I'm Sorry But Is This Supposed To Look Like They Were NOT Just Fucking In One Of Their Driver Rooms?

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

These two are the prime examples of black cat & golden retriever duo ✨️✨️

I feel like I have to thank my 7th grade German teacher for watching goodbye Lenin with us and with that making me realize that I was hella gay (and maybe in love with Daniel Brühl)

scrolling through my photos and came across this banger

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.

Quick info for people actually reading my little yap sessions:

I’m a very… music connected person (Idrk how to call it)

Music means a lot to me and when I’m writing story I have certain songs or playlists for specific genres or pairing (or even stories) so if y’all are interested in getting an insight my Spotify is linked in my bio (as well as other socials of mine).

I would love to connect some more with you people and I hope y’all have a great day!!

F1 x Neon Genesis Evangelion au

Max.

Story post to my previous drawing.

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t fall.

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

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

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

There was no room for weakness.

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

People were counting on him.

He was their perfect pilot.

A perfect pilot didn’t retreat.

A perfect pilot didn’t allow failure.

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

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

NERV had no patience for weakness. They never had.

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

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

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

He couldn’t stop.

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

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

Pain flooded his chest. Pain shot through his head.

But he couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t give up.

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

It didn’t matter.

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

He had to.

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

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

Because they expected it.

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

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

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

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

97%... 99%...

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

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

100%.

Then, silence.

It felt like hours had passed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

The cockpit disappeared.

The battlefield disappeared.

Everything disappeared.

—

Max floated.

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

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

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

A slow breath.

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

He knew this place.

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

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

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

But he didn’t care.

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

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

Here, there was nothing.

And in that nothingness, it was waiting for him.

A figure stood above him. Watching. Protecting.

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

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

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

He felt held.

It was holding him.

Keeping him safe.

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

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

Weightless.

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

He didn’t know if it was his.

He didn’t know if it was him.

But it was with him.

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

His eyelids grew heavy.

He let them close.

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

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

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

It didn’t matter.

He let go.

Let it take over.

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

Okay pure Simi Angst

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He left another voicemail, his voice breaking with desperation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m here, Seb. I’m here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

goodbye, my danish sweetheart - mitski