#buildarocket

[rocketinthesky]

soo…i did the thing i said i would months ago..

Love Defying Gravity

There’s a fondness that burns in Oscar’s belly, right beside the new life growing in him, at how exhilarated Lando is, and he feels an emotion so keen it almost feels as if love is too unremarkable a word—too little to contain everything Lando induces within him. 

A Landoscar a/b/o au; mpreg, fluff, kid!fic, omega oscar x alpha lando, rated T and up, 4.8k words.

read the full thing on AO3

god i actually wrote something complete for the first time in months...this fic's been haunting me since last year guys lol hopefully you all enjoy reading some landoscar family fluff <3

[ao3lestappeninchident]

Fic recs F1 (ao3)

a/n: I really liked these fanfics, so if you are ever bored and want to read anything, maybe it also has something for you. None of these are written by me. if you are the writer of one of these and want me to delete the fic, just message me and i will.

Includes: a lot of ships

Came to the conclusion i mostly read Max x driver fics.

! Please check the tags by each fic. !

-

Eat them Alive by linearity (57k )

Max/Oscar and Oscar/Lando

I love this one with my whole heart.

I Don't Like Scary Movies by piccoloh(60k)

Lestappen, Landoscar, Charles/pierre

Dinner for three how hard can it be By (9k ) by marsmystic

George/Max/Lewis

Rate your ride by My_blue_ wheelbarrow (12k )

Lestappen

Vanilla carnations by souvenir116 (33K)

Lestappen

Box, Box. Wait... What is a box by Once_and_future_loser(7.7K)

Max/Carlos

Come down by charlos66 (21k)

Maxiel

Greedy by vroom_vroom (buildarocket) (7k)

Gax

Mini-skirt and my gogo boots (i just want you to make a move) by crescendo_writes (7.7k)

Gax

Gold rush by OdotumSuojelius (51k)

Norstappen, galex, piarles

481 Pounds of Fine by Lescarbille (24k)

Landoscar

Operation Falling For The Cover Story by raekiastri (37k)

Landoscar, lestappen

[drmadkt]

Back in the Dez 👩‍🍳 🍹 🛸 🏍 💨 🎶 🛖 👽 🏜 🌵🔥 🪵 ❣️ Got to check @thecopperroom1957 fine jazz and food last night w our buddy, Jen , Chef Phil @philbronco & Big Dave Killer local bar and vibes Congrats on the soft open & the dusty & dirty martini 🍸 🫒 👽👍 #copperroom #chefphil #smallpeepsdoingbigthings #buildarocket #desert #vibes #food #music #friends https://www.instagram.com/p/ClyzAiEJafk/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[projectrefinedlife]

Rocket Launch!

Image courtesy of discovercube.org

Blast off at Discovery Cube’s annual Rocket Launch! This FREE event is full of hands-on activities for all ages and includes a competition where you’ll design, build and launch your own 2-liter bottle rocket with pressurized air and water. Rocket Launch is a free community event available to science, rocket and engineer enthusiasts of all ages. Rockets with the…

[rocketinthesky]

Bite Me

-A CarCar vague-high school/college au(?) one-shot, Rated Teen and Up, Enemies who Kiss? Inspired heavilyyy by Sumi’s lovely fanart so everyone please check it out!

-read on ao3

Oscar has had enough.

Now it’s fucking war, the only thing on his mind blood.

It’s the fourth time stupid-Spanish-meathead-Sainz has shoved him against his locker between class break in the day. Four fucking times! Oscar’s human, he’s made of flesh and bone, and said flesh and bone hurt very fucking much when constantly colliding with metal.

That stupid meathead in his stupid football (the European kind) jersey cackles loudly as he walks away, an exasperated Charles shaking his head beside him while he throws Oscar an apologetic frown.

Oscar seethes, balling his fists at his sides so hard he thinks the knuckles might pop out, jaw clenched as he fails to hide his reaction.

Carlos stops just a few meters ahead, doesn’t turn around but twists his head to the side and casts Oscar an ingratiating glance through his eyelashes.

“Baboso.”

Now, Oscar doesn’t know a word of Spanish outside of ‘hola’, but he can pick up on context clues and comprehend that he’s definitely just been insulted.

Normally, Oscar wouldn’t rise to the provocation. He would throw Sainz a nasty sneer, grab his backpack and stomp away to his next class at a very normal pace.

However—Oscar’s already been having a shit day. His English professor just handed them a ten page assignment, his Bio professor assigned a group work and paired him with possibly the last people on earth he’d want to work on anything with, and he accidentally spilled coffee on his white t-shirt during lunch break.

He’s already at his breaking point and four shoves against the locker by none other than the sadistic bastard Carlos Sainz who only wanted nothing more than to see Oscar suffer has tipped him off the proverbial edge.

At least that’s the only explanation Oscar has for why he stomps up to Carlos, teeth bared in anger as Carlos looks unfazed and simply turns around to fully face him—waiting.

It all happens a little too fast—Oscar fisting Carlos’s collars and shoving him back with enough force that it trips him up too, Sainz’s back hitting the nearest locker, eyes wide in shock. Oscar himself is a little shocked, mostly winded—a tad exhilarated—at having done this.

Carlos looks at him, eyes impossibly big from this close. Oscar’s never noticed how long his lashes are until there’s a few centimetres separating them.

Oscar’s breathing wildly now, and he’s not exactly sure if it’s all from the anger. Carlos’s breaths seem to come short, labored, surprise twisting into anger the longer Oscar holds him up against the lockers. Oscar relishes in dragging a reaction out of him—anything other than that infuriating smugness he always seems to carry.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, Piastri?” Carlos nearly growls, hands coming up to wrap around Oscar’s wrists still gripping Carlos’s collar.

The snarl on his face shouldn’t look like…that. It shouldn’t be sending a shiver down Oscar’s spine, the way they’re so close, the way Carlos’s big hands feel like brands where they circle around Oscar’s wrists in a crushing grip.

Oscar falters, tries not to show it, but he must give enough away because in the blink of an eye he’s spun around and shoved up against the locker, back colliding painfully with metal, their positions flipped.

“Carlos, just let him go.” Charles says tiredly from somewhere behind Carlos, but Oscar can’t see him, his field of vision just Carlos—all his senses overwhelmed with the scent of Carlos, the heat of his skin still wrapped around his wrists, the fire in his eyes burning through Oscar’s soul as his breath wafts against Oscar’s face.

“He started it.” Carlos bites back at Charles, still looking straight into Oscar’s eyes.

Oscar tries not to cave in on himself but it’s hard to stand tall with Carlos looming right over him. He’s never noticed how broad he is. They’re about the same height but Carlos manages to look much taller, thick neck curving into broad shoulders. Oscar has the rattling urge to touch them, feel the muscles strain against his grip.

“You shoved me first, Sainz. Four fucking times.” Oscar spits out instead, alarmed at the direction his own thoughts are veering.

They’re both breathing faster now, so close Oscar can almost feel the rise and fall of Carlos’s thick chest against his own.

Fuck him.

Carlos sneers, and Oscar’s hands flex where they’re still gripping Carlos’s collar, unwilling to let go unless Carlos does first.

The expression crawls under Oscar’s skin as if it’s a living thing, burrowing into his flesh and tightening his grip on Carlos’s jersey when Carlos says with levity, “Was just a friendly pat, cabron. It is not my fault you are so weak.”

Carlos’s eyes are glinting with challenge, with mockery, leaning even more into Oscar’s space, and Oscar can’t hold back anymore, can barely process his movements before he feels his lips sting with the force at which he clashes into Carlos.

Carlos makes a surprised sound in his throat, stilling under Oscar’s grip for a split second before his hold on Oscar’s wrists tighten impossibly, kissing Oscar back in earnest.

He distantly hears a squeak—probably Charles—but is too consumed by the plushness of Carlos’s lips, the way he kisses ravenously, all teeth and tongue and dominance.

Oscar can barely keep up, melts in his arms like putty when Carlos lets go of his wrists to instead grip his sides, fingers digging hard enough into his waist that Oscar thinks he might leave bruises.

The fact that they’re very much out in the open, hundreds of other students passing them by, watching the spectacle they’re putting on, is completely irrelevant to Oscar. He moans at a particular swipe of Carlos’s tongue over his palate, bites down on Carlos’s bottom lip and revels in the groan it pulls out.

One of his hands travel from Carlos’s jersey up his neck and into his hair, threading his fingers into the thick locks and pulling.

The kiss is as violent and all-consuming and as hot as Oscar would expect from Carlos.

“Oi, Osc, show me the assignment for Mr. Vettel’s cla—”

Lando stops dead in his approach when he looks up from his phone and finds Oscar and Carlos tangled up in each other. He balks, blinking a few times to check whether he’s seeing clearly or not. He turns his head slowly to Charles who is standing next to him, face twisted in disgust.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Charles shrugs. “Speaks for itself, I think.”

Lando barks out a laugh, a little hysterical. “I knew they’d get here eventually. Just didn’t think it’d be so…public.”

Charles bites back a laugh, patting Lando on the shoulder. “Let’s just leave them alone. I am about to puke if i watch them for long.”

Lando shrugs. “Coffee?”

Charles grins. “My treat.”

Neither Oscar nor Carlos hear any bit of the exchange as they keep kissing, only broken when a professor passing by interrupts them with a pointed cough.

“Gentlemen, I believe classes for the next period have begun?”

They jolt away from each other as if burnt. Oscar looks at Carlos, the way his pupils are blown wide, face a bright red, lips swollen and spit-slick.

He looks ruined—Oscar can’t imagine he looks much better himself.

Omggg i had so much fun writing this IM STILL GOING FERAL OVER @kolbalissh ‘s art guys SUMI UR SO TALENTED AND CRAZY FOR GIVING ME THESE BRAINWORMS AHHH ANYWAYS I HOPE THIS DRABBLE-TURNED-ONE SHOT DOESN’T DISAPPOINT 😭😭

[rocketinthesky]

for the create a fic: charlos + 16 + N + what I think it's a rhino? (if you can't find it then choose another setting to your liking!) 😸

Hiiii omg tysm for the prompt and with charlos! (Here’s the prompt list if anyone wants to send more).

Ok so 16 - “we can’t be seen together like this. not anymore.”

N - fondness

Rhino(?) - at work, far later than they should be (i assume this is the correct one)

// Charlos office!au, light angst, fluff, established relationship //

read on AO3

—

Late Night

Another late day, far past work hours, finds Charles in Carlos’ office.

He’s perched on the wooden desk, watching Carlos clicking away at his keyboard with a concentrated furrow of his brows. There’s something that’s terrifyingly close to contentment that burns in a gentle simmer in his chest, and his hand reaches out with a mind of its own, fingers gently raking through Carlos’ thick hair.

Carlos’ eyes snap up to look at Charles, confusion ebbing away into a lopsided simper that Charles fights the urge to kiss.

“Hola,” Carlos says, voice gruff from disuse, and takes Charles’ hand in his own. He brings it down to his face and nuzzles into Charles’ palm with his cheek.

Charles grins, brushing his thumb over Carlos’ cheekbone. “It is late, mon amour. We should get back.”

Carlos sighs heavily, twisting his face to plant a kiss on Charles’ wrist, the dim lighting in the room washing over him in a soft amber.

“There’s still so much to—”

“No, Carlos,” Charles clicks his tongue, lightly pinching Carlos’ cheek. He laughs at the way Carlos’ face scrunches up and he shoots Charles’ a betrayed grimace. “It’s 7:30. No more work. We go home, take a bath, then you cook us dinner, and then—”

“Okay, okay,” Carlos relents with a chuckle, pressing another kiss, more firm, into Charles’ palm. “We go.”

Charles laughs, but the feeling dims down as he watches Carlos slowly gather his things and push off his chair. He takes in the silence, looking around at the room that’s still so new. His own desk is outside in the open area of the floor, a tiny cubicle surrounded by a dozen identical ones. Just a few weeks ago it was Carlos right next to his, chair permanently facing Charles’ desk, constantly teasing each other and chatting while they worked.

But then Carlos got a promotion, and as overjoyed and proud as Charles was, he couldn’t help feel a little lonely. And a lot more anxious about their time in the office. They couldn’t be around each other as much anymore. When they were desk partners, no one questioned the “friendly” nature of their relationship. But now, Charles couldn’t exactly spend his time lounging around on Carlos’ desk during office hours.

They weren’t out yet, their relationship a secret. It would cause too many problems with HR, and even more now that Carlos was promoted to departmental supervisor. Being accused of favouritism in the work place would make Charles and Carlos’ time in the office hell.

“Carlos, i was thinking,” Charles says. Carlos stops trying to wrestle a folder into his bag and meets Charles’ solemn gaze.

“Si?”

“Maybe we should be more…careful.”

Carlos’ brows twist and he frowns. “What do you mean?”

“We can’t be seen together like this, you know. Not anymore. People might…find out.”

“Okay,” Carlos says, straightening up. He seems to catch up to what Charles is talking about, but the frown is set in stone. “And?”

Charles shrugs, defeated, eyes flickering down to the carpeted floor. “Wouldn’t that cause problems? You just got a promotion and—”

Charles stops when Carlos steps into his space, planting a hand on his shoulder and another wrapping around Charles’ waist. He tentatively raises his gaze, worried about what expression Carlos might be wearing. It washes away with the softness of his smile, eyes big and brown and reassuring.

“You think too much, Charles.” Carlos says. Charles loves it when he says his name, the way Carlos rolls the ‘r’ and the pronounced ‘sh’ instead of ‘ch’. It makes something giddy thrum inside his ribcage. “We are already careful, no? No one is in the office past 6, and the few that are, i do not think they even pay attention to us.”

Carlos’ hand has traveled up his shoulder and is resting on Charles’ cheek now, cradling it in his warmth. Charles melts into the touch with a weary exhale, closing his eyes. “You’re right. Sorry, I—”

“Ay, don’t. Why are you sorry, mi amor? It is fine to be worried.” Carlos pulls Charles into a hug. Charles goes boneless into it, burying his face in the crook of Carlos’ neck, breathing him in. “We’ll be okay, hm?”

Charles nods.

They’ll be okay.

//

Tysm for the prompt i love these losers sm they’re so in love it hurts😣 hope you enjoyed <333

[rocketinthesky]

Hey! I love your writing. So varied and so interesting.

Would you consider writing Charles + Oscar (choscar) where Oscar is in love with Charles and pining while Charles doesn't realise? And like maybe Lando flirts with Oscar and Charles gets all possessive? And he's like huh, where did that come from (but Oscar's mine)? HEA ofc!

Thank you ❤️

Hellooo tysm for the sweet compliment <333 and for the prompt! Love me some possessive Charles and oblivious Osc, so i’ll see what i can doooo

//Choscar + lando bein a little shit, rated T and up//

also read on ao3

—

All you need is a little push and pull

Lando’s more observant than he’d ever get credit for, so Oscar shouldn’t be surprised when during the idle moments of waiting for the staff to set up cameras and lighting and angles, Lando leans in a bit too close on to Oscar’s face, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips.

“You know you’re so fucking obvious, don’t you?”

Oscar pulls a face. “Huh?”

Lando pulls back only slightly, enough to meet Oscar’s eyes. “Your little crush on Le Chair. You’re not as stone-faced and composed as you think you are, mate.”

The verbal outing of feelings Oscar thought he’d been very good at hiding shakes him to his core. He doesn’t know how to respond, mouth hanging open in dumb shock. Lando’s grin only widens somehow as he pulls back and straightens in his own chair.

He reaches a hand out and pats Oscar on his shoulder, one, twice, then giving a short, painful squeeze that finally gets Oscar to react with a yelp.

“Don’t worry, i’ll help.”

Oscar misses his chance to ask how exactly Lando intends to “help” and what with when the camera begins to roll and they’re forced to dive into another silly challenge of “Who’s more likely to”.

Oscar’s waiting for his turn for the interview, the parade vehicle moving sluggishly through the humid, suffocating wind and the defeaning cheers of thousands of fans. Every driver’s gathered in their own little cliques, and Oscar is too, huddled with Charles, Pierre and Ollie.

He nods along when he deems appropriate, zoning out staring at Charles’ nose, not really hearing what’s being spoken.

He has such a perfect, angular nose. Oscar doesn’t think he’s ever really thought about anyone’s nose before, but with Charles he could wax poetic about every pore on his skin. Okay, he was starting to sound a little creepy, but the sentiment still stands.

Charles glances his way a few times while talking, and Oscar thinks he sees the corners of his bow-shaped lips arch up just a little higher every time they lock gazes. Oscar doesn’t know what expression he’s making, but it must be embarrassing with how gooey and lax he feels.

Charles asks him something, then, and he perks up, gaze flickering over to find Pierre and Ollie locked in conversation together, Charles seemingly forgotten. He tamps down the rush of excitement he feels at having Charles’ undivided attention, opens his mouth to speak when—

“Hey, Osco!” Lando slides in right next to him and grabs Oscar by the waist, pulling him somehow deeper into his side. “Le Chair. Congrats on the P3, mate.”

Oscar fails to hide his befuddlement, frozen in place where Lando pinches the meat of his waist and jerks him closer. Oscar, annoyed, moves a hand as if to poke Lando’s side in hopes of getting the man to peel off him, but stops in his motion when Charles speaks.

He can’t help the way his whole body stands at attention, turning towards Charles whose expression is suddenly unreadable. There’s a smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes, that doesn’t curve in a pretty, cattish bow like it did for Oscar just moments ago. He’s looking at Lando, but then his eyes are constantly flickering down to where Lando is gripping Oscar at his waist. Oscar can feel the way Lando’s lynx-paw spreads out onto his side, fingers splaying out and claiming more of his skin.

Oscar, still very fucking confused by Lando’s weird behavior, swallows, mouth dry.

“And you as well, on p5. Good effort, mate.”

Oscar notes the way Charles eyes narrow, tries not to wince at the way Lando’s hand inches downwards.

Lando, what the fuck?!

He wants to turn to Lando and ask him what the fuck he’s doing—quietly, obviously. And he’s about to turn his head and do just that when suddenly his body jerk away from Lando’s hold.

There’s a strong grip around his wrist and his shoulder collides with something soft yet firm, and it takes him too long to collect his bearings and turn his head to see Charles Leclerc, who now had his arm wound around Oscar’s waist.

Charles meets Oscar’s wide eyes with a sheepish grin, a slight tinge of rose colouring his cheeks. “Sorry, i thought i saw an insect flying onto you.”

An insect. Huh. That still didn’t explain why Charles had his fingers splayed on Oscar’s waist, almost glued to Oscar’s back almost–almost…possessively.

“Oh, okay, um,” Oscar wants to jump out the vehicle at the way his voice cracked, the feeling worsened by the way Lando cackled right in front of them.

He snaps his head towards the insufferable Briton, finds Lando’s eyes practically gleaming in amusement as he eyes the state Oscar and Charles are in. Oscar might be imagining the way Charles’ fingers momentarily dig into his side. He suppresses a shiver.

“Cheers, mate.” Lando says to Charles, except his eyes land on Oscar and he flashes him a fucking wink.

When Oscar gets a hold of Lando later, he’s going to—

Lando doesn’t stick around long enough for that thought to finish as he’s sauntering away with too much smug satisfaction rolling off him. Oscar watches as Lando slithers into another clique, sidling up to Carlos who’s talking to George, Alex and Gabriel.

And Oscar—Oscar’s here, practically in Charles’ arms, alone with just him because when the fuck did Pierre and Ollie move away to join Nico and Lewis?

He hears Charles clear his throat, the sound too close to his eardrums, practically vibrating through his skull.

He turns, as much as he can in this position, to look at him. He wonders how they look from the outside—is their position casual and friendly, or do they look as intimate as Oscar suddenly fucking feels.

They stare at each other a beat too long before they both get enough sense to spring away from each other, Charles’ hand falling away limp at his side and the searing heat from his hand lingering on Oscar’s skin like a brand. They don’t make any eye contact, and Oscar feels his heart in his chest cause what was that?

Why would Charles react like—

“Do you want to go for lunch, tomorrow, um, with me?”

Oh.

Oscar looks up so quickly his neck makes a sickening crack but he doesn’t pay it any mind, hyperfocused on the shy little grin on Charles’ face as he peeks at Oscar through his lashes.

Oh God. Oscar’s so fucked.

He’s gonna have to actually thank Lando.

Helloooo apologies for replying to this so late😭😭🙏 i hope you still enjoyed it even thought i didn’t stay completely faithful to the prompt. I loved writing Lando as the little shit he is and i’m always a sucker for possessive Charles and flustered Oscar. This was a fun writing exercise <33 hope you like it prompter!

P.S apologies for any mistakes woops

[rocketinthesky]

Kiss Chronicles

A relationship study of how each pairing kisses.

read on ao3

Scene 2

Red - (Carlos x Oscar)

Oscar looked at Carlos from where he was in bed. He was bare, only covered in a thin sheet, the hotel mattress soft underneath him.

Carlos was languidly going around the room, almost as if he were at home. He picked up his shirt from where it was haphazardly discarded on the floor an hour ago.

Oscar tracked his movements, watched as he slipped the shirt back on, buttoning up only until the fifth, leaving his chest bare for the world to see. Oscar’s hands twisted in the sheets, feeling the soreness in his lower back.

Carlos’s eyes landed on Oscar as he was putting on his watch. His face still had a slight flush to it, a warm shade of red painting his tan skin in a way that made Oscar want to touch.

“You are okay?”

Carlos’s voice snapped Oscar out of whatever trance he’d gone into, staring dumbly at Carlos. He felt his face heat up, mortified at the slip up. He averted Carlos’s gaze and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Oscar’s voice was a bit hoarse, the sound making him wince.

He heard some more shuffling and footsteps, his eyes screwed shut in a shitty attempt at pretending to rest before they suddenly snapped wide open when he felt a warm caress on his cheek.

Carlos was standing by the bed beside him, leaning down slightly, large hand cupping Oscar’s cheek in a touch far too tender for them.

“Are you sure?” Carlos asked, and there was genuine worry in his big eyes.

Oscar’s breath hitched in his throat and he bit the inside of his cheek before he could blurt out something stupid—something like asking him to stay.

He managed a nod, hoping it would be enough to quell Carlos’s worries—Carlos being worried about Oscar. Now that was funny.

Carlos didn’t exactly look convinced, but he nodded back, thumb softly brushing the apple of Oscar’s cheek before falling away.

Oscar missed his touch immediately, his hand instinctively shooting up to grab Carlos’s wrist.

Carlos looked shocked at him; Oscar stared back just as shocked at himself.

“Um—I—” Oscar stammered, grip tightening on Carlos’s wrist, unable to find the words to say.

He shouldn’t have anything to say at all, yet Carlos seemed to understand him anyway.

Carlos leaned closer towards Oscar, till their breaths mingled with one another. Oscar’s heart picked up its pace. He could hear its pounding right in his eardrums as his eyes fluttered closed.

The first brush of lips felt almost foreign, nothing like he was used to from Carlos. This was never them, a chaste press of lips, something that seemed like it meant more than it should—than it did. Yet Oscar chased him all the same, pressing up against Carlos almost desperately, his other hand going to Carlos’s nape and up into his hair, tangling in the thick strands.

That was all it took for it to turn messy—more familiar. Carlos pried Oscar’s mouth open, running his tongue across the seam, and Oscar let his lips fall open with a wet gasp, arching into Carlos, trying to pull him closer.

Carlos groaned, kneeling on the bed, hand gripping the side of Oscar’s neck and fingers crowning his head and jaw like some precious jewel.

Carlos kissed deep—all consuming. He kissed like a man starved, kissed like Oscar was a drop of water and he was a man in a fucking desert.

Oscar let go of Carlos’s wrist to instead throw his arm over Carlos’s shoulder, nails digging into the flesh as a moan escaped him when Carlos bit his bottom lip, laving his tongue soothingly over it right after.

He tightened his fingers in Carlos’s hair and tugged slightly, just the way he knew Carlos liked. Carlos answered him with a guttural groan.

Carlos pulled back to let them catch their breaths, and Oscar could only stare in awe at Carlos’s plush lips, swollen and a rich, vibrant red.

Oscar had done that to him.

A/N - back with another installment heh. More ships are on the way! I have so many ideas for each pairing i'm excited to get around to them. Hope yall enjoyed!

[rocketinthesky]

Gentle Love

-Norapinto/Frando | Franco Colapinto x Lando Norris drabble

- drabble, canon compliant, established relationship, fluff no angst

Read on ao3

Franco collapses onto his bed, not bothering to change out of his fireproofs with his suit bunched around his waist. He finally got back to his motorhome, and after a semi-disappointing result for not getting into the points and the overall post-race emotions, he finds he barely even has the energy to breathe.

He’s just on the brink of passing out when there’s a knock on the door, four raps in quick succession followed by three slower taps.

It’s a little mortifying how Franco’s exhaustion almost immediately flees his body the moment he hears it, knowing who’s at the other side of the door.

He rolls out of bed, and in his haste to get to the door almost trips over his feet, but successfully makes it there in one piece, swinging the door open with an embarrassing rhythm beating up to his throat.

Immediately, he’s greeted by a blinding beam—Lando grinning from ear to ear, eyes lighting up the minute they meet Franco’s gaze. Lando’s face is flushed, a pretty shade of scarlet painting his tan skin. He’s the victor, the main character of the night. Franco’s shocked he’s even standing here in front of him and not out partying.

“Hey.” Franco breathes out, a little dumbly.

Lando bites his lip before bursting into a giggle, his hand immediately finding its place on Franco’s waist as he makes his way inside the room. Franco distantly closes the door behind him, turning around only to be crowded against the door by Lando.

“Hey, Coco. Missed you.” It’s a nickname Lando had given him, not long before they even got together. “Fran-co and Co-lapinto. Co-co. Adorable, isn’t it?” He’d said. Franco rolled his eyes and called it cheesy but the way he smiled every time Lando called him that gave his fondness away.

Lando pecks his lips after he stops giggling, only to pull back and meet Franco’s dumbfounded gaze and start giggling again. “You okay there, darlin’? Or has the heat done a number on you?”

“That…is a very good question. At this point, i don’t really know.” Franco says sheepishly.

It’s still a bit surreal sometimes to think that Lando’s his boyfriend. Of course, Franco’s not going to voice that sentiment out loud. He embarrasses himself enough in front of Lando. Lando doesn’t need any more fodder for his teasing.

“Were you resting? Did i disturb you?” Lando asks, a large palm coming up to gently caress his cheek, thumb softly brushing the skin under his eye.

Franco’s eyes flutter shut under his soothing ministrations as he nuzzles into the warmth of Lando’s big hand. God did Lando have big fucking hands.

“I was, but it’s okay Lando. I’m happy to see you.” Franco cracks an eye open to find Lando shooting him a dopey grin. Franco feels something bubbly and warm fill his chest. “I thought you were going to celebrate?”

“What, without even telling you?!” Lando exclaims, scandalised. He lightly pinches Franco’s cheek, making the younger pout. “I’m passing on the partying tonight. Too fuckin’ tired for that. Tomorrow though? You’re comin’ with me.” Lando says, an impish grin spread on his face and a manic glint in his eyes.

Franco grins back. “Obviously.”

Lando leans in again, slowly, the hand on his waist giving it a little squeeze and the hand on his cheek trailing up to card through Franco’s hair. He kisses the corner of Franco’s lips, slow and tender. It makes Franco feel like he’s melting, and for a second he thinks his legs might give out.

“What say we celebrate together, hm? Just you, me and a bottle of wine?” Lando murmurs, lips still pressed to Franco’s skin.

Franco shivers at the sensation. “Wine? How romantic.”

“Savin’ the shots for tomorrow.”

“Mm…” Franco shifts his head slightly, enough to catch Lando’s lips in a proper kiss. He relishes in the way Lando sags against him, lips moving languidly with his. “Let’s take this to the bed?”

Lando groans, nipping at Franco’s bottom lip before pulling back, a hungry look in his eyes as he starts leading Franco to the bed without a verbal response.

Franco knows there’s only more exhaustion ahead. He doesn’t mind it at all, though.

A/N: thank you to Sumi for giving me this cute prompt “post-race established relationship domestic fluff” hehe thanks to u i finally get to post smth complete on this ship😭😭🙏 this was fun to write and ended up way sappier than intended…hope u still like it alsjdjdj

[rocketinthesky]

Helloo thank you to @lunarxoko for the prompt. I love lesteban and tried to whip smth up real quick. This was supposed to be smut but ended up being like this weird emotional relationship study of them instead lmao still hope you like it!

Lesteban, explicit 🔞🔞, canon comp, blowjobs, one-shot.

read on ao3

No Words Needed

Lance is on his knees, holding Esteban’s thighs and looking up at him with hooded eyes. Esteban sees through the seduction and confidence easily. They’ve done this song and dance too many times now, and they’ve been best friends even longer.

Esteban knows how Lance gets after a bad race, and with the state of his team, there are rarely any races that are anything but that. So, Esteban wasn’t surprised to see Lance standing at the other side of the door to his driver’s room. He’s long since given up trying to comprehend the ease with which Lance gets around in his motorhome, even though Haas is a new place even for him, but Lance has no problem weaving through the crowd of red and white in his emerald green.

Lance doesn’t say anything, and he only gets like this when he’s upset and exhausted and frustrated. Silent, a fury quietly burning in his eyes and trying not to snap the tightness in his jaws. Esteban doesn’t say anything either, allows Lance to walk him backwards till he’s leaning against the wall, watches as Lance drops to his knees in one smooth motion.

He’s already starting to tent, half hard by the time Lance pulls his freshly worn jeans down and lets it pool at his ankles. Lance grips Esteban’s thighs, his hands hot against Esteban’s skin. Esteban typically runs cold.

Lance eyes Esteban’s bare cock with some inscrutable emotion in his eyes, face carefully blank. It does nothing to deter Esteban, however, being studied like he’s being watched under a microscope.

Lance finally breaks the stalemate, leaning in to lave his tongue along Esteban’s shaft, one broad swipe of his tongue that’s too dry and rough and sends electricity zipping down Esteban’s spine. Esteban’s hands fly out to Lance’s head, slipping into his hair and gripping lightly as a way to ground himself.

Lance gives an approving hum as he gets to work, tongue wetter with each lick and working Esteban to full hardness. The walls are far too thin, and Esteban is highly conscious of it as he stifles as much of his noises by biting down on his bottom lip as he can.

Lance finally takes Esteban’s cock fully into his mouth in one obscenely smooth motion, almost down to the fucking hilt. Esteban’s not a cocky man, but he’s certainly not small, but Lance takes it like a fucking professional and Esteban throws his head back with a muffled groan, the sting in his skull from hitting the wall overshadowed by the slick sound of his cock in Lance’s sinful mouth and the pleasure building rapidly down south.

Esteban forces himself to keep his eyes open despite his body resisting the motion. He looks down, chest heaving, at Lance—his face flushed a pretty red, lips stretched obscenely around Esteban’s cock, fingers digging into Esteban’s thighs.

Lance isn’t loud in bed, his pleasure evident in the way he picks up his pace, bobbing his head faster, saliva pooling in his mouth and his movements getting sloppier.

Esteban’s the opposite; he struggles to keep quiet, fear of the paper thin walls of his driver’s room completely forgotten as a mismatch of French and English curses and praises fall out his lips, fingers tightening in Lance’s hair, tugging in time with Lance’s movements.

He comes to the sight of Lance looking up at him, eyes glazed over and pupils blown wide, cheeks ruddy red and a thin trail of drool sliding down to his chin from the corner of his lips.

Lance drinks it all in with a quiet groan, eyelashes fluttering as his eyes fall shut.

Later, when Esteban has tucked himself back into his pants and helped Lance stand up, they share a quiet kiss, close-lipped and far too chaste for what they had just done.

But Lance smiles afterward, a gentle curve of his lips that lets Esteban know that he’s alright. That this will pass and they’ll be back to talking as they usually do, and that nothing has changed.

Hope you liked it! Ty for the prompt, and to anyone who reads this feel free to send me a ship + prompt too.

[rocketinthesky]

Feverish

a CARCAR/Carloscar one-shot | Carlos Sainz x Oscar Piastri

sickfic(?), fluff, canon compliant, ~700 words

for Sumi <33

read on ao3

It’s Carlos that notices that something’s wrong, much to Oscar’s befuddlement.

He’d been staring at Oscar the entire time when they were standing with a few other drivers, talking. Oscar had been quiet—but then again, he’s always quiet. No one else batted an eye. Even Lando, his teammate that he arguably spends the most time with apart from his trainer, hadn’t noticed anything off so Oscar thought he’d hidden it pretty well. (Although, Lando tends to not notice anything outside of his boyfriend, Franco, that he’s more than infatuated with.)

So again, Oscar’s been playing it cool, keeping a straight face, laughing at the appropriate jokes and using his own sarcasm to get some chuckles, and he thought he’d gotten away with it.

But then Carlos is backing him up against the wall at some corner between his motorhome and another, and Oscar feels a lot more faint than he already had been.

“Carlos? Wha–”

“You’re sick.” Carlos says simply, lips pressed into a hard line, arms caging him into the wall.

Oscar can’t help the way he shrinks back, a futile attempt to escape when there’s concrete and Carlos Sainz blocking off all his escape routes.

“What? No i’m not.”

Carlos rolls his eyes, unamused. “Mate, you have been sweating in 20 degree weather. And you look like a strawberry, how red your face is.”

Oscar makes an indignant noise, in spite of the little flutter in his chest at the fact that he noticed. Carlos of all people noticed, was looking at him.

When Carlos realizes that the only response he’s getting from Oscar is a scowl, he huffs out a defeated sigh, still not moving back to stop crowding Oscar into the wall, and asks, “Did you at least tell your manager?”

Oscar’s scowl melts away into a sheepish look as he averts Carlos’s look of disappointment.

It’s silent for a few more seconds before Carlos is finally pulling back. Oscar heaves out a sigh of relief, thinking he’s gonna leave him be, but then Carlos’s hand is suddenly on his wrist, fingers long and cool against his feverish skin.

“Come on. Get the medical staff to check you.”

Oscar tries to pull his wrist free from his hold but isn’t able to. “No! I’m still racing—!”

“Don’t be stubborn, rookie.”

“I’m not even a rookie anymore.” Oscar stops trying to pull his hand free from Carlos’s grip but he still throws him a dirty look. His tone sounds childish even to himself.

Carlos smirks in that stupid open-mouthed way of his, lips quirking up to one side, eyes hooded in amusement. “Okay then, big boy, let’s go and get you medicine for your fever so you can race, hm?”

Oscar’s heart jerks in his chest as he makes a strangled noise in surprise at Carlos’s words, eliciting boisterous laughter from said offender.

“Oh, fuck you.” Oscar mutters, turning his head away to stare holes into the concrete wall, Carlos’s laughter ringing in his ears as he feels his face burn.

“You are so cute when you get angry, Piastri.” Carlos says, giving his hand a tug to get him to meet his eyes.

“Shut up.” Oscar says weakly, cringing at the way his voice goes all high.

“Only if you come with me to get checked out.” Carlos raises an eyebrow, lips set on a smirk.

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

He fails to ignore the way his heart jumps to his chest when Carlos’s smile softens and he makes a triumphant noise, his grip on Oscar’s wrist loosening but still not letting go as he leads him towards their destination.

Later, when Carlos shows up at his motorhome with a takeout container of chicken soup, Oscar’s lets him in without much of a fight.

And when Carlos ends up kissing him on the couch not half an hour later, Oscar has enough fight in him to pull back and tease, “Not afraid of getting sick yourself, mate?”

Carlos grins. “I will be alright.”

And he dives back in for another kiss.

[rocketinthesky]

Hold You Close

Inspired by these prompts

And despite it all, all he wanted was the comfort of Lando's strong yet soft hands.

Landoscar - Comparing Hand Sizes - fluff, a lil angst, 1.1k words

Read on ao3

Oscar shivered, feeling the way every hair on his body rose at the slight brush of Lando’s fingers across the back of his palm. He looked down at Lando’s hand, suspended beside his.

His palm was larger than Oscar’s, hand big enough to completely engulf Oscar’s in his own. Oscar still marveled at the fact, given how Lando was quite a bit shorter than him.

The lift jerked to a halt as they reached their floor. A few other staff members crowded inside filed out first, leaving Lando and Oscar still smushed together at the corner to finally make their way out.

They haven't spoken a word. Oscar didn't know if he'd wanted to. The adrenaline hadn't worn off despite a couple hours having passed from the race. The eerily blank look on Lando's face told him that the older wasn't in the mood either.

Oscar was angry, not specifically at Lando, but at himself and at everything. He'd bottled a P1. He'd been reprimanded for racing. And despite it all, all he wanted was the comfort of Lando's strong yet soft hands.

The walk to their hotel rooms was silent. They stopped next to each other, their hotel rooms being right next to the other. Oscar turned to look at Lando, finding Lando already doing the same. Oscar didn't know what to say, the words stuck around the lump in his throat. Lando's blank look faded into something softer, eyes rounding in understanding. He raised his hand and patted Oscar on the shoulder, briefly clamping down and squeezing. Oscar felt the heat of his palm run down to his very core.

"Get some rest, Osc." Lando said, hand already leaving his shoulder to open up his hotel room door.

Oscar wanted to stop him, wanted to grab his hand and cling onto it, wanted to selfishly seek his comfort. He was hoping to be invited in to stay with him in his room like all the other times.

Lando didn't invite him in, but he did flash Oscar some semblance of a smile before closing the door on his face.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Oscar tried napping but quickly gave up after the fiftieth time of turning around. His thoughts were too loud, and he couldn't shut them off. He found himself making a split second decision, padding out his room and standing in front of the door of the room next to his.

He knocked three times in quick succession, suddenly alight with nerves and regret. What if Lando didn't open the door? What if he told him to go away if he did?

The door slowly opened and Oscar held his breath as Lando peeked his head out from the gap.

"Oscar?" Lando looked and sounded confused.

"Can I come in?" Oscar strained out.

Lando studied him for a second too long, silence bordering on awkward. Oscar wouldn't be surprised if Lando shut the door on his face again, but then Lando moved back, opening the door wider. An acceptance.

Oscar crossed inside, heading straight for the bed and plopping down on one corner of it. Lando caught up soon after closing the door, snorting at the sight of Oscar's hunched figure.

"Make yourself at home then."

Oscar glanced up at Lando, face twisted in guilt. "Sorry."

Lando rolled his eyes, moving to sit down right next to Oscar on the bed, pressed up against his side. Oscar hoped Lando didn't notice the way he immediately melted at the contact, leaning into him a little.

"Mate, there's nothing to be sorry about." Lando said, nudging Oscar with his shoulder.

Oscar flashed him a weak smile before his eyes travelled down to Lando's hand resting on his thigh. Oscar's hand on his own right beside Lando's looked so much smaller.

"What've you got such giant hands for?" Oscar mumbled absentmindedly, glaring down at their hands still and missing the bewildered grin on Lando's face.

"Probably cause i've got a giant di—."

"Seriously?" Oscar looked up, pinning Lando with an unamused look.

Lando shrugged, unperturbed, still grinning cattishly. "Just saying, mate. Maybe it's not that my hands are big, but yours that are tiny."

Oscar scoffed, raising his palm towards Lando. "Yours are just freakishly big. Mine are completely proportional to my height, thank you very much."

Lando pulled an exaggerated face, all while raising his own hand and pressing his palm to Oscar's. Oscar tried to pretend his heart didn't jump up to his throat and held still as Lando slid his hand to make sure their palms began at the same point.

Oscar watched, lips parted slightly in awe. Lando's fingers were much thicker than Oscar's, palm wider. Oscar won out in length by barely a millimeter.

"See?" Lando said, lips stretched into a shit-eating grin. "Tiny."

"Piss off." Oscar said, though the words packed no actual heat, what with the way he couldn't stop staring at where their hands touched.

Lando shifted his fingers then, near the seams of Oscar's, giving him a little nudge. Oscar's fingers immediately parted, splaying out. He watched as Lando slotted their fingers, squeezing his hand. Oscar followed, still staring at where they were interlocked.

Oscar felt safe here, in Lando's hotel room, bunched up at the corner of his bed, holding his hand, thighs touching. He felt his brain halt for the first time since the race, a comfort only Lando could provide washing over him.

He dropped his head, forehead planting onto Lando's shoulder, and he took in a deep breath.

"Tired?" Lando asked, voice so soft Oscar wouldn't have heard if he weren't so close.

"Mhm." Oscar squeezed Lando's hand even tighter. Lando let him.

He felt Lando's fingers brushing through his hair, the touch soft, tentative. He melted further into Lando, more of his weight against him, but Lando took it without a hitch.

"Congrats on P2, Osc. That was a brilliant drive." Lando whispered into Oscar's hair.

Oscar buried the tears welling up in his eyes into Lando's shoulder.

"You, too."

Lando huffed out a laugh, something soft and airy—something fond, Oscar could tell even without seeing his expression.

He could hear the smile in his words as he said, "You're so cute, y'know that?"

Oscar was too relaxed to come up with a quip. He responded by nuzzling into Lando's neck, punching out a delighted sound out of him.

"Sometimes i think the fans are on the mark about you being a kitten."

Oscar pulled back at that, his hold on Lando's hand tighter still, and shot him a glare.

"Angry kitten." Lando repeated, shooting him a toothy grin.

"Oh, shut up." Oscar mumbled with an indignant huff, closing the distance between them before Lando could respond with another silly quip.

It seemed even kissing him silent wasn't enough to stop him from being a menace.

"That's certainly one way to do it."

"Lando!"

A/N: this was supposed to be a drabble. A fluffy drabble. LOL. Anyway :DD Landoscar make me so so fond they are so in love guys it’s canon! Lando’s big hands kinda changed my life so…had to project lmao. Hope you enjoyed reading! Feel free to send me prompts in asks cuz i’m trying to practice writing drabbles…welp.

[rocketinthesky]

Greedy

⇢A George x Max AU

⇢ 6.7k words

⇢ Explicit 🔞🔞‼️

⇢ read tags for warnings

read the full fic on ao3 (archive locked)

Have a snippet:

“You here alone, or…?” George asks, washing down the lump in his throat with a sip of bitter beer. “No, just, waiting for my girlfriend. Are you waiting for anyone?” George keeps his face carefully blank, lips pressed in a tight, polite curve. Girlfriend? “Oh! Evelyn?” George says chirpily, something twisting in his stomach, akin to dread. The smile on Max’s face drops in an instant, eyes narrowing. He shifts his body back away from George a tiny bit, hackles clearly raised. “How the fuck do you know?” “How long have you been dating her?”

Alternatively: George finds his girlfriend cheating on him and decides to confront the man she's cheating with. Turns out he's George's estranged friend from middle school and he too has just been played. They decide to take revenge.

[rocketinthesky]

Fevers and Cuddles

Norrussell (George x Lando)

read on AO3 or below the pic

~750 words

sickfic, fluff no angst, my idea of a relationship study

George eyes the man sprawled onto his front, head hidden in the crook of George’s neck and arm loosely slung around George’s middle, suspiciously. Strange…very, very strange.

Lando hates cuddles—or being touched in general. Only physical intimacy George gets from him is during sex in the bedroom and the occasional daps and half hugs when they’re surrounded by a million cameras on the paddock during race weekends.

So, you can forgive George for being a little weirded out that the man who goes into fight mode when George pokes his cheek is suddenly squished into George’s body, bare skin against skin, feverish to the touch.

It gets a little concerning when George rakes his fingers through Lando’s hair and elicits a pleased hum instead of an annoyed groan.

“Are you sick?” George blurts out, starting to get a little scared.

He brings his palm to rest on Lando’s half-exposed forehead when the man’s answer is to simply burrow further into George’s body as if trying to crawl into his skin. Burning. Lando’s burning up.

“Blimey, mate, you’re scorchin’!” George exclaims, cupping Lando’s cheek and gently manoeuvring his head so that he can get a clearer look at him.

Lando’s skin is dry and hot to the touch, and despite George’s manhandling, Lando barely makes a noise other than a pathetic whimper, eyes screwed shut.

Something pangs inside George’s chest cavity. Running his thumb on the soft skin of Lando’s cheek, George asks, “Lando? Are you alright?”

Lando languidly blinks his eyes open, revealing cloudy blue. He makes an imperceptible movement in George’s hand. “M’ head’s killin’ me, mate. I can barely move. It’s like—like my bones hurt, even.”

George clicks his tongue softly, flashing him a sad smile. “That’s the fever, sweetheart. How’d this happen? You seemed fine last night.”

He tries not to let the memory of last night show on his face, but it must because Lando groans and rolls his eyes in distaste, immediately groaning again at the pain caused by the movement. “Piss off.”

“What!” George says defensively.

When Lando’s only response is pinning George with a silent look of judgment, he acquiesces with a grin and leans in to bump their noses together. “Hey.”

He pulls back and finds Lando with his face scrunched up. He’s feigning distaste, George knows. Can read it in the way his lips are slightly raised at the corners and how his eyes seem a bit more alive.

“What, you muppet.”

“Did you have any medicine?”

Lando nods.

George flashes him a stern look. “Did you eat something before you had the medicine?”

Lando furrows his brows, seemingly in annoyance. “Yuck, no, i could barely swallow the pill.”

“Lando.”

“Save the lecture, i beg.”

“You need food so it’s easily absorbed and acts faster. And also so that it doesn’t give you acid reflux. And also so—”

“I’m like 80% sure you’re making this up.” Lando deadpans.

“You need to eat to recover.”

“Dun want to.” Lando whines, unthinkingly cuddling closer to George’s body, nuzzling into George’s palm that is still resting on his cheek.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You should’ve woken me up, i could’ve made you something.”

Lando’s eyes go extra droopy and watery, the fever exceptionally harsh on him. George feels a little bad for lecturing him, but deems his concerns valid.

Lando shrugs, not meeting George’s eyes. “Meh.”

Deciding that any further argument will lead nowhere, George huffs a long sigh, leaning in to press a kiss onto Lando’s forehead, feeling the man shiver at the touch.

“I’ll order you some soup. That’ll be easy to get down.”

Lando turns his face in George’s hand, brushing his lips against George’s cooler skin. He speaks into George’s hand, “Chicken noodle, please.”

George smiles. “Sure thing.”

Lando meets his eyes properly, mouth lifted into a soft smile. “Thanks mate.”

“Yea…” George says. Before he’s really thinking about it, he’s diving in and meeting Lando in a kiss, close-lipped and gentle. Lando’s lips are chapped, broken skin rough against George’s. Yet he still feels so soft.

“You sure you should be doin’ that? Gonna get yourself sick.” Lando says, a faint dusting of red painting his skin.

George gives a jerk of his shoulder. “Probably already caught whatever it is you got. Let’s just hope it isn’t corona.”

Lando doesn’t say anything and simply goes back to bury his face in George’s chest, arm tightening around his waist.

“Order the soup, you muppet.”

George only laughs, complying to the order.

[rocketinthesky]

High in the Clouds

- Norapinto drabble; rated T for the use of marijuana, fluff no angst

read on ao3 instead

Lando looks over at Franco and giggles, watching as Franco takes another long drag of the comically fat blunt between his fingers.

Franco’s a friend of Alex’s—a random freshman that Alex adopted and dragged to their shared apartment a couple months ago—and Lando’s by extension. Or rather, by exposure. Because Franco comes over with barely a text announcing his visit thrown Lando’s way before he’s ringing the doorbell, Alex nowhere to be seen half the time as he’s out hanging with George.

Lando doesn’t mind; on the contrary, Franco’s fun. He talks a lot, chatting endlessly without the need to even breathe. But Lando never minds. It’s fun to kick back, shut his brain off, and let Franco’s voice wash over him in a pleasant wave. It’s more fun when there’s weed involved, and Lando was more than happy to know Franco loved to indulge.

So he finds himself in the same position for the umpteenth time, sprawled on his bed and against the wall, head turned towards Franco who’s reclined against the headboard, eyes gone droopy and face slack, relaxed. He’s talking as usual, but his words are more slurred, blending into each other, the drag of each syllable more accentuated and accented in his Argentinian drawl.

Lando laughs as their eyes meet for the nth time, reaching out to lazily paw at Franco’s unruly curls. Franco scrunches his nose but doesn’t pull away, allowing the casual touch. Franco doesn’t mind that Lando’s barely processing anything he’s saying,

There’s music playing from Lando’s speakers. Something lowkey, chill. Settles the buzz in Lando’s body to a pleasant tingle.

“Tired?” Franco says, seemingly finished with his rant about Mr. What’s-His-Name, Franco’s Psych professor. Lando should remember his name from how often Franco’s brought him up the entire semester just to trash on him, but he couldn’t care less about anything but Franco in front of him at the moment.

“Mmm, nah. Not really.” Lando replies. It’s not a lie. He could keep staring at Franco for a few more hours. He’s got it in him.

Suddenly, Franco’s leaning down towards him, and Lando has to catch a quick breath with how they’re so close. He tries not to go cross-eyed trying to read Franco’s expression from this close.

“Distracted, then? Something on your mind, Lando?” Franco says, the corner of his lips pulling up into a smirk. The way he says Lando’s name has the effect of pulling an almost instantaneous grin from Lando.

“Yeah, you.” Lando says decisively. He isn’t normally this impulsive, as prone to overthinking as he is, but the way Franco’s eyes almost twinkle in awe and his smirk gives way to something sweeter and almost shier fills Lando with confidence.

Enough confidence that he cups the side of Franco’s neck, feels his pulse in his palm and the movement beneath his thumb as Franco swallows. Franco doesn’t pull away nor move closer; he just waits. For whatever it is Lando will give him. And that fills Lando with something light and giddy that’s pulling another laugh out of him.

“What? What’s funny?” Franco asks, a little pouty.

Lando shakes his head. “Nothin’ darling.”

He doesn’t let Franco voice out his obvious skepticism, sliding his hand to the back of Franco’s head and pulling him down the rest of the way. Their noses bump a little, but the kiss is warm. Lando feels floaty—whether it’s the weed or the softness of Franco’s lips, Lando isn’t quite sure. Probably both.

Franco kisses back with fervor, deepening the kiss with a groan. The sound amplifies the heady feeling in Lando, the loud lub-dub of his heart pounding in his eardrums. They barely separate for a quick breath before they’re kissing again, lazily making out with Franco resting on his elbow, caging Lando against the mattress.

It should feel too sudden, too impulsive, too fast, but then again, it’s Franco, and it feels just right. It’s Franco, and it doesn’t have to be some earth-shattering revelation that Lando wants to kiss him, and that Franco wants to kiss him back, so Lando doesn’t think about anything but Franco and how it feels like he’s high in the clouds with Franco’s lips against his.

Hi i can’t sleep even tho its like 5 am lol so just wrote this. I think Norapinto would def get high tgt and lazily makeout and im like 90% certain it’s already happened don’t @ me. Hope yall enjoyed the norapinto fluff i miss them dearly.

[rocketinthesky]

We’re not meant to be, but my heart refuses to listen

Max already found his soulmate, and is in a committed relationship with her. But why is his heart defying fate and pulling him back into George’s orbit?

- A Soulmate AU (GAX)

-fluff, slight angst, happy ending, canon divergent, rated Teen and up

Part I

(Read Part II next) (OR read on ao3)

Max’s eyes drift over to George’s wrist, an intricately inked tree without any leaves peeking out through the long sleeves of his suit. They’re in another post-race press meeting, joined by Oscar, Carlos and Pierre. He’s mostly zoning out, which is easy to do when the reporters finally decide to take pity on him and ask the other racers questions for a change. He fiddles with his own left sleeve, skin cold under his fingertips as he runs them over it. It feels numb, the dark outline of a rose on his skin. It didn’t used to feel that way, once.

It’s not as mortifying as the first few times were, when George catches him staring. It’s both disarming and electrifying when that camera ready smile of George’s softens into something more genuine—reserved—as if Max and him are currently sharing a secret only they’re privy too.

Max can feel the automatic, almost desperate, way his own mouth pulls into a matching grin. And the resulting fit of giggles between them attracts the attention of the other racers and reporters.

It’s easy enough to dodge the question of what’s making the two laugh like a pair of schoolchildren when Pierre butts in with a joke, and it gives George the opportunity to lean in closer to Max, mics distant enough to not pick up the almost airy whisper of George’s voice as he asks, “What were you staring at my hands for, mate?”

Max stiffens at first before quickly relaxing when he registers the teasing undertones to George’s question. He deliberates it, thinks the logical thing to do would be to make an excuse or a quip, make them both laugh at the ordeal. But the curiosity has been gnawing at Max’s psyche long enough that he can’t help the way the question rolls off his tongue, relieved in their freedom.

“Did you find your soulmate yet?”

George seems to freeze at his question, the playful grin on his face tightening. Max immediately feels guilty for asking such a prying question. They’re friends, but they’re not quite close enough to delve into these topics. Questions about each other’s personal lives always stayed on the surface level, never breaching family.

Max might have just crossed a line in their already fragile, somewhat undefined relationship. They’re friends in a broader sense. They never hang out alone together, they barely text each other outside of the usual fire emoji react on each others’ instagram stories and obligatory congratulatory messages. But then there’s also this…tension, Max thinks, that’s always surrounding the air between them. A spark crackling down Max’s spine when they meet eyes across the room or accidentally brush shoulders. The heat of George’s body branding his skin whenever they pat each other’s shoulders in friendly conversations.

There’s that numbness where his own soulmate mark lies, a permanent reminder of Max’s failure to be normal, to be less selfish.

George evokes in him a thrill he’s only gotten before on the podium, above everyone else. The champion of the fucking world.

“I did,” George says, stretching the word out. The emphasis there feels past-tense—as if there’s a but there.

Max wants to press the matter, but knows not to. Only shrugs. “Cool.”

George’s face relaxes, the corners of his eyes softening before he leans in close enough that his breath scorches the shell of Max’s ear. “Didn’t quite work out, though.”

Max holds down the shiver from wracking his body outwardly, but he can feel the goosebumps rising on his flesh.

This knowledge shouldn’t excite him. He’s with his own soulmate, for fuck’s sake.

When George pulls back, corners of his eyes crinkling, Max knows for certain by the battering of his heart that he’s fucked.

Fate already gave him everything he could possibly want. But Max hungers for more.

Trying my hand at a trope i’ve been wanting to write for a long time, and what better ship than Gax! My first foray into writing for f1 rpf so i am very very nervous lol i’m still pretty new to the fandom. Feedback is very very appreciated, i’d love to know your opinions on this if you managed to stumble upon this drabble! I do plan on this having a part two, and potentially more depending on how many it takes to finish the story. Hopefully not too long lol. Hope you enjoyed <33