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isacksteban · 11 months ago

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First Kiss (Ending 1)

A strollonso AU where 18 year old rookie Lance Stroll falls helplessly in love with the notoriously mean world champion. (3.4k words, angsty ver) [@v3lnys @biancathecool] {I almost made them happy but then i rewrote it so it's really a sad ending}

last part - masterlist - alternate ending (just for u guys)

The private villa Lawrence rented for his son's party buzzed with the sounds of Lance's 19th birthday celebration. The expansive terrace was draped in fairy lights, and the tropical decor gave a nod to the vibrant culture of Brazil. The night was warm, the air filled with the mingling scents of barbecue and the fresh tang of lime from caipirinhas.

Lance was at the heart of it all. His Racing Point jacket lay tossed over a chair, his cheeks flushed with a mixture of excitement and alcohol. The F1 season had just concluded. It was a fitting end to a spectacular year.

"Happy Birthday, Bubu!" Nico Rosberg called out his smile audible, navigating through the crowd with a bright grin. He embraced his teammate warmly.

"Thanks, Nico!" Lance replied, his smile wide. "This is the best birthday I could ask for." He slurred, head laying on the older mans neck "You're so nice Nico, please don't die"

The German man couldn't help but laugh, patting the Canadians head as he shook his head at his drunken state.

Sebastian emerged next, carrying a brightly wrapped gift, pictures of his face littered on the paper. "Lancey! I got you something special," he announced, his German accent thick. "Open it later when you can stand straight."

Lance laughed, pulling Sebastian into a hug, trading one German shoulder for another. "Thanks, Sebby. You always know how to make it fun."

Across the terrace, Fernando Alonso watched his boyfriend with a loving smile. Once he made his way over, he slid an arm around Lance’s waist. "Mi sol, are you enjoying your night?" he asked, his Spanish accent colouring his words.

"The best, Nando," Lance responded, leaning into Fernando, clingier than he usually was now that he had practically drank his body weight in expensive wine. "It’s perfect because you’re here."

Fernando kissed Lance on the cheek. "Am glad, Lancito."

Sebastian raised his glass, a gleam in his eye. "To Lance, the youngest ever F1 race winner!" he toasted, his voice carrying above the music.

The crowd echoed the cheer, their glasses clinking in unison. Nico leaned in with a grin. "How does it feel, being a nineteen year old?"

"God, I'm just glad we're in Brazil and not America" He shook his head, wiggling the wine glass in his hand.

The night continued in a blur of dancing, laughter, and endless drinks. Lance, feeling beyond tipsy, found himself on a plush lounge chair with Fernando at his side. Sebastian animatedly recounted a moment from free practice, shaking his head as he explained the argument he'd gotten into with an engineer.

"Seb, how are you ever gonna get a seat!" Lance exclaimed, his laughter unrestrained. "You’re crazy."

Fernando, his arm securely around Lance, whispered, "You okay, mi vida?"

"Better than okay," Lance replied contentedly.

As the party began to wind down, Lance and Fernando decided it was time to head back to their shared room. They bid goodnight to their friends, with Nico and Sebastian giving Lance one last hug and a few more jokes.

Back in the quiet of their hotel room, Fernando helped Lance out of his shoes and jacket, noticing how after they'd left he got quieter. "Tired, Lancito?" Fernando asked gently, his Spanish accent soothing as he looked up to the Canadian.

"I can't do this anymore" A now tipsy Lance muttered, face barely illuminated in their shared hotel room.

"What?" Fernando laughed, unsure what Lance was talking about, he never made much sense when he was drunk.

"I can't hold you back like this" He confessed, eyes foggy as he looked up at Fernando.

"Lance, you're not holding me back, what are you talking about, Mi sol?" The Spaniard consoled, cupping the boys face in his hands

"Nando, i'm not gay"

"You're joking" Fernando laughed, patting his cheek slightly before folding his dress shirt and placing it on the chair in the corner of the room

"I can't be gay, I- I know we've done things and i've said things but- but none of it was real, Nando" A now shirtless Lance stumbled over his words, picking at his fingernails as he spoke.

He didn't respond, simply stepping closer and pressing their lips together, trying to pull his boyfriend out of his head, stop the thoughts from consuming him.

The Canadian kissed back, of course he did, his body knew how he wanted to react. His brain was just in denial.

Just as it seemed to be going back to normal he pulled away, the back of his hand wiping his lips. Wiping away Fernandos kiss. It hurt.

"Stop, don't- don't kiss me." Lance moved back, needing distance between them

"What? Am I making you feel sick?" Fernando scoffed, sucking on his teeth as he waited for a response. Waited for the next piece of bullshit Lance was going to spew. He wasn't upset before, but Lance wasn't drunk enough for this to be excused.

"It's not like that." Bullshit.

"You cant just lie to me, Lance, I know you- you feel the same, I know you do, but you have these feelings, these thoughts, these concerns, but I'm here to help." He was confused, they'd been fine all week, they'd been fine for months, and suddenly Lance was breaking up with him? "What happened, Lancito? Who spoke to you? What are you hearing? Let me help."

"Stop, Fernando." He spat, speaking to the older man as if they really were nothing "I can't, this is over"

"No, I won't let you do this."

"You have no choice. If I dont leave you'll never be happy."

"I want to be happy with you, Lance, I want to do this with you. I'll help you deal with whatever youre going through but you cant just- you can't give up on us like this" Fernando felt as if all the wind had just been knocked out of him. Seriously, where was this coming from? "What am I going to do without you?"

"Continue racing, win your third world championship, fall in love, really fall in love, not like this. You want a family, I can't give you that. If you're ever done racing then retire and live out the rest of your life like I never existed, find paradise, Fernando, I'm not everything."

"I have found paradise, with you, Lancito. You're my everything. You're my life. My sun. My soulmate. You can't just leave me as if you don't feel the same."

"I don't." He confirmed, standing up and weaving by Fernando to grab his shirt and slip it on before leaving.

"I'll never love racing the way I love-" slam. "-you."

He left everything else that he had but he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't go back. If he did he'd never leave.

Fernando didn't go back to his hotel that night, he went to Marks.

He wasn't sure why.

He needed someone.

As soon as the Australian opened the door Fernando broke out into sobs, coming undone in the hallway of some random four star hotel in Brazil.

"Fer" Was all Mark said, pulling his friend into his arms as he pushed the door shut.

It was pathetic. Fernando thought. Crying.

That night he slept in the taller mans hotel, the wrong taller mans hotel.

He slept in Marks arms with tears dried on his cheeks as his chest rose and fell with every shakey breath.

Everything was wrong.

Fourteen years. That's how long it was until Fernando saw Lance again.

He retired after his rookie year, there was hardly ever any new information about Lance released to the public for fourteen whole years.

Fernando hadn't dated since Lance. Hadn't looked at any girls, let alone another boy, since Lance left him after he turned 19.

Fernando had gotten more involved with his karting brand since then, doing anything and everything to distract himself from the memories of the boy he loved so dearly all those years ago.

He arrived at La Conca Circuit, seeing the boys and girls already in their Karts and practicing for their upcoming races, he couldn't help but smile as he walked closer. There'd been a lot of new students enrolled since the last time he'd watched a practice. Seeing them at the earliest stages of their careers made him happy, it temporarily filled the whole in his heart he left reserved for his future children.

One student in particular caught the Spaniards attention, his helmet a familiar hot pink with hollographic lettering on the side, as he watched the boy absolutely dominate the track he noticed him coming to a stop, exiting his vibrant FA kart and pulling off his helmet then his balaclava.

Fernando stood up, making his way over to the boy in an effort to learn who his new student was

"Fernando Alonso, how long have you been karting with us?" He held out his hand, the boy's head shooting up, a shocked expression on his face as he quickly took the mans hand

"Nik-" The boy spoke, practically choking on his words "I'm Nikola- I've only been racing here for a few weeks"

"How do you like it, Nikola?" The older man asked, smiling slightly at the boy

"I love it, I've been in karts since I was four and it's so great to be in an environment like this" The teenager nodded, the accent attached to his words bringing memories flooding back

"Are you from around here?" Fernando asked, aware the boy wasn't just by the way he spoke

"No, I'm from Canada. My dad's here on business and the schedules just lined up perfectly" He answered, helmet tucked under his arm

The Spaniard nodded, eyes falling down to the helmet "Did you design it yourself? Your helmet."

"My helmet?" Nikola echoed, holding it out to show Fernando "No, my dad had a similar helmet when he was in F1, I wanna make it too so I figured the helmet might bring me luck"

Fernandos mouth went dry, eyes glued to the pink helmet with NS on the side, "Nikola Stroll" written in small letters just barely above the holographic logo

"Stroll, You're Lance's boy?" His eyebrows furrowed, eyes meeting Nikola's, it made sense now that he knew. He looked just like Lance, it was unsettling.

"You know my dad?" Nikola asked, eyebrows raising as he awaited a response

"We used to be close, very close, he was in Formula 1 when I won my second championship." Fernando smiled at the fond memory "We haven't spoken since he retired, though."

"What? Why? You guys have to talk now." Nikola insisted, reaching out and grabbing the Spaniards wrist to pull him over to where Lance was lingering, distracted on his phone as he waited for his son to be finished.

"Dad!" The boy called, the now older Canadian turning back instantly

"Nikola, mi sol, how was-" He stopped mid sentence, look on his face changing as he registered the man behind his son, swallowing dry as the two came closer

"Why didn't you tell me you were friends with THE Fernando Alonso when you were in Formula 1?" The teenager asked, letting go of Fernando as he gazed up at his dad, not noticing the shakey breath escaping his lips

"Can you give us a second, Nik?" Lance asked, eyes not leaving the Spaniard. His son didn't protest, just groaned as he went back out to the track

The roar of engines started up again and the smell of gasoline filled the air at the circuit. The sun beat down on the asphalt, making it shimmer in the afternoon heat. Spectators cheered from the stands, but Fernando and Lance were oblivious to the noise around them.

Fernando stood by the outskirts of the circuit, his face flushed with anger. He had no idea what to say, his heart pounding in his chest. It had been 14 years since they last saw each other, but the intensity of his emotions hadn’t dimmed. Lance stayed a few feet away, the tension between them palpable.

"So, you are a father?" Fernando spoke up, uncomfortable with the silence between the two.

"Yeah, He'll be thirteen in December." Lance nodded, running his fingers through his now shorter hair, the Spaniard unable to ignore his ring finger "You aren't?"

"No." He responded simply, eyes following the Canadians hand as it settled against his hip "Are you married?'

"Yes." Lance responded, trying everything to avoid looking the man in front of him in the eyes

"Oh" Fernando hummed, unable to tear his eyes away from the Canadian in front of him "You look good, Lancito"

"Nando-" He started, stepping back slightly "Fernando, I can't- don't call me that."

Fernando scoffed, looking around to see if people were watching before he spoke "Don't call you that? Lance you literally call Nikola mi sol. He just found out we knew eachother back then today. You can't tell me not to call you Lancito then send your son to my karting school and call him what I used to call you. Is not fair."

Lance sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fernando, this isn’t the time or place-"

"Don’t you dare tell me what the time or place is!" Fernando’s voice rose, drawing the attention of a few passersby. "You owe me this. After all these years, you owe me an answer."

"I- God." Lance licked his lips, desperately trying to get moisture back into his mouth, voice scratchy from nerves "I know, of course I know it's not fair. It's insane. I should be working but you've been going to tracks a lot more recently and I couldn't stop wishing I was there to see you. Just one more time. I needed to see you." He spoke fast, barely avoiding stumbling over his words

"Do you have any idea how selfish that is, Lance?" Fernando asked, voice shaking as he moved closer to the man in front of him, he really was a man now. "You left me. You retired and cut all contact with me fourteen years ago. You got married. You had a child. You're all i've ever wanted. I haven't looked at another person the way I looked at you in more than a decade and you needed to see me?"

Lance looked down at the ground, shifting uncomfortably. "What do you want me to say?"

"Do you want to be with me or do you want to be with her?" Fernando's voice cracked, the raw pain evident. "Answer me, Lance!"

Lance's eyes met Fernando’s, filled with a mixture of guilt and sorrow. "Marilou...she’s my wife now. We have a life together."

"And what about us?" Fernando’s eyes blazed with anger. "What we had meant nothing to you? Fourteen years, Lance. Fourteen years and not a word from you. And now I find out you’ve been living a lie with her?"

Lance stepped closer, lowering his voice. "It’s not a lie, Fernando. I loved you, but things changed. People change. I couldn’t keep living in the past. That was the only lie."

Fernando shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. "You didn’t even give us a chance. You just left. Disappeared. Do you know how much that hurt?"

Lance reached out, but Fernando recoiled. "I’m sorry, Fernando. Truly, I am. But I’ve made my choice."

Fernando’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. "Then why did you come here? To rub it in my face?"

"I didn’t know you’d be here," Lance lied. He'd just told Fernando the truth and now he was going back on his words like he thought the Spaniard was some fucking idiot. "I came to watch Nikola race, to clear my head. I never expected this."

Fernando turned away, staring at the karts zooming around the track, a blur of color and motion. "I loved you, Lance. More than anything. But you made your choice. Do you expect me to just live with it?"

"I knew this was a bad idea. Tell Nikola I'll be waiting in the car" He muttered, turning away and rushing off, not expecting the Spaniard to chase after him, grabbing his arm roughly and turning him around, not wasting a second before crashing their lips together.

The kiss was fierce, raw, and filled with fourteen years of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Lance stiffened at first, shocked by the suddenness of it, but then he melted into the kiss, his hands finding their way to Fernando's back. The world around them seemed to blur, the sounds of the karting track fading into a distant hum.

After a few moments, Lance pulled away, breathless. "Fernando, we can't..."

"Why not?" Fernando's voice was hoarse, his eyes searching Lance's. "Because of her?"

"Because it’s not fair to anyone," Lance replied, his voice shaking. "Not to her, not to me, and certainly not to you."

Fernando's grip tightened on Lance's arm. "But this, us, it's real. You can't just walk away from this again."

Lance looked torn, his eyes filled with conflicting emotions. "I have responsibilities now, Fernando. A family."

"And what about your responsibility to yourself?" Fernando countered, his voice softer now but still intense. "What about your happiness? You can’t live your life for others at the expense of your own heart."

Lance closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I made my choice. I have to live with it."

Fernando let go of Lance's arm, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "So, that’s it then? You’re just going to keep running away?"

Lance opened his eyes, filled with unshed tears. "I’m not running away. I’m trying to do what’s right."

"For who?" Fernando's voice trembled with emotion. "For Marilou? For your son? Or are you just trying to convince yourself that you're doing the right thing because it's easier than facing the truth?"

Lance's jaw clenched, a tear escaping down his cheek. "I'm trying to do what's right for everyone. Including you."

Fernando scoffed, wiping his own tears away angrily. "Don't you dare pretend this is for my benefit. You left me, Lance. You walked away without a word. Now you expect me to believe that staying away is for my sake?"

Lance looked away, unable to meet Fernando's piercing gaze. "I thought it would be easier for you to move on if I just disappeared."

"Easier?" Fernando's voice rose again, raw with pain. "Do you have any idea what it was like? Wondering every day where you were, why you left, if you ever cared at all? And now you come back into my life, tell me you’ve moved on, and expect me to just accept it?"

"I never stopped caring," Lance whispered, finally looking back at Fernando. "I thought about you every day. But I couldn’t see a way for us to be together without hurting everyone around us."

Fernando took a step closer, his voice softening. "I can't believe you still care what people have to say about you. Running away doesn’t solve anything, it just proves you're nothing but a fucking coward."

Lance's resolve seemed to waver, his eyes searching Fernando's face. "What do you want from me, Fernando? What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to be honest with yourself," Fernando said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Stop hiding behind your responsibilities and ask yourself what you really want. Because I can’t keep living in this limbo, wondering what might have been."

Lance took a deep breath, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. "I..." He stopped, expression changing "I can't do this."

Fernando scoffed, scoffing at the Canadians response. "I still love you, mi sol. And I believe deep down, you still love me too."

Lance swallowed hard, his emotions a tangled mess. "I have to leave, I need to forget about us. I owe my wife that much. And myself. And you."

Lance paused, swallowing the words desperate to come out, before walking away, his heart heavy with the choice he'd made. Fernando watched him go, hope and fear battling within him.

He was never good at keeping a poker face. Fernando knew straight away his Lancito didn't love that woman. His Lancito didn't love women. But this man wasn't his.

He didn't know who Lance was anymore and Fernando just had to be okay with that. He had to be okay with that being their last kiss.

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inkskinned · 2 years ago

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because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?