl out of Sebastian’s face, the gesture so gentle and innocent that it broke through Sebastian’s defenses. A sob escaped his lips, and he buried his face in Kimi’s chest, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. Kimi continued to whisper soothing words, his hands stroking Sebastian’s back in a steady, comforting rhythm.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of Sebastian’s muffled sobs and Kimi’s calming whispers. Sebastian clung to Kimi, drawing strength from the Fins unwavering support. He felt the knots of tension slowly begin to unwind, replaced by a sense of warmth and security.

“You are a champion, Seb, my champion” Kimi continued, his voice steady and reassuring. “Don’t let their words define you. You define yourself by your actions, by your passion.”

Sebastian nodded against Kimi’s chest, the tears still flowing but the anguish beginning to ebb.

For a long time, they sat there in silence, the noise of the outside world fading into the background. Kimi’s arms remained a steady anchor, his silent support speaking volumes. When Sebastian finally lifted his head, he saw a small, understanding smile on Kimi’s face.

“Thank you, Kimi,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kimi’s embrace tightening around Sebastian. “You don’t have to do anything without me. We’re in this together. And no matter what happens, I’ll always have your back.”

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

Niki Lauda’s drivers license

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.

Just out of curiosity

There’s a reason why it’s in my Kimi playlist ✋🙂‍↕️

does anyone else find ‘psycho’ by muse a rlly horny song or is there just something wrong with me

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.

Lance Stroll the man you are.

I made an art insta!!

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy,moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious,gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.