neptunethenewt
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The tension has been growing between the championship contenders, in more ways than one.
Bookmarked by neptunethenewt
26 Oct 2025
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Lando wins a world title and spends a week trying to convince everyone, especially himself, that he’s fine.
He’s fucking fantastic, actually, thank you very much.
But Oscar disappeared right after the final race, and finally showed up in Monaco, looking far too good to be true.
And suddenly, Lando isn’t so sure of anything anymore.
Bookmarked by neptunethenewt
24 Oct 2025
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“Do you remember why you chose to come here?”
The soft touch along his skin is scrambling his brain, unease bubbling up inside of him at the thought that it feels really nice. So, he takes an educated guess. “To help me win a championship,” he attempts.
Older Lando clearly knows that’s not the right answer, throwing his head back and laughing, grip tightening on Lando’s jaw. “Not quite,” he teases, looking way too smug. “You’ll remember soon enough.” Before Lando can consider what that means, Older Lando is grabbing him by the waist and leading him away from the kitchen. “He’s in here.”
There’s no time to question who he is as he’s led into a bedroom. Lying in the bed before him, half-awake on his phone, is none other than Mr. Oscar Piastri.
OR
Time Travel AU in which Lando goes 2.5 years in the future to learn how to top Oscar for the first time
Bookmarked by neptunethenewt
24 Oct 2025
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“Tsc. You’re too eager,” Oscar murmurs, slow, deliberate. “That’s why you’re always second.”
Or, Lando Norris is world’s #2, a professional tennis player with everything to prove. At Wimbledon, his rivalry with Oscar Piastri is put to the ultimate test and there’s only one match he can’t afford to lose, on or off the court.
Series
- Part 1 of ma meilleure ennemie
Bookmarked by neptunethenewt
18 Oct 2025
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a peach so ripe that even your breath would bruise it by rubberonpavement (microwavevibes) for burninghotspace
Fandoms: Formula 1 RPF
18 Oct 2025
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Summary
Charles Leclerc is a man who gets what he wants — trophies, fame, Ferrari. He has that all tonight, fresh off a flawless podium, the taste of gold and champagne still heavy on his tongue despite the tequila he’s been sipping for the better part of an hour. One might suggest that having it all might mean he wants for naught, and yet, satisfaction only makes room for something new. As lights flash and music thrums, he searches the faces of the crowd with heat low in his belly. The weight of a hand on his waist, curled around the back of his neck, squeezing his own in a friendly greeting haunts his skin like a ghost. Mingling with the last of his tequila is hot and hungry wanting for skin and sweat and sex. Watching these bodies tangling on the dance floor, so close and twisting that God would wrinkle His nose at such a sinful sight, is not enough. There needs to be a body against his own, writhing in his hotel sheets as he drags his mouth over the curve of muscles, the tickle of soft body hair.
Charles Leclerc is a man who gets what he wants, and tonight, he wants Max.
Bookmarked by neptunethenewt
18 Oct 2025