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wanderingblindly · 1 year ago

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WanderingBlindly Fanfic Masterlist:

Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel

Solipsism (3.3k words, oneshot)

"Does she know you dream about this, Sebastian?" Charles's voice drops lower, more a vibration against the sensitive skin than anything meaningful. "That you dream about touching me, dream about looking at me..." Another slow half stroke. Another kiss beneath his ear. "Do you dream about fucking me?"

'Till the End of the Line (3.2k words, oneshot)

A tear slides down, somehow cold by the time it reaches his chin. It hangs precariously before it drops, an inevitability, splattering against his hand in his lap. They say nothing: a man who promised to listen, a man who never knows what to say, and the blackness outside the window. Or: An ambient reflection on the passage of time.

Changes, Beginnings (22.1k words, 5/5 chapters)

Images of Greek and Roman marble, paintings of ethereal wonder, muses of supernatural awe flashed in Sebastian’s mind as he looked ahead. He was beautiful in a way that struck the word “mundane” from Sebastian’s lexicon, his hair fluffy and cheeks wind chafed, London-pale skin contrasting so wonderfully against his coloring – all underlined with a great... sadness in his downcast eyes. It hit Sebastian like a knife to the heart, looking upon such sorrow at such an unremarkable time on a non-descript day. Or: In which S. Vettel is an awarded literary fiction author, Sebastian is a man with a penchant for people watching and aimless wandering, and Charles is a masters student on the tube. A strangers to friends to lovers story taking place over the course of a year.

The Sum of Our Parts (7.3k words, 2/2 chapters)

Did Charles want to talk? He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell and cry and push against Seb’s chest and ask if he had any idea what it was like to be alone and abandoned and rejected over and over and over again. Charles wanted to talk, but he didn’t even know what to say. To: Sebastian Vettel << I’ve missed you [deleted] << Are you happy? [deleted] << Did you ever think about me? [deleted] <<; I never stopped thinking about you [deleted] << I’m sorry too, Seb Or: Sebastian and Charles reconnect after the painful events of Miami, their relationship slowly developing and healing. Charles remembers what racing means to him outside Ferrari, and Sebastian discovers that a legacy is more than your presence on the track.

Origins of Want (4.2k words, oneshot)

The words are caught in Charles’s throat, years of suppression, of hatred, of fear blocking his lungs like cement. Suddenly he’s a scared teenager again, asking God what he did in a past life to deserve such an ugly monster within him – begging to be released from the vice grip of grief and envy. He continues to look up slightly at Sebastian, feeling the tears slide back, they catch in Sebastian’s fingers.

#masterpost #liqfic #sebchal #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #origins of want #the sum of our parts #changes beginnings #till the end of the line #solipsism

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wanderingblindly · 1 year ago

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WanderingBlindly Fanfic Masterlist:

Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri

Paranormal Investigaytion (4.6k, oneshot)

"Anyways, I'm pretty sure Oscar’s a vampire." "Right." George's brows furrow as he looks down at him, concern already seeping into his voice. "You've been watching Oscar a lot, then?" "Obviously. 'Cause it's like, um. I'm investigating, you know?" "Not watching him for any other reason?" Lando tilts his head. "No?"

October Birds (28.4k, 3/10 chapters, ongoing)

“Y’alright, World Champion Lando Norris?” Max asks, leaning back in his desk chair with his hands tucked behind his head. “Piss off,” Lando mumbles back, not liking the smile in Max’s tone. Besides, what can he say? ‘Bit lost, actually. Any idea how to handle the best day of your life feeling like the end?’. Or: Lando runs away to the wrong Perth. Oscar takes in a lost man.

Oscar Piastri's Accidental Guide to Saying "I Love You" (6.1k words, oneshot)

Oscar's been acting strangely. It's not a bad strange, per se, and that's not to say that Lando doesn't always find Oscar a bit weird – lovingly, of course, but look at the guy. Though, as he finishes pulling a fresh shirt over his head, as he hears the sound of Oscar pacing back and forth across his living room, he wonders if something might be... amiss. Or: Oscar has something he wants to tell Lando, and he's not hiding it very well.

The Guidebook but it's Different Because Now There's Stockings (8k words, oneshot)

The snap of the nylon, sharp against his thigh, resonates through the bedroom. But he can't rouse himself from his mind, can hardly feel his lashes against his cheek as he blinks lazily. Oscar's fingers are hot, nails lightly grazing the sensitive skin at the crease of his hip. And his lips, seemingly glued to his leg, trace along the top of the fabric. His teeth nip at the soft, thin skin of his inner thigh, tongue soothing the sting before Lando can process it. And, like a parting gift, Oscar whispers: "So beautiful..."

Oscar Piastri's (Full Homo) Guide to Fucking Your Boyfriend (19.4k words, 2/2 Chapters)

"Has my girlfriend ever kissed a guy before?" Oscar's eyes move to Lando's lips, lashes fluttering gold in the setting sun. Girlfriend. His mind goes silent, lips parted and eyelids heavy. It feels... nice. Hearing that. It feels good, even. Like Oscar's claiming him, possessing him. Girlfriend. He whispers back, feather-light. "No." Oscar looks back up, catches his eyes. "Do you want to?"

By Touch (1.6k words, oneshot)

Oscar's fingers shift, reaching for Lando's wrist and moving them both. "The hardest thing to learn, I think," Oscar starts, voice barely audible over Lando's heart, his shallow breaths. "Is letting yourself feel." Delicately, like one would touch the wings of a butterfly, Oscar ghosts Lando's fingers across his cheekbone. He's soft, as if the pink under his skin is a gently unfurling rose petal after spring rain.

Bite Down, Reverse It (1.4k words, oneshot)

“I’ve never —” He’s never heard Lando’s voice like this: tight and frantic, like he’s been caught. Shaped by my hands. “That’s fine,” Oscar breathes, leaning in closer — all he can see are Lando’s eyes in their seemingly infinite shades, all he can feel is his cock, already so hard against his thigh. “You’re gonna have to teach me.” Made exactly how I want you.

Lando Norris's (No Homo) Guide to Getting a Girlfriend (10k words, oneshot)

"Bet I could teach you." Oscar's eyes snap back to his, wider than the time Lando suggested they go skydiving in the off-season. "Teach me –" "The Lando Norris guide to getting laid." Oscar pulls a face. "That's not –" "Getting a girlfriend, then." Lando amends, holding up his largely-empty glass in cheers. "Cheers to not being a virgin, mate."

We're Not Really Strangers (4.1k words, oneshot)

"Fine," Desperate to move away from his increasingly not PR-friendly train of thought, Lando snags another card. "What's the first thing you noticed about me?" "Your eyes." Oscar freezes as soon as he's said it, mouth clamped shut and brows raised – shocked. At himself. Or: Lando and Oscar play ice breakers for a PR video, what could happen?

Impasse of Biting (12.5k words, 2/2 chapters)

"Maybe it would be good for you, something like this." Lando looks away from the espresso machine, over at Charles. "Like what?" "A vampire." "Charles," Lando breathes out, leaning against the back of his workstation and crossing his arms. "I've told you, it's not..." it's a me problem. He's the one that can't seem to connect to people, he's the one that's not noteworthy enough to want.

Too Close to Touch (2.3k words, oneshot)

"Sit up," Oscar groans, aiming for a more demanding tone than he can gather with Lando's mouth sucking lightly at his neck – not enough to bruise. Lando makes a noise in response, petulant and determined, that makes Oscar's head spin. Like he's addicted to him, unwilling to let go. Like this isn't some fucking insane bet that they made during the driver's parade. Or, Lando and Oscar make a bet: how important are hands when it comes to kissing, anyways?

It'll Pass (5.7k words, oneshot)

"Don't wanna win if you're not there." Lando says, pinkies still intertwined, looking Oscar dead in the eyes. He says it like it's common sense, like it's a normal thing to say to a teammate. Like it's not the closest Oscar will ever get to hearing I love you. "Promise." They let go.

Watch Me (5.5k words, oneshot)

It's half seven, and just like nearly every other day since he's moved in, his neighbor is in his bathroom – poorly concealed by the frosted glass window that's not nearly as frosted as it should be. He's standing on his toes, bending over his sink to get closer to the mirror, clad in next to nothing but short, black briefs. His eyes roam higher, heartrate spiking when he sees it, just like every other time he's seen it: Oscar's neighbor, a seemingly unmated omega, wears his collar. At home. Alone. When he's wearing next to nothing else.

Time After Time (3.k words, oneshot)

It's him, it's definitely... him. But it's him from years ago, narrower in the shoulders and more uncertain in his smile. He recognizes what he's wearing, remembers agonizing over it for the better part of an hour with George and Alex, both laying on his tiny dormitory bed with eager eyes. It's their first date.

Late Nights (1.3k words, oneshot)

Oscar leans forward and rummages through the bag, nabbing a pair of chopsticks and an unopened container. "Want me to stay?" Lando's heart sinks; has he been home late so often that Oscar would offer? "Babe, it's really gonna be a late one, I can't --" He talks around his mouthful of noodles. "I don'mind."

Someone in Seattle (11.6k words, oneshot)

“Could I, like… would you be my model for it? Maybe?” “That’s what the coffee was for then?” “No, that was, uh.” He can feel his face heating up, skin undeniably turning a deeper shade of red under Lando’s gaze – mirthful and a little something else. “That was different.” “Gonna say what?” “No.”

Keep Talking (2.7k words, oneshot)

Closing his eyes, pulling a deep breath in through his nose, Lando lowers himself to the floor – sitting directly next to Oscar’s spread knees. “Yeah?” Oscar asks, voice already softer – leading. He’s still sat casually against the sofa, looking down at Lando with warm, understanding eyes. Lando nods in response, eyes fluttering closed as he lets himself lean against Oscar’s leg, rubbing his cheek against his sweatpants.

Nouveau Hot (3.5k words, oneshot)

Lando’s hand moves faster, the knot in his stomach growing tighter with each stroke, each flick of his wrist. Easy muscle memory, it should be enough but — “Need you, need you, need you now, I- Osc, please I -oh fuck,” He’s rambling, the words spilling out faster as he desperately chases release — hips fucking up uselessly into his hand. “That’s too bad, isn’t it?”

Lando v Media (1.2k words, oneshot)

He’s very aware that fucking his teammate isn’t exactly the best PR move he’s ever come up with. And he didn’t need to be told that, to be clear. Though, to be even clearer, he was told that – Jon made quick work of pointing it out, as did the HR representative, as did the PR representative, as did Andrea. But again, he was already aware, so that all felt really excessive.

Bite Down (Show Me How) (1.2k words, oneshot)

“I’m a virgin, by the way.” Smooth start. Oscar, to his irritating credit, doesn’t even look at him from his spot, leaning casually against the elevator wall. “Yeah?” He turns his head, giving Lando a look that makes him realize he’s not the one in charge here. “Wanna do something ‘bout that?”

You Bring Me Closer to God (9.7k words, oneshot)

They’re still close enough to whisper, Lando’s hand holding him in place as he grins wildly. “You like it rough, Osc?” He doesn’t even care if it’s just a bit, just Lando’s stage persona washing over him like it does all his fans. Looking up at Lando, looking at the lipstick he smeared across his cupid’s bow and chin – it’s like he’s seen god. Felt it on his lips, tasted it on his tongue. Oscar grabs him by the nape of the neck without a second thought, pulling them together just as viciously as the first time. Or: In which Lando is a very slutty front-man for a small band seeking their big break, Oscar is an enamored bartender, and Jenson's bar brings them together.

Hot Pink Ring Pops (Would You Marry Me If I Was a Worm?) (4.2k words, oneshot)

“Oscar isn’t ever gonna marry me if I’m a worm, Jon!” He laments, the words uneven and jagged as he sobs (which, Jon realizes, can’t be good for whatever injuries he’s possibly sustained from the crash). Somehow more importantly, what the fuck did Lando just say?

Is It Gay to Watch Your Teammate on Tiktok? (Asking for a Friend) (12.3k words, 2/2 Chapters)

He’s sitting on the bed, dinner long since picked at, with his knees pulled up to his chest. He feels close to hyperventilating. It’s playing on loop, some sappy little edit captioned “i need to find someone to look at me the same way oscar looks at lando”. And really, who the fuck was going to tell him that Oscar smiles at him like that?

Mortifying! Anyways, (2.3k words, oneshot)

Mortifying interaction, but he’d survive. Besides, it’s not like the cashier was that cut– “Cute enough to make you stupid, huh Norris?” He could hear his smile before he saw his face, a proper Cheshire grin. “Fuck off mate,” Lando groaned, already trying to scrub the cashier from his brain. Except for the Australian accent, he decided; that bit could stay. Maybe his eyes, too, as tired as they had seemed. And his hair, which looked so soft in that kind of ridiculous side part.

If I'm Barbie, and You're Barbie, then Who's Driving the Bus? (814 words, oneshot)

Anyways, the driver room is largely quiet at the moment. But not entirely, much to Lando’s enjoyment. Buzzing from Oscar’s headphones, loud enough for Lando to hear the words, is a song from Barbie. Charli XCX, no less.

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wanderingblindly · 2 months ago

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hope you're having a good week ! happy halloween and trick or treat 🎃🍬

trick or treaters!!! hello!!! i wish i had full sized candy bars to offer but instead I have this: half a bonus scene I wrote (and haven't edited) for you bring me closer to god, aka when rookie year is on tour :)

also might finish this one day!

Gimme Gimme More

He steps to the edge of the stage, toes nearly broaching the lip, and looks down at the crowd. Oscar could touch him, if he wanted to. Has touched him, like this. Rather, he's been touched.

"We're not a cover band," Lando smiles, toying with the microphone cord – wrapping it around his finger like a teenage girl on the phone. "But I know what you like," His voice drops a little, not quite a croon, not quite a whine, but entirely enough to make the crowd still.

Lando falls to his knees, the motion practiced. Familiar. He wants the audience to guess why, wants them to see the innocent flutter of his lashes, wants them to see the way his hips bounce on his heels one too many times to be unintentional.

The girls in front of him, the girls directly to Oscar's side, stare up at Lando like he's their god – eyes sparkling, lips parted, hanging onto his every breath.

Oscar knows what comes next, sees Alex and George flashing each other the look they always do when Lando chooses to intro the song this way.

"And I want you to like me," He nearly begs, and Oscar hears the girls gasp; one of them brushes up against his shoulder. Lando pulls the mic away from his mouth for a moment, leaning forward the mere inches it takes to be face to face with the girls, cord-entangled hand reaching forward to gently tilt one of their chins up.

Oscar can't hear him, but he knows what he whispers, lips so close to hers.

"Do you like me?"

She's frozen still, unable to even nod as Lando stares deeply into her eyes, as his question dusts across her skin like some sort of paralytic.

Oscar rolls his eyes, looking over to George – they both raise a brow. This guy, eh? George is saying, adjusting his hands minutely in preparation for where this is going.

Just as quickly as he creates the moment, he shatters it; Lando jumps to his feet, bolts towards the microphone stand, and the room fills with the sudden heart-shaking thrum from George's bass. "It's Britney, bitch!" Lando yells into the microphone, laughing as he struggles to shove it back into the stand, freed hands moving to his guitar.

#you ever listen to a bad metal cover of britney's gimme more and write garbage about it?#i do!!!!#Landoscar #You Bring Me Closer to God #liqfic #ask me :)#WIP

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wanderingblindly · 4 months ago

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7 (a kiss to shut them up) + landoscar?

in my mind, this is a uni au. but that's also like, not overly important? anyways, I wanted to try and have Oscar be the rambling one, hope it worked hahahhaha ^^; link for prompts!

Heartrates

Not that Lando's keeping track too intently, but he's fairly positive that Oscar's heartrate hasn't fallen below one hundred in the hour and a half they've been on the couch – tucked under a blanket, Oscar sort of spooned against him, Lando's arm thrown carelessly against his chest.

The movie they turned on, some overly artsy thing George said would make him look smart on a second date, is drawing to a close. The sun has long since set, the living room growing orange, then pink, then dusty blue.

Oscar's heartrate betrays his demeanor, the steady flutter of his lashes as he relaxes into Lando's chest.

Maybe Lando lied. Maybe his attention has been caught elsewhere. He hasn't watched a single bit of the film, far too focused on studying Oscar's minute expressions as he watches it. Which is, by his standards, basically the same thing.

Oscar's eyes flick to the side, meeting Lando's for a brief moment before returning to the TV.

His heartrate spikes higher, thrumming heavily against his chest.

"Oscar," He whispers into his ear, resisting a smile as he feels his heart dance again.

Oscar turns his head a bit, leaving them almost nose to nose. "Yeah?"

"It's not a scary film, mate," He smiles, eyes flicking down to Oscar's lips. He can almost taste them, and the thought makes his spine tingle.

"I know?" Oscar sounds confused, brows furrowed. It's one of the expressions that haunted Lando since they met at their seminar, the tension making his face sharper, addictive. But his response, again, doesn't align with what Lando can feel; he slides his palm over Oscar's chest – mentally cursing that he's still wearing a shirt – until it still over his heart.

"You nervous then?"

Another perplexed face. "Not really?"

"You're a good liar," Lando teases, tilting his head to the right, letting his lips part – inviting.

"Have I seemed nervous?" Oscar asks, tone a bit more urgent than Lando would expect from someone he's signaling to snog him. "I mean, like. I'm not sure what you saw? My mum always says that I'm hard to read, not that I'm being… defensive, or something."

Lando lets his tongue slide slowly across his lower lip before tugging on it, reveling in how Oscar's breath ghosts across his skin. He's listening, a little – attention focused mostly on how Oscar's mouth moves when he talks, the obvious tension in his jaw.

"…anyways, I just get quiet when I'm focused. Not nervous. Or scared. Yeah, it wasn't scary. The film, I mean."

Lando cuts him off with a hum, letting his fingers twist in Oscar's shirt – heart still racing against his hand. With another lazy smile, eyes almost fluttering closed as he leans a hair closer. "Can I kiss you?"

"You want–?" In that same tone, deceptively calm.

Softer than a whisper, their lips a hairsbreadth apart, "Stop talking,"

"Yeah,"

Lando sighs into it, the relief at getting Oscar's lips on him nearly tangible. He's soft, melting into his touch like ice against a flame. And as he tries to gently guide Oscar's head to the side, letting them slot together as easily as breathing, Lando realizes it – that maybe this is Oscar's first kiss, that maybe he really was nervous.

"Is this ok?" He asks, sliding his tongue against Oscar's lip to drive the point home.

"Yeah. Am I, uh." Oscar mumbles, hands hovering awkwardly. "Ok?"

Ah. Lando presses his lips to Oscar's again, smiling into it a little. "More than ok, I'll show you."

#hmmmmmm first kiss virginal uni oscar......#if i speak.....#anyways #I HOPE THIS COUNTS I DONT EVEN KNOW IF IT DOES HAHAHHAAHAHHA #liqfic #landoscar fanfic #landoscar #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 drabble #ask me :)

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wanderingblindly · 5 months ago

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for the ask game — ✄ for the (no homo) girlfriend guide? :)

(ask game) (original fic)

In today’s continued episode of: where are the worst places liquid could write, enjoy this hot off the stairmaster steps lmaooooooo

Lando lets his back rest against the hospitality wall, welcoming the brief moment of reprieve during the media day madness. He nods at some members of the team as they walk by, fishing out his phone on instinct.

He flips open Instagram, closing it immediately and opening his texts out of habit. His fingers linger on the screen for a moment, mind finally catching up to his auto pilot.

His thumb hovers over Oscar’s name.

What the fuck is he doing?

It’s not weird to text his teammate. But at the same time, what’s he even going to text Oscar about? Where are you? He’s not his fucking PR manager, he’s not Kim. Why would he care where Oscar’s off to?

I’m bored? Again, they’re not, well. They’re not really friends like that, are they? Sure, if he clicks on their messages, the last things he’ll see are a good morning text from Oscar and his accidentally-erotic sexts but like. They’re not quite mates, are they?

It’s just the bet, just Lando’s undying urge to shift his nose where it doesn’t belong, that keeps Oscar glued to his hip these days. And sometimes that glue has to snap, sometimes Oscar has to go handle work duties and chat with Logan afterwards.

His chest aches.

It’s because he’s not good at not being the center of attention, probably. Certainly. Obviously.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket with a mental huff, not losing his dignity by actually doing it. The front door opens as he pushes off from the wall, Oscar strolling in alongside his side of the garage — the lot of them giggling, talking about some video they got him to film in the garage.

Lando raises his hand to wave, freezing when Oscar doesn’t look at him.

Oh.

He drops it, pulling his phone back out as some stupid self defense mechanism. Maybe he was just reaching into his pocket the entire time, no one needs to know what he’s up to. With renewed determination, he opens Instagram again, angrily liking a few comments from fans that all look the same and feel the same: like Oscar’s ignoring him.

First of all, he’s the one that should be ignoring Oscar, he’s the one that has his whorish — well, no, that’s just rude. He pulls a face.

God, what the fuck is he doing?

Oscar’s, quite literally, right there. He’s still in the hospitality. From his peripheral, Lando’s fairly positive he’s even in the same room, just on the other side. Getting a coffee, probably. Still half asleep at 3pm, probably. He’d scoff if he wasn’t so agitated.

His free hand wanders, the corner of his thumb finding his teeth with anxious vigor. He tears at the skin, the sting doing little to distract him from… this. Whatever this is.

He could just go talk to him.

But god, wouldn’t that just be clingy? He was here first, it would look like he was waiting for him. Which he was, probably, but that’s not the point. The point is the optics, the fact that it would *seem* like he’s waiting on his teammate, that they’re best mates when clearly Oscar doesn’t care. And that, being the one chasing, that can’t happen.

Fuck, but is it true?

His thumb is bleeding, the sharp zing of iron reaching his tongue.

“Fuck,” He mutters, pulling it away and assessing the damage.

“Interviews that tough?” Oscar’s voice, light with suppressed laughter, snaps him to attention — phone and thumb long forgotten.

“What?”

“You’re nervous?” He nods at Lando’s hand, brows a little furrowed, frown at the corner of his lips. “Jon know you do that?”

“Shove it,” Lando tries to bristle, more embarrassed than mad at Oscar’s prying.

Oscar holds out a paper cup between them, thumb mindfully pressing at the teabag string, keeping it from slipping in. ”Chamomile’s pretty soothing, I think.”

Oh.

Lando’s feels his stomach drop to the floor. Their fingers brush awkwardly when he takes it.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Oscar steps to the side, leaning against the wall alongside Lando. Neither knows what to say, so they just. Don’t.

But maybe that’s better than nothing.

#I like to think this sits before the sexting scene and the subsequent hard cut to after the sprint ????#it doesn’t fit PERFECTLY but pretend it does thanks 💖💖💖#and thank you for asking lovely!!!!#ask me :)#liqfic #lando Norris’s (no homo) guide to getting a girlfriend #landoscar #landoscar fanfic #f1 fic

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wanderingblindly · 1 year ago

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WanderingBlindly Fanfic Masterlist:

Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen

Love is Killing Me (Tryna Figure it Out) (13.7k, oneshot)

"Be Mine," Max pours the cocktail, glistening red, into a margarita glass. "I – you? What?" Charles stutters, not reaching to grab the cocktail so carefully placed in front of him – hands frozen on his tensed thighs. "Be Mine, the margarita." He nods towards it, resuming his usual posture: leaned against the back of the bar, arms crossed against his chest. "Non-alcoholic tequila, coconut water, strawberry puree, lime juice, agave syrup." Of course Max hadn't meant it like that. Or, in which Charles is a hopeless romantic with no luck in love, and Max is the replacement bartender at Dirty Blondes.

Excess (3.4k words, oneshot)

“You bite me,” He’s smiling now, like Max’s silence is as good as an oath. “And I’ll bite back. Deal?” Max’s eyes flick to the battleground on Charles’s body. “And this usually works for you?” Without hesitation, Charles brings his blade to his own hand. He slices across his index finger, letting the blood slowly pool, before holding it under Max’s nose like a taunt. “I’m too good to pass up.”

Choking on Greatness (2.9k words, oneshot)

“I don’t think you’re born a winner, no.” Max whispers against his lips, breath like a hint of warmth. “You make yourself into one, or you quit.” Can I?

Beggin' (1.7k words, oneshot)

“You are… gambling?” Charles slurred, tilting his head at Max’s proposal. “Loser gets on his knees.” Max said, looking down at Charles in a way that he hoped screamed ‘and I know it’ll be you’'. Or: Max and Charles make a drunken bet after Abu Dhabi 2021. One year, one realization, and one title later, Max isn’t where he thought he’d be.

I Know Your Name (But Not Who You Are) (7.6k words, oneshot)

If it’s been a decade since Max touched him, he fears it’s been longer since he’s seen him smile — their last weeks stained with downturned lips. Glassy eyes. “Cheers, then. To freedom.” “To finding you again.”

Cheating at Bingo and Other Christmas Traditions (12.4k words, oneshot)

"You know, there’s a very nice, very handsome young man in my neighborhood –” She starts back up, flagging down their waiter for another glass of wine. “Absolutely not,” He cuts her off with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Next topic.” “So you’re too good for him, is that it?” She sounds defensive, but her tone still has a mocking edge to it – emphasized by the quirk of her brows. Hardly holding back a groan, Charles tries to think of a way out of this. She’s like a cat, batting at him until he gives up, rolls over, and plays dead. “That’s not – I’m just busy, and it’s –” Or: Hallmark style fluff featuring an irritated Charles, a well-meaning Max, and the grandma that just wants them to kiss

Second Time's the Charm (7.3k words, oneshot)

“Remember when you said you’d set me up with someone? A few months ago, at George’s wedding?” Charles’s voice is still pinched, as if his throat is trying to suffocate him and put him out of his misery. “Maybe you could do that? If the offer is still standing.” Simultaneously: “How did you know you liked guys?” Max’s tone is flat, as it usually is when he tries to come off as entirely disinterested, but Lando knows his tricks. He shoots upright, looking down at Max with wide eyes before exclaiming, arguably, one of the worst possible responses: “Oh my god, Max, are you fucking gay?” Or: Charles and Max don't know how to date; Alex and Lando try their best to make it happen.

Eighteenth Summer (Do You Wish We'd Fall In Love?) (4.9k words, oneshot)

Max wanted to burn it into his memory, engrave bits and pieces of it into each of his senses. The way the blue sky reflected off of Charles’s massive sunglasses, the smell of the hot asphalt mixing with Charles’s cologne, the nearly hysterical sound of their laughter as their playlist finally shuffled to Mr. Brightside; everything felt so precious. So fleeting. Moments memorialized on the 101 northbound, flying out of their open windows and away from his greedy fingers.

All the Stars We Cannot See (9.8k words, oneshot)

Sitting on his roof, bathed in wintery silence, Max prayed to be rescued. To whom, he wasn’t sure. Maybe the force that branded his wrist, the universal power that decided who to tie him with forever. Perfectly. Something like fate. Max prayed to fate, then. “Am I interrupting something?” The man’s accent was French, his tone unusually assertive for a question of intrusion. “It’s not my roof,” Max shrugged, hopping back onto the ledge.

Rules of Engagement (7.2k words, oneshot)

“Take me with you then!” Max felt his eyes go wide, his jaw literally dropping at the suggestion. “Tell them I’m like. Say I’m your fiancé, mate.” The heat had melted Charles’s brain, Max decided, staring at him blankly. “No.” He deadpanned. “Mate it’s genius! You won’t have to do anything, just stand there. Let me handle it. Them. The women.”

Milk and Love (1.85k words, oneshot)

There’s someone else in his empty apartment, his presence both doubling and fading overnight. It’s next to him on the floor, an identical hand grazing his fingertips as it lays beside him – a perfect mirror. It’s in his kitchen, looking at the food his trainer brought him the night before. It’s in his bed at night, putting no weight on the mattress but forcing unimaginable pressure on his mind, in his eyes. Faster than him, quieter than him, beside him. Inside him. He can’t escape it, he realizes as he lays on the floor. It lives where he lives.

Middle Child Syndrome (I've Been in Love with You for Ages) (3.6k words, 2/2 chapters)

After all, Charles being a middle child always made a lot of sense to Max. Max’s unwillingness to deny Charles anything always made a little less sense to Max. Standing on the third place podium beneath the Monegasque flag made a lot less sense to Max. The fact that he wasn’t mad about it, a warm sense of acquiescence spurred by Charles’s smile, made it all click. He was in love with Charles Leclerc, and he always had been. Or: A small collection of memories leading up to a realization on the podium of Baku 2023.

#masterpost #liqfic #lestappen #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #middle child syndrome #milk and love #rules of engagement #all the stars we cannot see #eighteenth summer #second time’s the charm #Cheating at Bingo and Other Christmas Traditions #i know your name (but not who you are)#Beggin'#Choking on Greatness #Excess #Love is Killing Me (Tryna Figure it Out)

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