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fall0utmind · 1 month ago

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WOULD YOU STILL LOVE ME IF I TOLD YOU MY DARKEST SECRETS? Chapter 4 - Crash

Hi guysss,

Thank you sooooo much for all the love you have shown me and this fic, i could not have asked for anything better for my first fic!!! SO MUCH LOVE FOR YOU ALL!!!

Let me know what you think, come yap in my asks :)

Chapter 4 (CRASH) below

HERE on AO3

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

TW/ SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/ IDEATIONS - be safe xx

When Marc eventually reaches the garage, he’s a mess. He finds a deserted room, pulls the door closed and screams into his fist. His brain is flurried, thoughts travelling at 100 miles per hour. He feels wound up, taught with anger and pain, ready to snap at the next tiny mistake. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to quiet his brain, but Valentino’s cold words echo in the empty spaces. He buries his face into the front of the hoodie he stole, breathing in Dovi’s comforting scent, hoping to cling onto some semblance of kindness, of warmth. He refuses to let the tears fall, unwilling to give Rossi any more of himself. He will not continue to split his heart into pieces over a man who flip-flops between not looking at him or spouting cruelty.

Marc must race, he has to, no matter how crap he feels. He has ridden through worse before, he just needs to quiet his mind, get on his bike and do what he was made to do. He blinks his eyes open, his harsh breathing filling the otherwise silent room. There are teeth marks on his knuckles from where he has bitten his fist too hard, he revels in the way it burns. Pain is a good focus – a distraction from his racing thoughts. Marc steps out of the room and makes a beeline to the nearest bathroom. He peers into the mirror above the basin and feels his heart sink at the sight of red eyes which sting with unshed tears. He rubs his eyes furiously, splashing cold water over his face to remove the redness, attempting to make himself look less fragile. The water is freezing, shocking him back into his body, it makes him feel a little more in control. Looking a little less like he's about to fall apart is the best that he can hope for as he mentally steels himself to face down the world.

The cameras are trained on him when he enters the garage, pulling at the edges of his awareness as he begins to prepare for the race. The team decide to let Marc and Alex go out onto the grid at the last minute in an attempt to prevent any unwanted attention. That doesn’t stop the media from trying. He feels wrong-footed, like something is a millimetre out of place but he can’t quite put his finger on what it is. His arm aches. He shrugs it off. Instead, he focuses on his pre-race routine, ignoring the buzz around him until they need to go.

When they finally make their way onto the grid, they are surrounded by more mechanics and engineers than usual, wrapped in a protective cocoon of familiar pale blue. He keeps his head down and his game face on, ignoring any attention as he makes his way to the front of the grid, thankful that he’s there and not in the middle of the pack. He nods at Alex as the group splits, watching his brother approach his bike. He tries to keep his features neutral, unbothered, but can’t help feeling like he’s failing, the strain of the weekend weakening his usual façade. Passing Pecco in the p2 spot makes him grimace, another reminder of the earlier disaster. He can see the Italian trying to catch his attention out of the corner of his eye but refuses to engage. Reasonably, Marc knows that Pecco is not Vale, he is too calm, too rounded, missing the ragged edges that Marc personally knows so well. Despite this, he will not run the risk of looking. He does not have the capability for mind games right now, not after Valentino’s little stunt earlier. Instead, he walks away, his eyes trained on the ground, unaware of Pecco’s concerned frown behind him.

Usually, Marc has no problem focusing before a race, narrowing his universe down to just him and his bike. But today a million thoughts are racing through his head. He tries to shove it to the furthest corner of his mind, boxing up the nerves and the sorrow. But the little voice telling him that he is not enough refuses to be silenced. Instead, he pushes his visor down, blocking out the world and its pain, and gets ready to do what he does best. He can forget about it for 13 laps, he can ignore the pain – it is, after all, what he does best.

The grid begins to clear. Marc’s heart is pounding. The green flag is waved. He can feel a thousand eyes on him.

The lights go out.

The bikes roar off the line. He gets a good start, slingshotting around the first corner, retaining his first place. He feels alive as he guns the throttle, throwing his body from side to side to hit angles that should be impossible. Marc always clings to this feeling, the bike humming underneath him, adrenaline pumping through his veins, this is what he lives for.

Halfway through and Marc is doing well, he lost a place to Bagnaia on lap 2 and Martin is riding up his ass, but he is still in contention for the podium, potentially even a win. As he enters the 4th lap, Marc unintentionally tunes into the crowd, the roar as Pecco passes followed by the unintelligible mix of boos and cheers for him. He knows he’s not popular in Italy, God he’s been dealing with it for years. He can’t help but imagine that the booing has got more vicious this weekend, pouncing on his weakness. In the moment of distraction his mind capitalises, automatically leaping to the vicious words whispered behind his back and to the hatred that he’s seen, heard, and read. It comes in flashes: Valentino telling Pecco that it’s not worth it, Valentino implying that he’s an attention seeker, that he made this up. The people who think he’s better off dead, that he has ruined the sport, or that he’s selfish for no longer wanting to live the hell that was 2015. It echoes like a mantra, carved into the walls of his brain, ensuring that he never forgets the burning hatred of those around him.

He distractedly shifts his weight into turn 10, realising a fraction too late what will happen. The back tyre wobbles, desperately seeking friction against the scorching tarmac, before the whole bike bucks from underneath him, launching him into the air and sending them both into the gravel trap. Marc feels weightless for half a second, tumbling through the air and unable to do anything about it. He comes crashing back down to earth with a thump, tossed head over heels across the track, before coming to a halt near his bike.

Fuck.

Marc lies on the floor for a moment, willing himself to not lose it then and there. He knows he should move; people will begin to think the worst – but a small, messed-up part of him barely cares. He lets out a primal scream, thankful nobody can hear him, before finally clambering to his feet, wincing in pain. He jogs over to his bike to assess the damage. His bad arm hurts like a bitch, but a quick body scan tells him that he is mostly okay, just bruised. The main collateral is his ego. His bike is a little worse for wear, but fixable, that’s what matters.

Idiota, he can't believe he got so stuck in his head that he crashed. He needs to be better. He does not want people doubting him now, not when they can already identify spots of weakness through his heavily constructed armour.

He drags his bike upright, refusing the help of the marshals, before being escorted back to the garage.

They force him to go to medical after his crash, much to Marc’s annoyance. He gets plenty of sympathetic winces at the array of bruises now decorating his body, but there is not much else they can do. He is checked for a concussion, which he has thankfully avoided, and the medics give him an ice pack for the worst of the bruising (most of it is bad). After, he slowly makes his way back to the garage, a slight limp in his step. He apologises to the crew, grimacing at the replays of the crash flashing up on the screens. He knows that people will use this against him, rumours that he can’t stand the pressures of this sport. That he’s a danger to other drivers and himself. The irony isn’t lost on him, he doesn’t have to be on track to be a danger to himself.

If he’s being honest, Marc is scared. A deep-rooted fear that his career will be derailed by this weekend, that he will no longer be known as an 8-times world champion, the baby champ, instead he’ll be the dangerous, mentally unstable rider who couldn’t cope with fame and heartbreak. He is scared that Valentino’s narrative of his character will have a lasting impression on his name in this sport.

It's Dani who eventually breaks him from his self-deprecating thoughts, pulling him into a tight hug. He whispers to Marc that the voices aren’t true, that he isn’t what they say he is, that he is a good person. Dani has always known him a little bit too well. When Marc draws away there are tears in his eyes. He knows he will have to face the press again, especially after such a disaster in the sprint. But for now, he is content to be looked after by his team and his friends.

Alex ends up taking p6, a good outcome for at least one of the Gresini riders. Marc has been avoiding the media pen since his crash and is rapidly running out of excuses not to go. He pulls Alex into a congratulatory hug, wrinkling his nose as a press officer shoos them both off to give their interviews. In a last-ditch effort, Marc sends his very best puppy eyes in the direction of Dani, Dovi, and Jorge, who, true to their word, have been in the garage since the race started. All he receives in return is two sympathetic looks and a shit-eating grin from Jorge, who has always been a pain in the ass. Marc laughs at the thought, grinning and tugging Alex with him as he leaves, racing disasters momentarily forgotten.

Marc is going to kill someone. The jury is still out on whether it will be himself or whoever fucked up so bad that a summary of his entire medical history ended up on the internet. (He’s kidding, it won’t be himself, he has too much to prove for that). His media appearances go about as well as expected, which is to say it’s a clusterfuck.

The kinder interviewers ask him about the crash and how he is feeling, touching on his prospects for tomorrow’s race. The meaner of them question whether the news was the cause of the crash, and how Valentino played a role, pressing on already delicate bruises. One even goes as far as asking if 2015 “ruined him as a rider”, whatever that means, he has 4 championship wins under his belt since then for God’s sake.

It becomes apparent fairly quickly that more information has been leaked. Whoever is behind this surely wants to destroy Marc for all he’s worth, he cannot believe he’d be so unlucky to have another piece of his life flayed open every time he’s on the track. The moment they ask about his arm, his pain, and his “questionable history with pain medication”, Marc simply walks out. It is surely not his finest moment of PR, but he has had enough of this weekend, of people digging up every hurt and pain he has been through and splaying him open for all to see.

The journalists clearly can’t tell or don’t care that Marc is done, pushing and shoving to get a word from him about the most recent gossip. Marc doesn’t know where to turn, every exit is seemingly blocked by people who want to profit from his pain. The world is spinning around him as tears blur his vision. He has no point of contact with the world, he is floating away, woozy with the feeling. For a fleeting moment, Marc wishes he had succeeded all those years ago, he wishes he would have put an end to all the pain and suffering in his life. The realisation rips an ugly sob from deep within his chest, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. He doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t. But he certainly doesn’t want to live life like this.

He doesn’t know how long he’s standing there, shaking apart at the seams, before three sets of hands lead him away. Somewhere through the haze, he recognises Aleix’s gentle Spanish, clearly alternating between soothing him and conversing worriedly with someone else. Marc stumbles over his own feet, held upright by a strong pair of tattooed arms, identifying the second person as Fabio. For what feels like the hundredth time this weekend, his eyes well up; he is unimaginably grateful for the few members of the paddock he can lean upon. They manoeuvre him away from the press, earning some baffled stares from other pilots and team members. Marc guesses that it's not every day you see Marc Marquez half-carried out of the press pen. He can hear his rescuers rapidly debating where to take him before a consensus is reached to deliver him back to the Gresini garage, where hopefully Alex will be waiting.

Marc is surprised to identify the third person as Pedro Acosta. He has not interacted much with the rookie but is pleasantly surprised by his careful hands, aiding the others to get Marc somewhere safe. He suppresses a groan at the sudden realisation of the articles that will no doubt surface tomorrow. Marc Marquez, damsel in distress? At this point, he might as well give an interview saying he’s been in love with Valentino for as long as he can remember.

Marc knows that a decade ago he would have ripped his own heart out and given it to Valentino to destroy. The older rider has unscrewed all his parts, - his hero devotion and childhood wonder, before piecing him back together into the splintered man he is today. He guards himself more these days, walls built strong and high to withstand the storms that always seem to batter him. He can no longer see himself falling into a lover’s arms like he did all those years ago, instead choosing to keep them at arm’s length, decidedly distrusting. He knows if Valentino came back, it would be the end of him.

Pedro disappears at some point between the media pen and the garage, leaving Fabio and Aleix to usher him through the back corridors of the paddock. Marc is aware of the near-continuous apologies listlessly falling from his lips, despaired by the idea of being so weak. He is gently shushed by Aleix, who holds open the door for Fabio and him to enter the back of Gresini’s building

It’s Jorge who notices the three men spilling into the room first. He’s out of his seat in a flash, urging Marc to sit down whilst Dani fetches some water, working in perfect tandem.

“Cazzo, what happened?”

Dovi directs his question towards Fabio and Aleix, the former of whom answers, with a worried frown.

“He just shut down in the media pen, he fully froze. It was like he’d just gone somewhere else; we got him out of there as soon as possible. I’ve never seen him do anything like that.”

“It happens sometimes when he’s been bottling everything up for a long time, especially when he feels weak. He just loses his sense of reality. It’s always scary, it doesn’t get any easier.”

Alex takes in his brother's state from where he has entered the room. He knows he needs to take Marc somewhere where he can fall apart in private, their motorhome being the sensible option. Marc needs this, needs to let it all out so that he can race tomorrow.

“Alex, is what they’re saying true?”

It’s a quiet question from Dani, but it catches the attention of all of them.

Alex scoffs, “Which bit?”

“Given the extent of media coverage, we can assume the A&E trips happened. I remember being worried about him during those years, it was like he was always pretending.”

Alex nods at Dani, confirming his assumptions. It’s Jorge who pipes up then, voice full of unconcealed fury,

“I’m going to fucking kill Rossi, I swear to god”

He lets out a string of expletives, calling Valentino every rude name under the sun. Alex can second that, and Marc, now gaining some lucidity, let’s out a brittle chuckle.

Fabio asks the question they’re all thinking, a pained look on his face.

“And his injury? It was that bad, even after the surgeries, I know he was out of it during races, I didn’t know how much pain he was in...”

Marc replies to this one.

“Agony, like red hot knives tearing into my flesh every corner. Not helped by the Hondas tendency to play buckaroo with me.”

He gives a self-deprecating laugh

“But I am nothing without a bike so still I raced”

Dovi begins to refute the statement, but Alex simply shakes his head, this is a long fought and lost argument.

Alex sighs, resigned to an evening of his brother once again falling apart due to Valentino Rossi and the scars that remain.

“Probably best we go to the motorhome then, are you all coming?”

They must make quite a strange image, seven riders, both current and retired, sneaking through the quiet and unknown parts of the track to reach the safety of the motorhomes. Marc is in the middle of them, bracketed in and protected from each side. He still feels pretty spaced out, his thoughts are a mess, and he keeps getting stuck in a loop of forbidden memories that have resurfaced. Marc registers the others leaving once they arrive at the familiar blue motorhome. He clutches Dani’s jacket before he can walk away and makes the three retired riders promise to return, feeling too fragile not to have the comfort of safety in numbers. He turns towards Aleix and Fabio and quietly thanks them for their help before turning back towards his brother.

Alex helps Marc inside the motorhome, pushing him toward the shower, and telling him to clean up whilst he talks to the team. Marc turns the water temperature up as high as possible, hoping it will soothe his aching muscles since it can’t do much for his current mental state. After he’s done, he wraps a fluffy towel around his waist, heading to the bedroom to change whilst Alex showers. He feels more physically grounded now but inside he’s in emotional turmoil. He feels like he’s been cut loose, unmoored on choppy water, unsure where he can sink his anchor to weather the storm. For now, he decides his motorhome and his younger brother are the safest place.

Alex is already there, washed and dressed, when he re-enters the living space. He has a little pinch between his eyebrows as he stares at Marc in concern; clearly, Marc’s attempts to cover up his misery are unsuccessful. He winces as he approaches the sofas, his brother instantly picking up on that too, damn having a codependent relationship with a sibling, they know too much. Thankfully, Alex says nothing, he just helps lower Marc onto the cushions, before turning to grab the bruise relief cream, looking at Marc pointedly until he takes his shirt back off. Alex cringes at the array of watercolour blues and purples painted across Marc’s skin, still uncomfortable seeing Marc in pain, even after all these years.

“How’s your arm?”

Marc hums, considering,

“It’s pretty bad, I don’t need medication through”

Alex gives him another look, understanding but slightly exasperated.

“Marc, you still sometimes need the medication. You are not who you were then. You are in pain; you do not need to just live in it.”

Marc contemplates his brother’s argument, smiling slightly at his unwavering support.

“Not yet, I will take them later, maybe”

Their conversation is interrupted by the motorhome door opening, Dovi slipping inside and shutting it behind him. His eyes instantly shoot to Marc, who is still shirtless on the sofas, his eyes widening as he takes in the tanned skin of the Spaniard. Marc still looks gorgeous, even when battered and bruised. The thought makes him feel guilty for a second, he never wants Marc to be in pain. But still, it doesn’t take away from his attraction. Alex rolls his eyes at the pair, coughing obnoxiously as Marc’s cheeks flush pink. Dovi grins at Marc, still unabashedly staring as he shrugs a t-shirt and hoodie back on, glaring lightly back at the Italian. Look, Dovi’s not blind, he knows an attractive man when he sees one (he always has), but he is also well aware that Marc is still a bit in love with Valentino, plus he would be stupid to risk such a friendship. But he can still look and the younger still preens under his gaze.

Marc tries to will the blush away from his cheeks, well aware of Dovi’s smug look, and frankly, it’s slightly unfair that the man still has that effect on him, he thought that he was over that part of his life. But he can’t deny that he enjoys the older man's attention.

Dani and Jorge return about ten minutes later, and they settle together on the couch, joining the others. Marc feels his brain quiet, the volume of his thoughts turned down a few notches. His whole body aches after the crash, each movement burning his muscles. He eventually gives in to the pain, flashing Alex a pleading look, spurring the younger to fish out the appropriate number of painkillers and hand them to his brother with a glass of water. They’re the strong ones that make Marc a little hazy, a little more fluid and uncaring as they kick in. He ends up settled between Dovi and Jorge, leaning heavily on the older Spaniard, his legs across Dovi. Dani is on Jorge’s other side and Alex sits opposite.

The conversation is soft. The TV is talking to itself quietly in the background. Marc has lost track of all threads of the topics once more, tangled like balls of yarn in his brain. He allows the pain medication to soften him and lets himself drift amongst his thoughts, ebbing and flowing like the sea. He feels Jorge’s (Danis?) hand gently petting his hair and Dovi's warmth pressed against him. It’s peaceful. Somewhere in the back of his mind, alarm bells are sounding at how vulnerable and weak he’s being in front of the others, but for now, he ignores them, allowing himself to float.

The weekend has been a mess, he will be the first to admit it. The fact that his medical records have been leaked would be bad enough, even if they didn’t contain all his biggest secrets – his mental health, the extent of his injuries, his weakness. The world has seen what 2015 took from him, about his overdoses, and subsequent admissions to A&E. They know that the doctors had looked to Alex to make sure his older brother stayed alive another day. Back then, he lived life as if he didn’t care to see another day, throwing himself into reckless situations with abandon. He was indeed a danger on the track to himself, but he never, ever, meant to drag anyone else into it. The only thing he could clutch onto was his success on the bike, it was all that mattered to him. In 2015 and the years that followed Marc would leave everything on track, he would go out not caring if he returned to the garage, and we he came back time and time again, he was empty and hollow.

Valentino had taken everything from him, everything but his riding. His hope, childhood dreams, and will to live had been snatched by jealous hands. The media had torn him and his family to shreds. His loved ones were scared to leave him alone. Marc just felt hollow. Nothing mattered to him but winning. He thought that maybe people would consider him worthwhile if he was winning. Valentino would look at him again. Would tell him he was wrong, and that he was sorry. The day never came. Instead, Marc was left with the demons, locked in his mind and told to make his own way out.

Then one day, finally, the light was shining at the other end of the tunnel. After the depression, after the suicide attempts, and the self-destruction. After he had glued together the shattered pieces of himself into something that only partially resembled the old him, before Valentino Rossi. Then Jerez had happened. He came off his bike so fast he didn’t truly remember it happening, just the searing pain and a useless arm hanging limply by his side as he tried to mask the pain from the world.

The next few years were a haze of surgeries, pain, riding, not being able to ride, pain medication, and more encompassing sadness. He knows somewhere on the internet there is now a long list of medications he was on for that pain. No doubt there would also be records of the countless doctors who were concerned about him ignoring the pain, or not taking his pain meds. It was some twisted form of self-flagellation that he told himself he should live with the burning agony to prove that he was strong. He was too weak to do it in the races and instead would take medication before, just so he could make the corners, followed by copious numbers of painkillers after, knocking him out clean. He would be so doped up that his brother would have to look after him, feeding him and putting him to bed. Marc still remembers the phantom pain that followed him everywhere, despite the medication. At some point, he took too many and became unresponsive. Alex had to rush him to the hospital. From that day on Marc had vowed to be more sensible, if only for his brother's sake.

The memories make him feel hollow, the empty space in him aching for his loss. He does better these days, but it has taken a long time to reach this point, with countless hours spent talking to professionals about his pain and his feelings. He hates that there are records of so much of this online, that anyone can read about the worst moments in his life. It makes him feel weak. Unworthy. He stays there for some time, revisiting the pain and trying to stay tethered to real life, rather than consider the endless possibilities in a different universe. He doesn’t know when he starts travelling down dark paths, but it makes him shake with sorrow. He feels part of himself shatter, right there in his motorhome in Misano.

#rosquez #marc marquez #motogp #motogp rpf #my fics #medical leak au #please yap in my asks guys #marcs medical records getting leaked #yayyyy #aoife finally did it #pedrenzo #in this one #dani pedrosa #andrea dovizioso #marc is so baby girl #going through it #marc whump ftw

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thewriters-world · 3 months ago

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4:

Valentino is vindicated when Marc messages him at some godforsaken hour. Reminds himself that this is how Marc is, of course Marc was going to choose the easy way out. There was nothing else Marc was ever going to do. Tries to convince himself that he's the selfless one for once again intertwining his name with Marc's to protect his reputation (the one he ruined). Tries to ignore the rational part of his brain that tells him he can't offer something and then pretend the other is selfish for taking what he gave (you can't keep changing the rules of the game and then act surprised when the other isn't playing by the rules).

Ignores it all to feel a hollow victory course through the blood in his veins. Chooses to reply with a single yes to really fuck with Marc. Knows how his ego won't let him follow up. Knows the way he'll strain his eyes until they burn as he looks into his phone for something.

When he tells Giuilia - his press manager - that Marc and him are dating he does it over the phone, not because he's a coward or anything (he is) but because he's too busy being Valentino Rossi (lies). She's silent over the phone, and Valentino knows that the tip of her pen is between her lips as she processes the information. He waits for her to play Uccio, he's going to ruin you, I don't like how he is with you. He even draws up all of the reasons this is a good idea in his head, but then she makes a noise of acceptance, promises to arrange a meeting with Marc's press manager before hanging up (good because he was drawing a blank).

...

Two days later Marc squirms on the uncomfortable plastic chair of the press room. Cristian sits besides him, hands interlocked into a V, vein in his forehead growing more prominent by the second. Mia - a junior press officer - sits to the other side of him with a recorder at hand, offering him what she thinks is a comforting smile but is in fact something condescending.

He stares at a miniscule crack on the wall before him, doesn't catch a single word of Mia and Cristian's hushed conversation. He should have known, should have paid attention when they told him Valentino Rossi doesn't do affection or kinship. Should've known that Valentino was a maestro at using sensitive information divulged at moments of vulnerability to ruin you. Why did it surprise him so much that Valentino couldn't find it in himself to interact with him? Why did it surprise him that the coward played the lion?

The door clicks open, a blonde secretary pops her head in with a smile as she announces Valentino's arrival. Marc doesn't look away from that one spot on the wall. Not when Valentino sits right in his eye-line, clad in a navy blue sweatshirt that he had gifted him with a knowing smirk on his lips. Not when the click of the recorder starts and the rigid woman besides Valentino begins to speak all sharp and grating. Marc doesn't hear a single word, tries to ignore the way Cristian looks at him, you don't have to do this his eyes say we can find another way. But there is no other way, this is the only way. The only way they let him live without the misconception that he ruined something important. That all this ruin was his doing (why did you even assume you could be Valentino's).

Mia looks at Valentino like as though he hung the moon and the stars. Marc wants to shake her out of her daze. Wants to explain exactly how Valentino will ruin her if she catches his eyes. But she is only twenty-two (he thinks because she looks at Valentino like he created all the rubies in the world for hi - her). How is she to know Valentino Rossi had the uncanny ability to look at you like you were the only thing that mattered even though he didn't think you mattered at all. How was he to tell her that Valentino Rossi was good at reeling you in with sparkling eyes and a charisma that hid the wretched meanness (There was no other word) bubbling under his suave facade.

And Marc must show it in his face, how he feels, because Cristian is gentle when he nudges him.

Giuilia looks unamused as he meets her eyes.

"Sorry could you go over that again" he questions, knows that really he hasn't been paying attention since Valentino walked into the room.

"We'd like you to move in with Valentino for the summer break" Giuilia is matter-of-fact, almost annoyed at his obvious inattention to the matter at hand.

Marc feels his heart lurch. Feels the content of his stomach threaten to make a run for it. Closes his eyes, sees their movie play in his head. Wills his mouth to say 'no'. But grief has paralysed him and Marc doesn't have the words to refuse.

"We want to hold off on releasing a statement just yet" Cristian jumps in and Marc opens his eyes just in time to see his press manager shoot Giulia a pointed look that she ignores with hardening eyes.

"We think that the both of you need to write a statement together as the only two people fully aware of the nature of this relationship" Giulia ignores Cristian, emphasises the words 'together' and 'nature' as she pointedly glances at both him and Valentino.

And then Valentino looks at Marc with something that isn't a smug glee as Giulia and Cristian's words fade into the background. Marc tries to focus once again on the miniscule crack on the wall so he doesn't have to contend with the idea that Valentino might know how to worry and care. That maybe all those years ago when Valentino held him, he actually cared.

...

Giulia calls a break, like as if they're in school, says they'll re-convene in thirty minutes and Marc is floored at how much more they have to talk about. Nonetheless he follows the press managers out of the conference room, watches as they exit the building. Ignores the fact that just the simple act of Valentino looking at his phone sends a flow of electricity through his stomach. And as he finds a silent corridor he calls his parents, knows its not fair to them that he hasn't replied to their calls since the tape leaked.

His mother is gentle with him over the phone. Speaks in soft smooth tones that Marc doesn't think he deserves.

"You're sure you want to go back to him?" She presses.

"Tell him to break off whatever it is" his father whispers from besides her but Marc can hear it all.

"Shh" his mother hisses in response, something tinny and static, poorly attempting to cover the receiver with her palm.

"Look, why don't you and him spend a week at ours for the summer break" she sounds desperate now, almost frantic and Marc has to remind himself that she saw the tape. Saw the blind devotion in his eyes as Valentino held him in place, saw the way his eyes glittered at his attention. How Valentino made him dance to his tunes.

She thinks Valentino could ask Marc to do the worst things. She thinks Marc would do those things (she might be right).

"I will talk to him, mama" and he winces at how that sounds. Like as if he has no control, like as if he is controlled by Valentino. He wants to clarify that he can visit anytime and that he isn't bound by Valentino. But then she sighs.

"Okay Marc" she says like as if she has lost this conversation, even though it isn't a game.

"You take care of yourself" she says.

"Okay ma, I love you"

"I love you to baby"

...

Valentino pauses as Marc enters the room with the whoosh of the sliding door opening. That's the only indication he gives of having even noticed Marc's presence.

"Wanna see it for yourself?"

Valentino is thrown. Hadn't expected Marc to have spoken to him so casually. Looks around the connference room like as if Marc has addressed someone other than him, a ghost (like the ones of their past).

"You said you wanted to see the posters" Marc clarifies. Almost turns his head to see the expression on Valentino's face, wants to see if his words bother him.

If he had turned he would have seen the way the light dims from Valentino's eyes. The way his mouth opens to say something that he hasn't thought until his lips hang open pathetically waiting for any justification. Marc knows how to read Valentino's eyes even after all these years even though Valentino thinks he has forgotten. Marc would have seen the desperation in Valentino's eyes. The short vulnerable desperation of wanting to be read.

Read this.

I know.

I know about the posters.

I know about the bikes.

I know.

But Marc doesn't turn. And Valentino hardens his jaw, closes his eyes so they're not so loud anymore (tries to tune the weakness in eyes out).

Marc thinks he has it in himself to unfold the posters tucked away in the cardboard box residing in an empty corner of his childhood bedroom. Thinks he must be incredibly gentle because he owes is to 11-year old Marc who had saved all his pocket money for this. Maybe he can walk Valentino through his motorbike collection, explain what it all meant to him then (and now). How he would look at them every night in awe until Alex complained to their mother and she'd look at him with fond exasperation before gently placing the bikes back onto the shelf above Alex's bed. He has always been his mother's child and he owes it to her to be gentle like how she taught him to he. And after all, affection (love) cannot possibly be violent, Marc knows this to be true even after experiencing the cruelty of Valentino Rossi. Because his mother still kisses his forehead everytime he sees her, his father still presses a kiss to his cheek and his brother still places a blanket over him when he falls asleep.

"My mother thinks you are forcing me" Marc explains, feels a grim satisfaction as Valentino's grip on the chair turns white knuckled.

"She would feel better if she saw us, wants us to spend a week at theirs" Marc finally looks at Valentino, is pleased to note that now he can't look him in the eye.

He opens his mouth again, eager to plunge another dagger into Valentino, wants to twist it as deep as Valentino has been in him.

But Valentino knows him after all these years, knows what he's going for and stops him with a wave of his hand. A bone-tired weary wave of his hand and for the first time Marc sees mortality in Valentino.

"We will stay with them for a week" and Valentino looks at him this time, stares right at him and he thinks that's the only thing that stops him from pushing at his buttons. Not the fact that those buttons are no longer his to push.

#motogp #motogp rpf #marc marquez #valentino rossi #mm93 #vr46 #rosquez

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ray935sworld · 4 days ago

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Child of divorce rosquez AU

My baby, my baby

Chapter 1: The fallout

Marc knew he should be grateful for the life he lived.

He had everything and more he could have ever dreamed about.

He was a big name in the sport he loved after only 2 season. He had won 2 titles in those years, making him a 4x wdc before he turned 22.

He earned a lot of money while living his dream. He made his hobby to his job and it worked out perfectly. Better than anything they could have expected.

He had healed from an almost career ending accident and had started to win everything. He learned how to handle crashs and he was pretty good in dealing with the injuries resulting.

He had a brother who he loved dearly. They were basically glued together. He was his best friend and always had his back. They had the same profession and could spent lots of time together.

And he had a wonderful little son who would turn 2 in January.

David was everything to him. He had never expected to became a father as early as he did but he would trade it for nothing in the whole world.

He loved David like it was breathing and now he could have never imagined not having him in his life.

He knew he should be grateful for a life like that. Most people weren't as lucky as he was. For most people, their dream didn't work out. Many in his profession even suffered a terrible fate. Most people weren't as lucky to have a support system like he did when it comes to an unexpected pregnancy.

And he was grateful. He would never not be grateful

But as he looked in the news, he couldn't help but curse the world for putting him through something like that. Actually he wouldn't care if it was just about him. He'd be able to handle that.

But dragging David through it?

He swallowed, cursing silently as he read how his toddler got weaponized.

'The cuckoo child of motogp - whose the real father of Marquez's bastard?'

He wanted to take the paper, roll it up and beat the crap out of who ever had the idea, who wrote it and who deemed as as appropriate enough to be published.

It was bullshit. The world knew who David father was, even if they refuse to acknowledge it. He - They had always been honest about David's father.

Fuck.

Vale had been the one to step up about it. He hadn't want to hide Marc or their relationship and his fatherhood of David. So he publicly picking David up from the Honda garage and carrying him to yamaha.

The baby had been crawled on his chest, Vale still on his race suit, as he talked with his mechanic. The hugh 46 over his head seemed to fit perfectly with the red MM93 top David had been wearing. A gift from Santi.

As expected, the whole media went crazy. They asked them about the reason behind that.

Vale had just laughed and said "Allora, I gotta take care of my lovely son, no? Can't let Marc do all the work. He did all the hardest work already. I mean - If it takes two to have fun, it takes at least two to care of our little bambino"

And the papers went wild. As expected. Valentino Rossi, having a son - the news spread like wildfire through all of Italy.

They repeated it the next day. Vale had grinned widely as Marc handed their baby over, knowing that many journalists had only waited for this.

They had managed to arrange the schedules that while Vale went over some data, Marc had a little free time to look after David. And as soon as his occupation started, Vale was free and took their son.

It didn't always work but luckyly Julia was happily to look after his grandson in the meantime. Or Alex and Luca stole him away. For some uncle time, as they called it.

Vale and Marc had early on decided not to investigate what their brothers put their baby through after catching Alex trying to teach David to say "batman" instead of papa as his first word.

They just trusted the newly founded uncles in crime union - to which the academy boys counted as well - not to do something extremely stupid.

"Your fault if you let a bunch of teenage uncles babysit cause you don't know how to pull out" Luca had said as Vale asked him why his son was currently wearing a green baby wig, sunglasses and a glittery jacket.

He had turned to Franco, knowing that this was an argument he couldn't win against. He hope his oldest boy would at least have some sense as he gave him a strong 'care to explain?' look. But he just shrugged and answered "What? It's fun. And David loves it! Look at him"

As on cue, David started giggling and reach for his papa. "He's a baby. He loves everything." Vale replied as he took his son back in his arms. "OH come on Vale" Marc had said. "It's cute. And our baby looks really cool like that"

That had always been their system. And it worked. They were a happily little family, living in Spain or Italy, attending races all over the world.

Then things went south and now he had to see articles like that.

It wasn't just the fact that he was publicly accused of infidelity he didn't commit or trying to baby trap Valentino, it was the way it was phrased. It was phrased to be against his son. Not just him but a literal baby.

And that made him angry. He could handle backlash. There has always been some idiots, searching for gossip, starting all kinds of rumors about Vale and his relationship.

But this was new.

Because now, Rossi's comments indicated that even he wasn't sure about the fatherhood.

"Who knows... if he is capable of screwing me over like that, he probably already did in other ways"

Sepang.

He still got shivers when he remembered hearing that in the press conference the first time. Back then he had been foolish enough to believe it was a joke. A hard comment like they often do after a race like this.

He had laughed along, ignoring the sting in his stomach.

It had started with that accusation and it spiraled into an avalanche against him. One quote followed the next one. One worst than the one before and at the end, Rossi had managed to paint a devastating picture.

David - their son, being a lie. The boy they worried about together, who they cared for, who they loved before he was even born, was supposed to be a manipulation technique?

He accused Marc of sleeping around, trying to pass a strangers child off as his.

He wanted to scream and cry. So he went to Vale's motorhome that night. He couldn't control his emotion so he yelled and sobbed and begged him to think straight.

It had been Vale who welcomed David in tbe world, who sat next to Marc's bed, holding his hand waiting for him to wake up after the birth.

It had been Vale who had spent hours thinking about designs and decorating the nurseries at the ranch and at their place in Spain. He had even asked his academy kids for help.

He had asked everyone he knew and loved how to be a good parent.

He had loved David the second he knew he existed. He had been so incredible happy about the pregnancy despite the circumstances. He loved David always and forever.

He had hold him in his arms every day and every night. He had sang him a lullaby. He had told him stories and showed him pictures of their families. He had told him everything about everyone.

He had shown David how loved he was the second he was born.

He had supervised his boys as they stood around the cradle, the first time they were in Italy again. They were all standing there cooing over their newest addition.

Marc's heart had melted as Vale put his arms around his boys, heads still lowered over David. "Remember, moments like this are the reason, we take calculated risks not blind ones. Cause no amount of point is worth this. Understood?"

But apparently that was a lie.

Because now he had stood there, his eyes cold, his face drawn a fascade that could only be described as disgust and hate.

The love they had shared was gone. Yes they had relationship problems in the last weeks. But not like that. Every couple had its ups and downs. That was normal. But this...

Marc huffed. He stared at Vale.

"You can't be serious. David - David IS YOUR SON! YOU KNOW THAT!" "I only know what you told me and you are a liar. You have proven that many times. Why should he be a difference!"

He spoke coldly about him. His voice filled with hate as he spoke about their son. "Keep David out of this! He has done nothing but breath and love you unconditionally since the moment he was born" "I don't care. You're a fucking liar. This is not worth it!"

Their child wasn't worth it? Worth what? Trying? Finding a way to make up? Discussing things? Clearing doubts and misunderstandings up so they can be happy together?

"Valentino, he is your God damn son! Are you really that blind? There is a HUGH difference if I lie to the media about an injury or which tyres I'm using and the paternity of our child!"

Rossi just huffed and rolled his eyes dramatically. It felt like he was making fun of Marc. He didn't take Marc serious. Neither this issue. And that hurt even more.

"You are a liar and you use me for your own advantage. You don't care about me. So why should you even want a kid with me in the first place?" "Because I love you, you stupid idiot! I love you like crazy! I always have"

He loved him for longer they actually knew each other and his love for him had just grown since the.

"You are a liar" the Italian insisted. "I am not a liar! I love you! You mean everything to me. What do you think why I'm here trying to figure this out? I love you. I will always love you and I'm trying to figure this out with you. I mean-"

He was getting desperate. He didn't know what to say anymore. "I - I will always love you and you will always have a place in my heart and my home and my family. And that boy - the boy we are raising together - is your child. He is your own flesh and blood! You know that!"

But no amount of yelling and begging could change anything. And Marc tried. He tried harder than he was racing. He was ready to let all of hids dignity go.

He tried until it was too late. It had been too late the whole time but he now had to admit it.

"So that's it...? You lied to your own academy kids?" he had asked still holding anger. His voice hoarse and his eyes red. He had no strength left. "Points are worth more than your own family. A championship means more than your own baby. After everything-"

Vale looked at him with cold eyes. He meant what he would say. "No. But that fucking bastard isn't my baby"

There it was.

'Bastard.'

'That fucking bastard.'

About David. About their child. He had insulted their baby and with that, he had hurt Marc enough to finally walk away.

Insulting David made a switch flip in his head. It told him it wasn't worth it. He wanted to fight and he had sworn he would but there was nothing left fighting for.

David was no longer their baby. He was only Marc's baby.

So he stopped begging. No more yelling, no more tears and devestation about a man that didn't gave a fuck about them.

David deserved loved. He deserved to be loved unconditional and he had people that were willing to give him that love without having to beg.

Marc would not force someone who clearly didn't want to have anything to with him to stay in his life. He wouldn't do that to his kid.

He had always promised himself to never settled for someone that he had to beg to stay. Especially not if he had to dealt with the anxiety of being left on a daily basis.

And David didn't deserve that too.

So he left. He didn't persue legal action against Vale even if he had considered it. But he wouldn't ask for anything. He wouldn't give him more things to put against him. And he didn't need his help either. He could prove that they were fine without him. And he would.

That weekend marked tbe first of many after which they didn't joked on the drive to the airport or sat cuddled up in the back of a taxi that drove them to the hotel. They didn't shared a flight home and didn't talked about their child.

They didn't bickered about when to unpack their stuff. Marc didn't roll his eyes sarcastically cause Vale had once again forgot that after locking the car he had to unlock the door with the same bunch of keys.

He had always immediately let them slide inside his pockets and then had to fish them out.

Instead he got out the car, took his stuff and followed his brother and father inside the house without a word. He hadn't really spoken since the confrontation with Vale.

He just entered the house, hugged his mother a little bit longer than usual. It worried her but she knew what was going on. He whispered a tired "I love you" to his family as he headed to his child's room.

He went quickly, but instead of happiness and excitement, his steps now showed sadness and hurt.

It was late so David was already in bed. Marc didn't want to wake him. He didn't want him to see that only of his parents had come home to him.

He wanted that David got one last night of peaceful sleep in the knowledge that both his parents who loved him dearly would be there when he woke up. Marc feared the moment this would crash.

So he just sat down next to David, his hand reaching for his face that was plastered against the mattress. There was some spit drooling around his mouth and his thick dark curls were covering his forehead.

Softly Marc put his hand on his cheeks. He felt the warm of the skin. He felt his happiness. He felt his love.

It felt domestic and normal. It put everything to a stop. The spins of thoughts stopped and there was only David and this moment left.

He took a deep breath and just looked at his son, the baby light - a smiling turtle - was making sure the child wouldn't get scared.

Marc looked at it. Luca had found it in a store and thought it was on brand for them.

Marc would replace it soon, claiming it broke when in reality he just stored it far away, hidden in a box no one ever looked in.

He shook his head and just lifted his baby out the little bed. Without a second thought he sat down in one of the comfy chairs and leaned back, David still sleeping peacefully. He was now resting on his chest.

"I will never leave you" he whispered in his sons hair. Je kept sleeping. "I will love you for the rest of my life and even in death I will always love you. You're my son."

He kissed his head and breathed in. He smelled the soap and shampoo his mother had used when he bathed David.

"You are mine forever and nothing will ever stop that. I love you so much, baby. I will never leave you. I promise. You will never be alone. I will always be with you."

He closed his eyes and locked everything out of his head. Only David mattered. Only his son was important.

But his own words didn't hold any meaning. Not even to himself. Because that's what Valentino Rossi, the man who had walked out on both of them, who had left both - Marc and their beloved baby - had said as well.

#Child of divorce AU #motogp rpf #motogp #marc marquez #valentino rossi #vr46 academy #david alonso #Ups.#Feel free to share your thoughts #I'd love to hear your thoughts :)

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inchidentally · 10 months ago

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so we all know that Oscar was basically the president of the Lando Norris fanclub back in the day, but my question is, does Lando know? Like I think back to that face mask video when Oscar asked Lando how many sibling's he had and we all suspect that Oscar fully knew the answer. So was he trying to play it cool so Lando didn't catch on that he maybe knew a little too much, or was he trying to play it cool so we the viewers didn't catch on to how much Lando content he has consumed (he has failed, we know Oscar, we know. Especially since he referenced a Quadrant video later in the exact same video).

okay so first we've got to pay homage to the god tier @mecachrome fic Q&A bc it takes every wriggly red-in-the-face possibility of this and wraps an even wrigglier landoscar narrative around it <3

and for my own take on if Lando's twigged about the level of Oscar's fanboying I am so incredibly undecided bc Oscar is so good at putting his defenses way up and passing off a moment like that as just casual...

youtube

WAIT WAIIIIIT no okay I'm calling it Oscar knew that Lando had already told the story about being locked out of his house in a video before. I can't remember if it was a stream or a Quadrant video but Lando said he was playing on the sim in their shed and his parents forgot he wasn't in the house and locked up. I'm sorry but Oscar does NOT look like this is the first time he's heard this and even filling in the "and fell through" before Lando says it. CAUGHT.

and let's not forget Lando absolutely knowing Oscar would know the year of his maiden podium in the Splunk video. CAUGHT.

I'm gonna say that Lando knows to a certain degree that Oscar's a fanboy and honestly he's got to just find it funny/cute/endearing imo. Lando's not the type to be mean or an asshole - even when he and Max would sometimes almost have an outright spat on stream Lando would back down first and make a self-deprecating joke. and Max is fully able to stand up to Lando and give as good as he gets! so I can't see Lando ever being anything but amused or fond or both to find out 'kitten pulled from a nap' Oscar has been a fan of his for years.

god this reminded me how unhingedly in sync they were in the Most Likely To video considering they didn't even know how many brothers and sisters they each had yet. it's also unbearable for how much they watch each other and like… one of the best videos for Lando clearly just finding Oscar like, just so cute ??? straight up 'that's my nerdy lil guy' alsfgljasfgljasg and I mean Oscar stares at Lando literally constantly so nothing new there.

also this adorable moment where they're both too stupid to understand the horror movie question but also Lando's little delighted gigglejump when Oscar admits he'd scream and hide his eyes:

more of me just remembering how gd cute this video was

strangely already married teammates moments:

literally the very first question !! they both agreed that Oscar was most likely to sleep in but then Lando had to go and push the issue, resulting in retaliation from Oscar and a you're sleeping on the couch response from Lando. "you just opened a can of worms"

this resulted in a tense stand-off about who takes the longest to get ready which Oscar diplomatically decided was equal between them.

most likely to snore being Lando is hysterical bc they both clearly know that Oscar knows. I love how Oscar drops the issue very wisely and Lando's tone gets VERY clipped at the end. I also feel like this could be a catch-out for Oscar too !! bc Max said on one of his streams about Lando's snoring sounding like Valentino Rossi revving his bike in the next room. so it's highly sus that Oscar said "have you had feedback on that before?" CAUGHT?

"if you dare say me" Lando being absolutely livid that Oscar already knows Lando is most likely to cry during a sad movie. Oscar wisely conceding but his face says otherwise. what has Oscar had to deal with and which movie was it that Oscar had to deal with a sobbing Lando over.

Oscar's earlier retaliation comes back to bite him on the ass over most likely to be late !! when he looks at Lando's face he initially concedes. Lando however pushes his luck and Oscar must stand up for himself. the couch is already made up so might as well.

both immediately agreed the answers to:

Lando gets ready quickest

Oscar first into the car

Oscar most likely to get a pet

Lando most likely to embarrass himself in public

Lando most likely to not reply in group chat

neither would survive in the wild (Oscar ribs Lando about being older)

Lando most likely to laugh in a serious moment

both of them agreed to both for:

burnt dinner

cut their own hair

eat their meals quickest (though they agree Lando's chicken burger with sweet potato fries - that Oscar copied - disappears very quickly)

#inchreplies #landoscar #mctwinks #twinklaren #oh my god this got DETAILED #sorry anon this went way off track but yeah I think lando knows and finds it adorable

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moonshynecybin · 7 months ago

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expand on your marc/bezz thoughts please callie i want to hear everythinggggg

what a fucking. a/b/o ass podium. truly insane dynamics on display on all fronts UMMMM. so. the only. scenario where i can see anything like this happening in marc’s crazy little hot girl mind. is if he is triangulating his desire for vale through his little protege. like the thesis of this is. alpha bezz juuuuuuust understanding his sexuality here confronted with. the wettest happiest neediest omega the world has ever seen. anyways under the cut she got. LONG ♥️

so. BASICALLY. in my mind palace marc was on heat suppressants off the shits for yearrrrrs until his arm kind of made him go cold turkey because they interfered with his pain meds (giving up control over his heats ANOTHER thing marc hates so bad about it all) and vale shows up in the paddock for the first time since marc left the murderbike to a place where marc is FINALLYYYY catching a whiff of happiness after four miserable years (portimao alsooooo compelling, but marc is now like, EYE think a lot less anxious on the bike) and marc’s biological clock decides he’s safe, realizes his alpha is in proximity (wind changes and his knees feel like jelly), and goes off like five alarm claxon sirens like YOUR DICK APPOINTMENT HAS ARRIVEDDDD. truly marc smells insane he LOOKS insane the wet patches on the racetrack on saturday where allegedly from rain but NEVER rule out that they were actually a result of marc marquez’s wap

but despite every alpha in the paddock being like IS THAT ALLOWED?? marc is like. he is stillllll learning to respect his body still yearning to put everything on the line for another taste of that top step JUST got to a place where he feels like hes adapting to the bike and gaining confidence. he literally got POLE in the SPANISHHH GRAND PRIX, thats an insane carrot on a stick for our little guy who is so wrong in the head <3 and marc has always been a guy who needs to contextualize his suffering as a narrative arc to cope with it all so hes veryyyyyy aware of the sway a weekend like this can have in terms of his confidence! AND his career! and when he crashes in the sprint he looks at his hands and SERIOUSLY considers not going for it (allllll of the injury stuff. again it’s JEREZ. and the body keeps the SCORE !!) but it’s marc and its spainnnnnn, so he spends the night before the race going through his first heat since he was 15 ALONE and feeling absolutely out of his fucking MIND. (valentino rossi inside the same square mile or so as him and he wants to pick up the phone and call him so bad he wants 2 CRY. three fingers deep in himself one of vale's hoodies from 2014 spread out on the bed and it’s not enoughhhh). but the night passes. and its sunday and he's not 100% out of it but! hes insane in the pussy and he actually feels a bit clearer. still smells crazy but less shaky and ALWAYS determined. so he races!!!

AND BEZZ. oh boy. synthesizing the thoughts of many scholars on this topic. bezz is somewhat newly single VERY newly aware of his sexuality AND the kind of alpha that sees a hot omega who is CLEARLY in heat without a partner and feels crazy. dogboy 9000%. what do you MEAN no one is taking care of him?? jennifer lawrence voice. what do you mean. what do you meannnnnn. a service top realizing no one is SERVICING marc and as such becoming wildly horny AND itchy under the collar without being able to name exactly why. base instincts are going CRAZY while pecco is politely ignoring it all.

so bez is out of his head but just barelyyyy realizing it. mostly just kind of knows that he wants marc 2 pay attention to him so bad. soso bad. clumsy a little embarrassing. truly WATCH the cooldown room video bezz is constantly asking marc little questions and touching him and trying to get him into the conversation (staring at marc waiting for him to talk and marc does not!) like bezz is going right through pecco (his homoerotic bestie of OUR fiance and straddling in parc ferme fame) to BLAST marc in the face on the podium. he is specifically going to HIM to clink champagne bottles. he is staring at marc in the press conference giving him the up and down like a horny psycho. he is complimenting his riding and licking his lips and touching marc's waist and tracing his lil finger over the part of marc that USED TO BE HURT with the careful tenderness of someone MUCH more familiar with marc than he is lmao. truly. cunt struck. scenting him off IMPOLITELY. friendship ENDED with heterosexuality marc marquez's ass is now my hypothetical best friend. if no one will top him then EYE WILL. behavior!!!

but marc is ATTEMPTING to nobly IGNORE this... aware he's in heat (its burned off a bit, for the time being, after the adrenaline of the race... mellowed out to edgy horniness...) and aware bezz is an alpha and he can SMELL how interested he is and. well the attention is interesting and feels good and the base part of his stomach that likes feeling hot enjoys the way bezz smell is tugging at him BUTTT he's taken!! like not really but he ISSSSS!! so hes ignoring bezz keeping his eyes determinedly on that screen watching the overtake he tried on pecco... but the paddock is tiny and after the race marc decides to go out and celebrate and. hes horny and happy and a lil bit keyed up from vale being there and. as fate would have it. he lands at the same bar that the academy crew is rolling at. and bezz is there and. he comes up to marc. and sort of. clumsily tries to talk to him. buy him a drink. and hes young and hes charming and marc is going to cut him loose as gracefully as he can and fuck off to ride out the rest of his heat in peace but. bezz cracks a joke in his lilting italian accent (marc has a FETISHHH) and marc barks out a jajajaja cackle before he can help it (everyone. says one of the ways bezz is most like vale is his HUMORRR)... and marc is DRUNK and bezz is SWEET and TOUCHING HIM and he smells GOOD and also. when marc closes his eyes he can catch a whiff of VALE on bezz's SKIN... and it curls into his chest and makes something in his heat addled brain settle in a way he's been craving all weekend... lighting him up and holding him down in a way that clutching onto that hoody that doesnt smell like vale anymore three fingers deep in himself didnt... and its justtttt enough to let bezz take him home....

#marc does not. ever. talk about this again. bezz trails after him all season though LMAO #vale also smells marc on bezz immediately (i think his smell is. distinct.) and. um. it is not a fun experience. not mean just crazy.#bezz is clueless though. no idea. god bless. wasnt there in 2014 to smell whatever the fuck went on with all that.#this is the least rosquez thing ive ever written for this fandom usually im a one ship girl. um but to be clear this is STILL all about val #marcbezz #cutting this loose im not. entirely happy with it but whateverrrrr

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thewriters-world · 8 months ago

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Part 2

Marc knows mean.

Mean is the way Valentino presses on the jutting v-line of his hip as he takes his cock into his callused hand. Thumbing at the mushroom head, shark-like smile on his lips as he flicks his wrist, throwing his head back with delighted laughter as Marc whimpers and writhes beneath him. Sliding a finger through the mess on Marc's spasming washboard abs and pushes it into Marc's mouth. Using the tissue on the bedside table to clean his finger before throwing the box at Marc with a snarled 'clean yourself' and then leaving the room with a resounding click of the door.

Valentino is especially mean when they lock eyes in the paddock after illicit rendezvous, and he shoots Marc a devious smirk that catches at his stomach. When he turns his attention back to Marco, pressing a hand to his curls, pressing a kiss to the high of his cheekbones. When he tells Marc in no uncertain terms that he might not be the only one.

Marc resists the urge to run to Marco, tell him 'he's going to ruin you', 'you will never be the same again', 'Valentino Rossi destroys' but he knows it won't work. He knows Marco resents him, and he knows how it feels to want to be destroyed by a god.

Valentino is mean when he rubs comforting circles over Marc's hip to soothe the pain of the stretch. When his forehead furrows with the exertion of wanting this to be good for Marc, when his lips rest on Marc's protruding collarbones to distract him from the pain. When tears gather at his eyes at their simultaneous release. What stings the most is when he slides the duvet over them both and pulls Marc into his arms, when he's so uncertain about his place, Valentino tells him.

Valentino is most mean when he presses a hand to Marco's cheek after pressing that same hand into Marc's stomach to pull him closer. He is most mean when he lulls Marc into thinking he is his, when really anyone can be his, everyone would like to be his. He is most mean when he presses a kiss to Marco's forehead and, in no uncertain terms, tells Marc, 'What makes you so special?'

It makes Marc want to storm across the paddock, press a finger into Valentino's chest and start the interrogation. 'What are we?', 'Am I yours?', 'Am I the only one?' But one does not question a god. One does not doubt a god.

You submit.

Yes, Marc knows mean.

#idk #i just had an idea and idk if it makes sense #but yh #motogp #rosquez #marc marquez #valentino rossi #mm93 #vr46

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apr1lias · 7 months ago

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Valentino Rossi when I catch you….

#bro never has a good weekend when vale’s here #literally what did i expect #moto2 lb

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ferrarism · 2 years ago

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There's a party where you MotoGP/2/3, WSBK/WSSP/300, F1/2/3, FE drivers/riders or whatever are invited, but there's a catch. They need to be dressed up as something that starts as their first letter of their name/surname or popular nickname. It can be in any language you know. It can be as general as Celestino going in blue jeans and a blue sweater with his face painted in blue with black dots, as he is going as 'cielo' sky in Italian. It can also be specific as Celestino as Captain America.

So who is going to the party, and what are they wearing?

oooh an interesting question I love this very much, ty!

first of all i’ve been dying to talk about this for a hot minute so Joan Mir is there in a hot catsuit because ”mirri” in finnish means a cat. and he’d look very good in that i’d reckon.

now with one repsol honda rider we can’t miss his teammate, Marc, who obviously went for the costume route with ”Pedro Marquez” aka spiderman, a very fitting costume

the ”couple’s costume” goes for Fabio and Tom. they teamed up to for ”Tom of Finland” look with Tom dressing up in period clothing as ”Tom” Touko Laaksonen, the famous finnish artist, and Fabio in a hypermasculine leather getup reminiscent of Tom’s drawings straight from finland. it’s all very gay.

Lewis Hamilton is once again the most stylish person at the party, dressed up in his namesake Louis Vuitton’s clothing. I’d imagine it’s a loose look with interesting patterns and a pair of sunnies to go with it.

Valentino Rossi took the costume party also literally, as he is naturally going for a doctor costume. i wanna say they are doing a couple’s costume with Francesca, going as derek and meredith from grey’s anatomy (maybe the doctor’s jacket is named ”mcdreamy”)

his prodigee, Celestino Vietti is also there in a more of an interprative look, as ”vietti” means drive or libido in finnish, and he decided to dress like the god of love and seduction, Eros, with baby wings and a halo added.

Francesco ”Pecco” Bagnaia and Marco Bezzecchi went for a couples costume as well, going for a version of the classic finnish song ”Päivänsäde ja Menninkäinen” (Sunray and Hobgoblin). Pecco is wearing all fluffy yellow and light fabrics as the ray of sunshine, and Marco contrasts him with a darker, earthier look as the goblin.

Luca Marini matched his eyes with his outfit full of wavy blues like the sea, mare. he wore a simple coloured jeans and jacket - look that had all kinds of blues painted on.

at first glance, it looks like Charles Leclerc has just worn his ferrari suit to the party. upon closer inspection, it comes apparent that the number is 95 and those are not shell logos but rust-eze, and he has actually dressed up as Lightning McQueen.

Alex Albon loves to dye his hair so naturally he went as the redhead Archie Andrews, in a comic book style with the letterman jacket with R and all.

Lando Norris is clearly dressed like Lando Calrissian.

Max Verstappen went for a roman emperor look like Magnus Maximus, toga and all.

and who can forget Oscar Piastri, who went for a full-body golden look as an oscar statue. all the paint took weeks to come off.

Jonathan Rea shows up to the party dressed in discount tags because ”rea” in swedish means for sale. he keeps flirting with his wife, saying he’s going cheap today.

Jack Doohan took the safe route and borrowed an old race suit from his dad, because hey, there’s a famous racer named Mick Doohan out there right?

whereas the other famous mick, Mick Schumacher, took his surname literally and dressed as an old-timey cobbler or a ”shoe maker”.

i’d imagine there’s a funny moment when Casey Stoner shows up very stoned to the party.

#here were a few i could think of off the top of my head #surely not everyone but a few #a lot of them are far fetched but i had fun #ask tag #eve.txt

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moonshynecybin · 8 months ago

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short fic! once again maïna got me.... her original post here, this one's like 800 words about marc hitching a ride from vale back to the pits... nebulously established relationship they are being very sweet !

“Are you trying to kill me?” Is what Vale says when Marc trots up to where he’s spectating on the side of the track, camped out like a king in some shady place where the crowds can’t get to him. He’s on his feet, hands on his hips and a frown on his face beneath his hat and sunglasses, staring Marc down as he approaches. He’s worried—he usually is, when Marc’s on the bike— but the crash wasn’t terrible, just a slide into the gravel. He shouldn’t be too mad.

Marc brushes some dust off of the ass of his leathers. The marshals are bustling around them, righting his bike and wheeling it past him and Vale. There’s no sense of urgency though, it’s too late in the session— that’s FP1 done for Marc, now he just needs to get back to the pits. Luckily, he knows a guy.

He flicks a gloved finger at Vale’s cheek, and Vale catches it, brings it to his mouth to kiss his hand, sweet and playful, a moment of connection just for them, letting Marc know he’s not actually mad. Marc can’t help but grin under his helmet.

“I’m okay.” He reassures, keeping his voice low, tilting his head a little. “I saw how lonely you were out here and just wanted to say hi.” He’s joking, but if he had to pick a place to crash, next to Vale isn’t the worst place in the world.

“Not funny,” Vale lets go of his hand to wave a finger in his face, eyebrows jumping, and Marc laughs, big and loud.

“No, it isn’t. I wanted P1.” It’s a bad joke— most of his are— but Vale smiles at him anyway, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses.

“P2 for you, I think, if you’re done trying to kill yourself.” Vale gestures at the scooter behind him. “You need a lift?

“You offering?”

“I mean you can walk, but that would be less fun for both of us, I think.” Vale says, swinging a leg over the scooter and rummaging for the keys.

“The Valentino Rossi taxi service.” Marc says, climbing onto the back as Vale buckles on his helmet. He leans forward until the enamel of their helmets makes contact, an affectionate bump. He decides to settle his hands on the familiar, narrow space of Vale’s hips, glove catching on the fabric of his shirt.

“For you? I charge double.”

“I can afford it, my husband’s rich.” Marc says, and is rewarded with a bark of a laugh from Valentino and an affectionate slap to his thigh as the ignition catches and they start to move.

Vale pulls away from the track and starts to maneuver towards the pits, scooter rumbling along. Marc closes his eyes, enjoying the ride and the solid weight of Vale in front of him, the way he can lean on him a little, torsos pressed tight. It’s not often he can loosen his control during a race weekend, and it’s nice to not have to focus for a few minutes— to let Vale unwind Marc in that way only he knows how. They don’t get too much alone time on days like these, and Marc lets himself get warm— basking between the sun on his back and the stretch of Valentino in front of him.

It’s over too soon.

“Thanks for the ride,” He says, when Vale slows to a stop in front of Honda’s pit area. He pulls of his helmet.

“Yeah— you be safe, eh?” Vale says, catching Marc’s elbow when he clambers off the scooter. Vale lifts a hand to thumb at Marc’s cheek, and Marc has to lean down to kiss him, soft and sweet, lingering. It’s not the best time for it —he has to get back to his box, there are probably thousands of cameras pointed at them right now, and he has about eight different ideas for the bike setup to iron out with Santi— but right now he doesn’t care. He kisses Vale again, hand on the column of his neck.

“I love you,” He says when he pulls back— he really does have things to do. He grabs his helmet and starts to move away. Vale smacks him on the ass as he goes.

“If you crash again, I will not drive you back next time!” Vale calls as Marc winds his way towards the Honda garage.

“Yes, you will!” Marc calls back, not even turning around. He’s grinning as he ducks around the corner.

And it’s true. It’s something he knows for certain— knowledge that’s sewed itself into his bones— as factual and immutable as the sky being blue, as the sun rising in the morning. If he falls, Vale will be there to catch him.

It’s as simple as that.

#motogp #callie speaks #rosquez #my fic #QUESTION: is the use of ‘give you a ride?’ very american here bc i know i irish people made fun of me for that

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gaysullengirl · 8 months ago

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𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞, 𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐢𝐬𝐚?

❝ you cut your hair but you used to live a blonded life, wish i was there, wish we'd grown up on the same advice and our time was right. ❞

Chief Strauss walked into Aaron Hotchner's office with a self assured walk, she knocked, not waiting for a response before barging in and shutting the door behind her.

"Chief Strauss." Hotchner commented curiously, he subconsciously straightened his posture.

She walked closer to him "I'm adding a new member to your team-" "I-" Hotch cut her off "No Aaron, listen you and your team are unpredictable and irresponsible, one of your agents drove an ambulance with a bomb into a field, you need someone who thinks things through." Strauss handed him the file she was hiding behind her back.

"Isabelle Cruz?" Hotch asked as he scanned the file, "Yes, she's fluent in English, Spanish, Mandarin, and French, she has a PhD in psychology and BA's in sociology and criminal justice, her former employer at the NYPD says she solves cases effectively and is a hard worker."

"Strauss, if you're trying to send in another agent to spy on us it won't work."

She scoffed, "Please, how stupid do you think I am? I don't even know the girl." Strauss explained before leaving his office.

Hotch stared at his office wall, trying to figure out how to handle the situation.

He quickly dialed Jj's office phone number and she picked up after a ring, "Send everyone in the round table room, you and Garcia aswell." "Yes sir, What is this abou-" He slammed the phone onto the receiver.

Hotch was frustrated to say the least, he had spent the last month stuck at home attempting to heal his ear injury.

The team filed into the room and sat down, waiting for Hotch, when he got in the room he looked around, "Where's Reid?" "He hasn't come in yet." Jj responded.

"I'll have to start without him." He sighed, the team looked around at each other, confused and worried.

"Strauss put someone else on the team, she claims she doesn't know the girl and she's not here to spy on us." Emily shifted uncomfortably, still feeling bad about what happened.

"Do you believe her?" Morgan asked, "I don't know, I don't have confirmation they know each other."

"Nothing." Garcia said, "There's no overlap between them, but this girl is one smart cookie!"

Derek quickly leaned over to see Penelope's laptop screen and raised his eyebrows, "And she's easy on the eyes." He commented, causing Penelope to playfully hit his shoulder.

When he saw Aaron staring at him he returned to his normal sitting position.

"Garcia, keep digging, we have to make sure they don't know each other." Rossi added.

"On it sir, if they so much as considered buying the same lamp at a bed, bath, and bodywork's I will find out." She exclaimed causing the team to give her questioning looks.

"Is that her?" Jj pointed out the window to a brunette haired woman strutting into the bullpen.

Isabelle's black and red Valentino heels clicked against the marble floor, she oozed with confidence, she was clad with a black pencil skirt and matching blazer.

Her eyes scanned the office before spotting an office name plate reading 'SSA Hotchner'

Hotch quickly exited the room, catching Isabelle just before she knocked on his door.

"Agent Cruz." He held his hand out, normally Isabelle wouldn't shake his hand but since he was her new boss she felt obligated.

"How about I introduce you to the team?" He offered and she nodded, Isabelle trailed behind him to the round table room.

"Everyone introduce yourself." Hotch commanded.

"Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me Jj." A woman with blonde hair smiled and offered her hand, "Sorry, I have a germ thing." Isabelle gave her a tight lipped smile.

"Hmm, I know someone like that."

A woman to Jj's right gave her a small smile, "Emily prentiss."

"David Rossi." The man commented from the chair he was sitting at, he looked her up and down suspiciously, which didn't go unnoticed to Isabelle.

"Derek Morgan." The man next to him smiled cockily.

"Hi! Penelope Garcia, technical analyst." Another woman smiled and gave her a big wave.

Isabelle subconsciously narrowed her eyes at the group, she felt a tension in the air, she heard running footsteps from behind her and turned around.

"Sorry I'm late! I forgot to set my alar-" Spencer stopped mid sentence, it was like time froze, everything in the room becoming obsolete to the pair.

"Isa?" Spencer rubbed his eyes, to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

He examined her, she dyed her hair darker and instead of taking hours out of her day to straighten it she left her naturally waves, even though she looked different Spencer could easily pick her from a crowd.

"Spence." She replied.

Isabelle sucked in a breath, She observed his hair, which had grown out and was fluffier, he noticeably had less freckles and wasn't wearing glasses anymore.

"Isabelle." This time he said it with anger in his voice, his lips formed a slight frown.

"You two know each other?" Morgan pointed between the two.

"Yeah, Um in college we- we were friends" Spencer stated quickly before he exited the room.

Isabelle watched him through the window rush around the corner out of her sight.

Spencer stared at himself in the bathroom mirror "Pull it together." He whispered as he wiped his tears away.

Morgan opened the bathroom door slightly, "Spencer, you good?" He asked then looked up to see him, he quickly entered.

"You guys weren't just friends, huh?" Morgan looked at Spencer in the mirror, "No, we dated for two years, four months, and thirteen days." Morgan chuckled slightly, "You remember it down to the day?" "No, I remember it down to the second." Spencer corrected him.

authors note!

thank you so much for reading, this is one of my first books so please leave constructive criticism if you have the chance!! ^_^

#jade’s works ⋆·˚ ༘ *#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #fbi agent #fbi #mgg #alexa demie

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