#gripyourwriting

[gripyourwits]

Jack knows PTSD. Intimately so.

He sees it in Robby.

sigh no more. jack/robby oneshot. rated m, 4k words

[estebanmasson]

The door swings open. Alba is wearing a red G.I.R.L. hoodie over a dress that’s different to the one Payton saw her in earlier. Her hair is off-center, parted sideways when it usually isn’t. “Guess what?” Payton says with a smile.

alba/payton, 2.1k, rated t. what if you had a crush on each other and you were both girls <- thesis btw

archive locked and on ao3

[gripyourwits]

verisimilitude

Jack thinks that it’s probably just skirting along the hundred-inch mark (as if that isn’t also huge for a bed). Emery swears the actual sizing is a hundred-and-eight. Parker googled. Emery is right. If Jack ever accepts the ‘plus eight’ to his badly eyeballed measurements, Parker will bring up the question of how it got there, next. It’s a love language.

The night shift takes care of its own, four times over.

-> jack/parker/john/emery, rated t, no archive warnings. 3k words.

[estebanmasson]

“You good?” Gianpiero finally asks.

Some of the anger that’s been brewing in Max gets washed away by those words. “Yeah,” he says. “Sorry, Dad.”

or: gp/max fauxcest written for @f1raceengineerfest. explicit oneshot, 1.6k words. full tags on ao3

[estebanmasson]

anchor your worldview

“You know?” “No, not really,” Kevin responds drily. “What are you supposed to do more of?” “Everything. Be better.” Now he looks up at Kevin to meet his eyes. There is an earnesty that is frightening in Nico's gaze. What a stupid notion.

-> final and third part of slow bloom - pt1 pt2. kevin/nico, rated t, no archive warnings. 1.8k words and archive locked.

[estebanmasson]

i've seen the bright sides my whole lovely life

It’s so different to how he would have imagined. It’s too late and yet too early still, with no grand build up or a car that is supposed to place third. It’s the wrong people and yet all the ones that matter—he’ll just have to go find them himself, later, find Raoul and Kevin and Martin. Or: There's a podium, a two week old cough, and all these things people want him to do or be: but after it all, there is only Kevin.

+ kevin/nico, rated m, no archive warnings. silverstone celebrations, also ft various nico team members and fluff. 3.3k words, archive locked.

[estebanmasson]

When he turns his back on Mark it is to Giancarlo with a bemused expression on his face. He is still lounging on his bed on the other side of the room, fireproofs stretching over his ribcage and chest.

“What?” Fernando asks perhaps a bit too defensively.

Giancarlo smiles wider. “Nothing.”

or: fisinando au - ferrari!giancarlo; fluff & humour; 2.7k words. read on ao3. written for @padiduys as part of the F1 Family discord's secret santa - you can join the discord here and find the collection here. special thanks to haz for organizing!

[estebanmasson]

imagine a fic where kevin comes to races in between wec rounds and is nico's guest in the garage and they're just. doing everything together all weekend and everyone notices but no one works out that they're dating and have decided to stop actively hiding it... delicious

hello anon this got out of hand and ended up not really what you sent in but alas... 600 and then some words of kevin visiting nico at sauber

“Better than the Haas garage, right?” Nico asks, looking down at Kevin. He’s sitting in one of Sauber’s—admittedly outrageously comfortable—armchairs, littered all throughout hospitality. There’s even one in the corner of the garage. Nico’s never seen it get used so far, but it’s there.

Kevin’s hand moves back and forth across the armrest. He looks lost in thought for a moment and then mutters a soft “Yeah.”

It is better than the Haas garage. It’s better than the Haas hospitality. And Nico thinks he gets what’s weighing down on Kevin, just a bit—it’s better than Haas. But it’s not Haas.

It’s not theirs.

Nico swallows.

Come to Sauber with me. (An innocent suggestion. A selfish one.)

I can’t. (Not a rejection, not to Nico. An excuse. A sign of being scared of what they could be.)

Why not? I talked to Andreas, he would, he will, I swear. He’s considering it, for real. (Nico doesn’t want Carlos. Nico doesn’t want whatever Formula Two prodigy they can fish out of the sewers that is lower Formulae.)

I already signed somewhere else. (Said after a sigh, said with guilt. Resignation. Said with something else, too, that hurts so much more than the admission itself. Said with hope. Said with relief.)

Where?

World Endurance. (Two words that are not ‘Formula One’. Two words that are not what Nico wants to hear.)

“Well, I still have time before FP2,” Nico says next, and tries not to sound too desperate. He can see it tear Kevin out of his daydreams. Can see that it didn’t work, and that Kevin is indulging him.

Kevin smiles up at Nico. His smile isn’t heavy, isn’t imposing. It’s gentle. It’s reserved for Nico.

“Sure. What did you have in mind?”

Anything you want. Whatever you want. “Uh, dunno. We can just hang out, right?”

Like he’s seventeen and not thirty-seven. Having to keep from wringing his hands, so tightly lodged into his pockets.

Kevin’s smile widens, and it makes his eyes crinkle. “Yeah. Of course we can.”

How are you liking BMW? ( say it’s bad say it’s bad say it’s bad. say you want to come back to me )

It’s great. The guys are awesome.

That’s nice. Yeah. That’s good.

How’s Sauber?

(Lonely.) It’s good.

That’s good.

Yeah.

Nico closes the door to his room in hospitality quietly. He’s not sure what they’re going to be doing here, the room small, offering little, but he hopes-

Kevin is just a bit too close, his hand reaching out to take Nico’s. Fingers against each other, playful, so useless and aimless. Just to touch.

And Nico sees his invitation there, leaning down to press his lips to Kevin’s. His other hand moves to cradle the back of Kevin’s neck, the side of his face.

The feeling’s familiar, it’s comforting. Nico doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it.

And Kevin is slow, is measured about it. Making up for all the time away with patience that Nico doesn’t have. No, Nico always wants more. He wants to crawl into Kevin’s chest to curl up there, surrounded by the beating of his heart; wants to watch the world through the gutters of his ribs.

Not that Kevin would ever let that happen—would never think to cage Nico like that. Nico knows this. Nico appreciates this. Appreciates that Kevin is there to bring him back down, stomp his overeagerness and just hold him gently, for what he is. For what he is without coating himself in Kevin’s blood.

“I miss you,” Nico admits quietly.

“You don’t have to,” Kevin responds, his fingers massaging the nape of Nico’s neck. “I’m right here.”

And he is.