Another Angsty Launt Ficlet With An Open (not So Happy) Ending

happy pride to iceman and his batshit crazy twink that produces undeniable results with extremely questionable methods and flirts with anything that moves while driving/flying something that goes vroom vroom

Alright so I have two versions again, one that I wrote while waiting in line to go see the powerwolf confessional and one that I wrote at home.

Both are spicy tho.

The one I wrote in line (A) is more of an AU where Niki is a Cardinal and is in charge of sitting in the confessional with James entering to atone for his sins.

The one I wrote at home (B) is them getting drunk and breaking into a church for funzies. James thinks it’s a good idea to play pretend and enters the confessional, telling Niki to atone for his sins. Niki plays along and ends up confessing having wet dreams (involving James).

Launt / ''Chapter 1''

Still struggling with the Launt fic (I'm not satisfied with this at all) but here's the first ''Chapter'' because I feel bad for taking so long.

This is an unpolished version. If I upload the fic on AO3 it will probably be a tiny bit different just because I'll probably change a few things so constructive criticism is welcome! With that said I hope y'all enjoy!

1970

Their paths crossed on a sun-baked afternoon during the qualifying session at a British track. Niki had been on a flying lap, perfectly in control as he hit every apex with precision. Then, out of nowhere, James appeared in his mirrors, a blur of speed and audacity. Without hesitation, James forced his way past, shoving Niki off the racing line as if the rules of racing didn’t apply to him.

Niki was forced to slam on the brakes to avoid a collision, his car fishtailing slightly before he regained control. Anger surged through him as he pulled into the pits after the session, where he saw James casually leaning against his car, a smug grin plastered across his face.

“You call that racing?” Niki barked as he stormed over, his usually calm demeanor gone.

James barely looked up, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Come on, Lauda. Can´t handle a little push?”

Niki’s jaw tightened. “You shoved me off the line. My line. You have no respect for the rules.”

“Rules?” James chuckled, shaking his head. “This is racing, mate, not a Sunday drive. If you’re not willing to take risks, you’re in the wrong sport.”

For a moment, Niki stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, the urge to punch James in the face almost overwhelming. But instead, he took a step back, exhaling sharply. “Arschloch,” he muttered under his breath as he turned his back on James. He walked away, determined to focus on the next race. He had no time for brash idiots like Hunt.

James watched him leave, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Asshole.”

Yet, fate has a funny way of intertwining the lives of those who seem destined to clash. Over the next few months, as the season progressed, Niki and James found themselves crossing paths more often. At first, it was nothing more than icy glares and terse nods. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, things began to change.

It all started with a rain-soaked evening at a track in the middle of nowhere. The day’s races had been called off, the downpour turning the circuit into a treacherous mess. Most drivers had retreated to their trailers or nearby hotels, but Niki, ever the perfectionist, had stayed behind, poring over notes about his car’s performance in the day’s practice session. He sat in the back of his team’s garage, his brow furrowed in concentration, while mechanics packed up around him.

James, on the other hand, had been on his way to the nearest pub when he caught sight of Niki alone in the garage. For reasons even he couldn’t fully explain, he stopped in his tracks. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was just boredom, but instead of heading off to chase drinks and women, he found himself wandering over to Niki’s side.

“You know, Lauda, staring at that car won’t make it go faster.” James quipped, his voice cutting through the sound of rain drumming on the metal roof.

Niki looked up, surprised. His first instinct was to brush James off, but something in the Englishman’s easy grin made him pause. Instead, he sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“Maybe not. But understanding why it didn’t go fast today might help tomorrow.”

James nodded, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the sleek machine in front of them. “Fair enough. But sometimes you’ve got to step away, clear your head a bit.”

Niki smirked. “I’m guessing your idea of clearing your head involves a few pints and some poor woman you’ll never call again?”

James chuckled, unoffended. “Maybe. But you might be surprised. Sometimes, it’s more than that.”

Niki raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “More than that? From you?”

James shrugged, taking a seat on a nearby tool chest. “People see what they want to see. Doesn’t mean that’s all there is.”

That was the first real conversation they had, one that stretched on for a surprising amount of time as the rain fell harder outside. The next morning, Niki found himself thinking about their talk, replaying James’s words in his mind. Maybe there was more to the man than just reckless driving and reckless living.

After that night, they began to spend more time together. It wasn’t anything planned—just a few minutes here and there, small talk—brief exchanges about lap times, car setups, the quirks of different tracks. Then came the late-night conversations, where they found themselves discussing life beyond racing. James was surprised to find that beneath Niki’s stern exterior was a dry wit and a surprisingly sharp sense of humor. Niki, in turn, discovered that James was more than just a reckless playboy—he had an uncanny ability to see the bigger picture, even if he rarely showed it.

One weekend, during a break between races, Niki and James found themselves at the same shabby motel in a small town just outside the next race circuit. It was the kind of place that had only one pub, where all the drivers ended up after long days of practice and qualifying. That evening, after the usual chatter about the upcoming race died down, Niki surprised himself by agreeing to join James for a drink.

The pub was dimly lit, filled with the scent of spilled beer and the low hum of conversation. James, as always, seemed to know everyone, and within minutes, he had introduced Niki to half the room. Niki, more reserved, stayed by James’s side, sipping his drink quietly as the night unfolded around them.

After a few rounds, they found themselves at a table in the corner, away from the noise. James leaned back in his chair, a relaxed smile on his face. “So, Lauda, tell me something. Why racing? Why not some cushy job back in Austria?”

Niki looked at him, considering his answer carefully. “Because I need to win. I need to be the best at something that matters.”

“Doesn’t everything matter, in its own way?”

“Not like this,” Niki replied firmly. “In racing, there’s no gray area. You’re either faster, or you’re not. You’re either alive, or you’re not. That kind of clarity… it’s rare.”

James nodded, understanding. “And that’s enough for you? Just being the best?”

“For now,” Niki said, though his tone suggested there was more he wasn’t saying.

James didn’t push. Instead, he took a long drink, then grinned. “Well, you’re a damn sight more interesting than I first thought, Lauda.”

“And you’re not as much of an arschloch as I first thought, Hunt,” Niki responded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

It’s hilarious that James Vowles had to go on F1TV to apologize about what he said about Mick Schumacher being nothing special because so many people INCLUDING Toto Wolff were unhappy about it, and the thing is this. The horse is out of the barn. It doesn’t matter what James Vowles says to apologize because the comments are out there. Whether you disagree or agree with what he said, this is extremely unprofessional verbiage on the part of a team boss who shouldn’t have to backpedal on his statements like this.

Idk why but I thrive on angst and hatred centered fics so that’s probably what I’ll post here the most 🥰💅

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.

Sebastian Vettel on Donald Trump: "I don't think that's a good person."

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!

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

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."

I DO COMMISSIONS NOW!!! 🗣️🙌

I decided to open commissions just to see how it goes.

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

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

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

Voicemail 1:

[16:23]

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

Voicemail 2:

[16:23]

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

Voicemail 3:

[16:25]

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

Voicemail 4:

[16:31]

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

Voicemail 5:

[16:35]

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

Voicemail 6:

[16:37]

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

Voicemail 7:

[16:40]

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

Voicemail 8:

[17:38]

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

Voicemail 9:

[20:13]

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

Voicemail 10:

[01:17]

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

End of voicemails.

Voicemail 1:

[06:24]

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

Voicemail 2:

[06:25]

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

End of voicemails.