collectedreading

[collectedreading]

The three mistakes Oscar makes that lead him to this point are, in order: 1) when Lando wiggles the little pill in his face he says “sure, whatever” because he can’t really think of a compelling reason not to, 2) after whatever he took fucks him up a little too bad and Lando cajoles Carlos into driving Oscar home, Oscar doesn’t say “no thank you, I’ll just take an Uber”, and 3) when Oscar asks Carlos how he’s doing with the contract negotiations and Carlos vaguely says it’s fine, Oscar snorts and says “no, it’s not.”

“Why do you say?” Carlos says, frowning and Oscar laughs. He’s curled up in Carlos’s car, serenely unselfconscious about the fact he’s putting his shoes all over Carlos’s leather seats.

“When I was negotiating with McLaren,” Oscar says. “Every time I got an email my stomach would–” he makes a twisty gesture. He’s never told anyone this before and he’s not sure why he’s doing it now. “I had to make all kinds of, like–folders so I didn’t get as many notifications. And it’s worse, for you. Because I had Alpine. And you don’t have a seat at all.”

Carlos scowls and Oscar laughs again. Giggles, maybe. He’s not really behind the wheel of his own body, currently, or maybe this is the first time in a long time he’s letting himself drive his body like he wants to–no protective layers of distance and detachment, just pedal to the floor. Or–wait, Oscar’s lost track of the metaphor.

“Don’t be like that,” Oscar says. “I’m just saying. It’s not fine. It sucks.”

“It is fine, really,” Carlos says. “It is–”

His mouth keeps moving but no sound comes out. Oscar blinks slowly, watches Carlos sneak a guilty look at Oscar and then quickly turn his face back to the road. He swallows and if Oscar had been sober, he’d have said something, anything. Now, he just watches as Carlos’s face falls.

“I am just very tired,” Carlos says. “I have to–all the time, I have to be–all the details, all the considerations.”

Oscar’s looking at Carlos’s face. His expression pinches, smooths out, twitches, cracks. His mouth is unreal–the plump swell of his bottom lip, sweet pink. In between, the shiny, sharp white of his teeth. Oscar raises his hand, runs his fingers over the line of his own teeth. It doesn’t hurt, unless he presses down hard.

“I am–” Carlos sighs. “Doing it to myself, I suppose. My father is telling me to let Caco handle it, but I cannot–it is important to me to see it for myself.”

“Mhmm,” Oscar murmurs. In between his words, the wet tip of Carlos’s tongue runs over his lips. Oscar licks the pad of his finger. His tongue feels–mostly wet, a lightly bumpy texture. Oscar’s fingers aren’t that big. Carlos’s mouth is. When he laughs, his entire face splits open. 

“–lists with hundreds of variables and just trying to compare them, and my father is saying I just need to trust my gut. But my gut was telling me Ferrari was giving me an extension, so obviously–”

“Control freak,” Oscar says, artlessly fond. At first, Carlos scowls, but for some reason, his expression softens when he looks at Oscar. “Gonna make your head burst, putting all that information in it. Poof.” He mimes an explosion and something that’s suspiciously like a smile twitches at the edges of Carlos’s mouth. He shrugs, turning onto the quiet, hilly road that leads into Monte Carlo.

“Can’t really–” Carlos makes a vague gesture. “Stop being one.”

“Hmm,” an idea comes to Oscar’s mind like a stone thrown in a lake, ripples expanding until it’s all he can think of. “Stop the car.”

“Why?” Carlos says and Oscar shakes his head. It takes another thirty seconds before the car starts slowing and Carlos parks it on the gravelly shoulder. When Carlos looks at him questioningly, Oscar just stares back. It’s warm in the car and quiet outside of it, just the sound of birds and cars in the distance. Every time Carlos moves, another part of his face is lit by the bright moonlight.

“Now what?” Carlos says and Oscar shrugs.

“You wait,” he says. “Until I say we go again.”

“Right,” Carlos says. There’s something tense in the line of his jaw and Oscar wants to push his fingers into the joint. “I almost forgot you are high.”

“Control freak,” Oscar says again.

“Stop making fun,” Carlos snaps and Oscar shakes his head.

“I want to put my fingers into your mouth,” he says. It feels like a normal thing to say, except if it was, he’d probably have told Carlos before, so maybe it’s not. Did Oscar want this before tonight? He can’t remember, but the urge arrived to him so fully formed it must have been gestating in some deep recess of his mind. “And keep them there.”

“You’re–” Carlos swallows. Oscar unclips his seatbelt so he can turn properly towards Carlos. “You’re talking crazy.”

“Okay,” Oscar agrees easily. “Yeah, okay.”

He holds up his hand, palm out. “I’m not going to tell you when I’m going to take them out," Oscar says. “You’ll just have to wait.”

“This is stupid,” Carlos says. His hand slides off the steering wheel, back to his key, but he doesn’t turn it, just curls his fingers around the fob protectively. Oscar thinks he could fit four fingers into Carlos’s mouth up to the knuckle, no problem. Shifting in Carlos’s seat, he pulls one leg under himself. He’s hard, but in a really nice, needless way. 

“I am not playing your stupid game,” Carlos says and Oscar cocks his head.

“Yes, you are,” he says. And he raises his hand, two fingers stretched out, the others curled into his palm. When he touches Carlos’s lip, his jaw drops immediately and Oscar’s fingertips skate over the flat of Carlos’s tongue. He has to caution himself against pressing in too deep immediately, just pushes in until the second knuckle and then waits. Carlos inhales through his nose noisily. The hand nearest to Oscar is clenched around the steering wheel so tight Oscar can see the raised lines of his veins. Oscar pulls his fingers back until the bend of the first knuckle is hooked behind Carlos’s teeth. He only has to push a little for Carlos’s mouth to open further. 

Oscar’s mind has accessed the kind of breathless focus he can usually only manage in the car. Adding a third finger, he slides in deeper again. Carlos’s hand twitches, but he lets it happen, just blinks, eyes fixated white-hot on Oscar’s face. Oscar taps his thumb against the line of Carlos’s jaw and Carlos’s lips close around Oscar’s fingers. Carlos’s mouth is perfect; hot and wet and slick. When Oscar pushes in even deeper, Carlos shivers but doesn’t pull back, just swallows and keeps looking at Oscar with his wide, wary eyes. 

Oscar doesn’t know how long they sit there, at the side of this quiet road with Oscar’s fingers jammed up against the edge of Carlos’s throat. But at some point, the cagey creases next to Carlos’s eyes smooth out. He’s starting to look a little spacy. His body starts sinking into his car seat. A thin line of spit runs down his chin, Oscar doesn’t think Carlos has noticed. Oscar thinks that if he says something, anything, the moment will flip on its head, so he doesn’t. He thinks about saying things though, things like suck. He thinks about his dick in Carlos’s mouth instead of his fingers. Thinks about doing things to Carlos and letting Carlos squirm through the discomfort of relinquishing control until he’s hazy and slack. 

Slowly, Oscar pulls his fingers out of Carlos’s mouth. He wipes them on his jeans, leaving a dark, wet stain. Carlos’s head lolls like one of his strings has been cut until he breathes in, sharp and sudden and sits up straight. 

“We can go now,” Oscar says. 

Carlos wipes his mouth with his sleeve. He’s missed the trail of saliva running down his throat and Oscar doesn’t point it out in case he wants to look at it during the way home. 

“Okay,” Carlos says. And he starts the car. 

[collectedreading]

Okay ... so I MAY have been this anon that @1425fivefive got, and @wedriftlikelonelyplanets’s reply of it being nortrell GOT TO ME okay.

The thing is, Lando is easy.

It’s unbelievably easy to work him up, to get him twitchy and hard in his jeans from just words before they’re even home. He’s trying to glare at Max across the back of the car, but his gaze is too wide and it’s coming off more desperate than anything. Good. Great even.

And he’s easy because he lets Max kiss him against the wall beside the front door as soon as it’s softly closed behind them, pinning him against the dry wall as they trip over the shoes on the floor. Max is toeing his off even as he licks into Lando’s mouth and earns himself a little whimper from the other man.

It’s easy to get noises out of him too. Always. When Max gets him into the bedroom, he makes a surprised little noise at being pushed down on the bed, and a little moaning noise when Max palms him through his jeans. A desperate noise once they’ve both stripped off to just their skin but Max hasn’t touched Lando’s cock yet.

“What?” Max asks softly, tilting his head slightly as he kneels on the mattress above Lando.

Lando’s hips twitch, itching to press his cock up into Max. Max runs a hand down each of Lando’s thighs stopping them at the bent hinge of leg and hip, soft hair of his legs tickling against his palms. “What?” Max’s thumbs are pressed into Lando’s abdomen, inches from the base of his cock. It twitches.

“Oh,” Max says, like he’s just noticed. It’s silly, really, to pretend when Lando’s got the biggest cock Max has ever seen outside of porn, but Lando likes it, likes when Max pretends it isn’t but also likes when he addresses that it is. Likes it even more when he makes fun, picks at all the ways in which Lando could use the thing and chooses not to.

“You want…?” Max asks, slowly closing a hand around Lando’s cock, and Lando nods hurriedly, lip bitten between his teeth. He looks gorgeous like this, curls already messy, cheeks flushed, forehead a little sweaty. His eyes look gray in this light, but there is something simmering behind the color.

Max works his hand slowly over Lando, leaning down to mouth at his chest, and then his neck. It’s a ploy to get himself closer to Lando, to eventually get his mouth by his ear.

“Gonna let me fuck you, yeah?” Max asks. “Reckon you can’t use this thing,” Max says with a particularly quick stroke of Lando’s cock, “or you’d break me, Bob.”

Lando moves his head hurriedly, some semblance of a nod. Max smiles into the skin under Lando's ear and brushes his lips and stubble over the sensitive spot to make Lando shiver. He slips his hands onto Max's hips as he does, pulling Max down to grind their cocks together. They both moan.

It doesn't take long to get Lando pliant and open enough for Max to push in. Lando is shivery and flushed, worked up after an admittedly small amount of foreplay but a lot of Max's words. As he's on his elbows and knees in front of Max, back on display, flexing and clenching beneath him, Max knows neither of them are going to last long. Max is already close to coming just from pushing in, the feel of Lando as euphoric as ever.

"Bob, baby," Max murmurs. "Feel so nice."

Max isn't ready for the little wrecked noise Lando makes and has to still his hips mid thrust. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Lando pants. "Yeah."

Even as Max has his head bows and is trying not to come, he keeps talking to Lando. "Are you--Making a mess down there?"

Lando does another uncoordinated nod and Max folds over his back to work a hand under and feel for himself. Lando makes a choked off noise as Max does, turning his head to press his mouth against his own arm.

"God, you're so wet," Max says as he thumbs over the head of Lando's cock, dribbling out onto the sheets. Lando has to be close too, and it's obliteratingly hot considering Max has barely thrust into him a half dozen times, has been still inside him for nearly a minute now.

"No," Lando barely breathes past where his face is against his own skin, but his hips push into Max's touch. "Fuck, that's--"

Max keeps rubbing over the head, little circles that are making Lando take gasping breaths. "Got all this, and yet I'm the one inside you," Max says, grinding his hips forward and into Lando again. He feels Lando's entire body clench. "You're only good for this," he says with a pointed little thrust, and Lando whines. "Yeah?"

Lando whimpers. "Yeah."

Max is still thumbing over the head of Lando's cock. He's continuously leaking precome and Max's fingers are covered, slipping over the skin.

"Reckon you could come from just this," Max babbles, and Lando shakes with a noise Max can't hear.

Max sits up slightly, lifts his chest off of Lando's back, and knits the fingers of his clean hand into Lando's hair to make him unbury his face.

"Wha--"

Max brings his wet fingers to Lando's lips. "Clean 'em," Max says, voice as soft as when they started. Lando obediently takes Max's fingers in his mouth, closes his lips around them as he runs his tongue over the skin, eyes falling closed.

"Good boy," Max barely breathes. Lando's eyes rocket open anyways, pupils having eaten all of the color. His brows pinch, a desperate look on his face.

Max remembers himself, remembers he's still inside Lando, and grinds deeply into him again. Lando's lips pop open around Max's fingers.

"Gonna come?" Max asks, stroking a finger over Lando's tongue as he asks. Lando doesn't answer, just seals his lips around Max's fingers again as his whole body draws tight.

"Yeah, yeah. You are." Max grips onto Lando's hips and keeps grinding deeply, watching the way Lando's brow pinches and his skin is sweating. He's so close.

Finally, Max slips his fingers out of Lando's mouth and returns them to his cock, giving him two strong strokes before thumbing over the wet head one last time.

That does it.

Max's strokes Lando through it as he spills onto the sheets beneath them, body taught and limbs shaking. Max keeps his hand on Lando until he's going boneless, melting down into his own mess and threatening to trap Max's hand there too. Max slithers it out from beneath Lando and then slowly pulls his cock out too.

"On me," Lando murmurs, eyes closed.

Max doesn't have to be told twice. He kneels up behind Lando, working his hand with Lando's come on it over his own cock until he's spilling onto Lando's tanned, mole dotted skin. He doesn't realize he's saying anything until Lando's responds.

"Max, Max." Lando still hasn't opened his eyes, looks blissed out and dead and everything in between on the mattress, glistening come now running across the planes of his muscles. Despite the way Max is going hazy and wants to curl up on the mattress beside Lando, he reaches to run a hand through his come on Lando's back, spreading it like a finger painting, then gathering it with his pointer and index.

Lando's eyes flutter open as he feels the mattress dip beside him, Max kneeing closer. He brings his fingers, again, to Lando's lips and offers him his come. Again, Lando takes Max's fingers in his mouth. With his other hand, Max pets over Lando's hair, then leaves it heavy on the back of his neck, cupping.

"Good boy," he murmurs, and Lando shivers.

[collectedreading]

This has never happened to Oscar before.

He’s seen it happen to other people, of course. Nearly everyone goes through it as a teenager, their heart leaping out of their chest with the intensity of their first crush, shyly returned, often with a kiss. Not Oscar. Never Oscar, sensible and stubborn and so focused on making it to Formula 1 that he’d hardly allowed himself any time for feelings. 

In retrospect, that may have been a mistake.

“I don’t, um,” Oscar stutters, his face feeling like the surface of the sun. “I have no idea how that happened.”

“It’s okay,” Carlos says, Oscar’s heart cradled in his palm. It’s sort of glowing just a little, which is even more embarrassing. How is Oscar supposed to tell his own heart to keep it together?

“Lando’s did the same, when we were teammates,” Carlos continues. 

Oscar’s heart abruptly stops its glowing. 

“Oh,” Oscar says stupidly. “Right. That makes sense.”

“Don’t worry, I took good care of him for you,” Carlos says. He smiles, something gentle in it that makes Oscar feel a bit queasy. He’s got no idea what he’s supposed to say in response. He hadn’t asked Carlos to look after his heart, hadn’t even know it was happening until he’d gotten out of the car after FP2 and felt something amiss. 

“Thanks,” Oscar says, awkwardly scooping his heart up from Carlos’s palm and trying not to notice the way his fingertips feel dragging over Carlos’s skin. He closes his fingers over his heart, feeling its warmth beating against his hand, almost like it’s trying to escape. “Won’t happen again.”

“It’s okay,” Carlos says, his fingers curling in on themselves almost a mirror of Oscar’s. “I did not mind it.”

“That’s – thanks,” Oscar says again. Of course Carlos doesn’t mind. With his perfect hair and his big, warm eyes, people’s hearts have probably been throwing themselves at Carlos his entire life. Oscar’s not special. “See you around.”

“Bye,” Carlos calls loudly after him. 

Oscar stuffs his heart in his pocket, keeping his fingers curled around it until they’re well away from Carlos.

—

The next time it happens, Oscar’s woken up from a dead sleep to the sound of someone knocking on his door. It takes him a long moment to remember where he is: a hotel room in Bahrain, after the race. He fumbles for his phone and squints at the time: just after four thirty in the morning. Ninety minutes before he has to wake up to get to the airport.

The knocking continues, so Oscar drags himself out of bed and opens the door, blinking against the hallway light. 

“I’m sorry,” Carlos says. “I know it is early, but we are leaving soon for the airport, and I did not want to get on a plane with this.”

Oscar stares at Carlos’s outstretched hand, at the red object nestled cozily in his palm. “How the fuck did you even get that?” he mutters, not yet awake enough to censor his thoughts. 

“It was on my pillow,” Carlos says sheepishly. “When I woke up.”

Oscar feels as though he’s just been plunged into an icy lake. He snatches his heart back, barely remembering to thank Carlos before he slams the door in his face. 

“You had better knock that shit off,” Oscar hisses, holding his heart at eye level as though he can stare it into submission. “He’s going to fine us for harassment or something, and then we’ll really look like an idiot.”

It’s hard to tell in the near-total darkness of his hotel room, but Oscar thinks his heart might droop a bit. Oscar himself sits down on the mess of his bed and lets his shoulders slump, his heart beating warmly against his fingers. “He’s just being nice,” Oscar says. “Carlos Sainz is too nice to tell us to fuck off, who’d have thought.”

Oscar gets back in bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin and closing his eyes. Seconds later he decides he’s too warm and kicks at the covers, searching for cooler air. It’s pointless to try and go back to sleep, he knows, but Oscar stubbornly remains in bed with his eyes closed, tossing and turning until his alarm goes off at six.

When he sits up, his heart is right where he left it, beside him on the bed. Oscar breathes out a sigh of relief and gets up to gather his things for the flight home.

—

Oscar didn’t really think it was possible for the situation to get any more embarrassing, and then his heart goes and leaps away right in front of his eyes. “What the – hey, get back here,” Oscar says, staring as his heart flits across the room and out the open window, hovering at the edge of his balcony. “For fuck’s sake.”

Oscar hadn’t even been thinking about Carlos. Not really. He’d glanced out the window and thought it looked like a nice day, and maybe he could go for a bike ride later in the evening once it cools down a bit. His thoughts had drifted from there to Carlos, naturally, since the guy has seemingly done nothing but bike around Monaco this season. But that had been it, nothing tender or romantic about it. Certainly Oscar wouldn’t call it a daydream. 

His heart either didn’t care or couldn’t tell the difference. 

Oscar leaps across the room, outstretched hands grabbing for his heart just as it lifts in the air. “No no no,” Oscar groans, watching his heart take to the sky like a bird.

Oscar doesn’t have much choice about that bike ride now. He’s built an entire career out of being fast, surely he can be quick enough to catch his heart before it embarrasses him any further. Oscar hauls his bike down to the street, just catching a glimpse of his heart down the block before it swoops around the corner. He sets off, hoping Carlos is in Monaco and that Oscar isn’t about to attempt a bike ride to Spain or the UK or something. He has no idea if there’s a limit to the distance his heart will travel on its own.

Fortunately, Oscar doesn’t have to travel very far at all. He’s just swerved onto a new street at the top of a long hill, pedalling so hard he nearly passes his destination and has to skid to a stop when he realizes his heart has stopped its mad dash across the city. 

Unfortunately, he’s still too late to stop his heart from doing anything stupid. Oscar watches from a few meters away as Carlos looks up in surprise, reaching out to give Oscar’s heart a nice place to land. The smile on his face is brutally soft. 

The person sitting next to Carlos elbows him and points across the street, right at Oscar. 

Oscar, who has just biked up the steep streets of Monaco in the hoodie and shorts he’d been wearing on his couch. He’s positive his face was already red from the bike ride, and now he’s blushing besides, as sweat drips from his temples and his hair hangs messily in his face. Carlos and his friends all stare at him from their café table. 

Carlos raises his hand and waves at him, his smile brightening. 

Oscar reacts on pure instinct. Crossing the street and retrieving his heart, in front of Carlos’s friends, is unthinkable. He knows it makes him an asshole, but that doesn’t stop Oscar from turning his bike right around and racing home, ignoring Carlos’s shouts behind him. 

Half an hour later, Oscar’s phone rings as he steps out of the shower. He’s pretty sure it’s been ringing ever since he ditched Carlos with his heart, but Oscar cannot bring himself to answer. He feels a bit sick just thinking about it. If his heart wants to be with Carlos so badly, well, Carlos can keep it. Let him do what he wants with it. Oscar doesn’t need a heart. 

Oscar drags a towel over his head, the most effort he ever puts into drying his hair. His phone starts up buzzing again. He reaches for his phone to turn it off, but before he’s even touched it, he hears Carlos calling his name. Oscar drops his arm and looks around in confusion. 

“Oscar, let me in,” Carlos yells, from, Oscar slowly realizes with dawning horror, the street below his open window. 

Oscar opens the window as wide as it will go and leans out, hoping Carlos can see him glaring from the sidewalk. “What?” he says, barely daring to raise his voice.

“What do you mean, what?” Carlos asks. “You show up out of nowhere with –”

“Don’t,” Oscar really shouts now, all too aware of everyone overhearing this conversation. “You can come up, just stop talking.”

Carlos juts his jaw out to the side, and after a moment, nods. 

Oscar goes down to let him in, holding the door open. “Wait til we’re upstairs,” he says, voice low. If Carlos is too nice to tell him to fuck off, he’s probably too nice to shove Oscar’s heart back in his ungrateful hands on the street for anyone to see. It’s better than Oscar deserves, and unfair of Oscar to keep testing the limits of Carlos’s patience, but Carlos is quiet as he follows Oscar upstairs and into his apartment.

The door closes solidly behind them, and still Carlos waits a long moment before he asks, “Why did you leave?”

Another kindness, letting Oscar cling to his remaining dignity rather than very accurately accuse him of running away. “I didn’t want to bother you,” Oscar says. “Any more than I already had.”

Carlos frowns, his brows pulling together, puzzled. “You are not bothering me,” he says. “I told you, I do not mind taking care of you.”

Oscar feels a lurching in his chest, even though he knows his heart is elsewhere. In Carlos’s pocket, probably. “That’s great,” he says, his voice rough. He clears his throat and continues, “You can just give it back and get on with your day, I’ll try to keep a better –”

“I can’t,” Carlos says. 

Oscar turns to him, his jaw hanging open. “What do you mean you can’t?” he asks slowly.

Carlos shrugs. “He followed you home,” Carlos says. “And, erm…” 

Oscar pats himself down, wondering how his heart managed to sneak back without his notice. He spots it over by the window – the same one it had flown out of earlier – and goes over to take it back, freezing a few steps away. There’s a second heart tucked beside Oscar’s, the pair of them glowing brightly. 

“Is that…” Oscar slowly turns to Carlos, who’s followed him over to the window and is staring at the hearts with a faintly stunned expression. “Are you…?” A pleasant feeling warms Oscar’s chest, spreading out through his limbs all the way to his fingertips.

Carlos tilts his head. “You did not ask a question,” he says. “But I think my answer is yes.”

Instead of his heart, this time Oscar throws himself across the room. Lucky for him, Carlos’s arms are already open, waiting. 

[collectedreading]

Went to a modern art fair and I've never seen so many thick (1cm) black rimmed glasses, neon or brightly patterned coats, shirts, pants, everything

[collectedreading]

Enjoyed this very much

The Sicilian Defense

Charles Leclerc/Carlos Sainz | M | 8100 words

Carlos’ eyes are wide and innocent as he looks around the group. “I mean a blowjob is a blowjob, no? How do you know if it is a man or a woman I do not see… I mean it does not make you gay only because you get a blowjob from a man, that’s just intelligent use of available resources.” Charles shares his experiences of a wild night, gets a response that confuses the hell out of him, and realises over the course of a few months that he might, in fact, not be so straight after all.

[collectedreading]

2 + carcar ?? 💖💖

Oscar knows Carlos is a handsy guy. Everyone in the paddock knows it, has seen him clutching at someone’s waist when he walks by in a crowded garage or clapping his hand on someone’s shoulder when they say something funny. Oscar has always pushed back, metaphorically. He watches Carlos whenever he steps close, keeps his eyes on Carlos’s broad, hairy hands as if to say, I know what you’re doing. Once they’d started hooking up, he’d done it with a little smirk on his face that he could never manage to hide.

When there’s no one around, Oscar’s a little less metaphorical about it. 

They’re on the stupidly plush couch Oscar had picked out for his apartment, playing some Spanish card game Oscar is fairly certain Carlos has just made up. Carlos has done a terrible job of explaining the rules, pausing every thirty seconds to critique Oscar’s play. When Carlos goes so far as to actually try and put three cards back in Oscar’s hand, Oscar groans.

“What you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. You know that, right?” Oscar asks, grabbing Carlos’s wrist.

Carlos tries to yank his hand back, but Oscar holds on, tugging playfully on his arm. Carlos tips over – and over and over, until he lands with his face in Oscar’s lap. 

Oscar freezes. “Oh no, I didn’t…”

It’s not like they’ve never been in this position. Carlos sucked him off just this morning, hands pinning Oscar’s hips to the bed, the bright morning sun highlighting every shift of his muscles. Oscar’s favorite way to start the day, hands down. The thing is, much to Oscar’s surprise, he also enjoys learning the silly card games Carlos had apparently grown up playing, and spending time with Carlos in general even when they’re not having sex. 

“You don’t have to,” Oscar tries, but Carlos doesn’t seem to hear him. He isn’t even doing anything, really, other than open-mouth breathing right over Oscar’s cock. Give Oscar another minute or two and his cock will be tenting his shorts, which are currently feeling a little damp and a lot hot. With the way Carlos is lying on him, he’ll be filling Carlos’s mouth whether he means to or not. 

“Are you alright?” Oscar asks, lightly probing his fingers along the nape of Carlos’s neck. 

Carlos groans, shifting just enough to drag his nose along the length of Oscar’s cock, which has gone hard so fast he actually feels lightheaded. Then Carlos really gets his mouth around him, spit soaking the fabric of Oscar’s shorts almost immediately. The shock of it has Oscar coming with no warning, gasping as he jizzes in his shorts like a teenager.

“Oh my God,” Oscar moans, hiding his burning face behind his hands. He can’t remember the last time he felt so embarrassed. “Oh my God.”

Carlos doesn’t seem to mind that Oscar lasted all of five seconds before he came. He stays where he is, face pressed to Oscar’s crotch, breathing in deep through his open mouth. Oscar’s feeling a little gross, but Carlos is clearly very into it. With monumental effort, Oscar drags his hand away from his face and settles it on the back of Carlos’s neck, strands of Carlos’s hair sticking between his fingers. 

Carlos hums contentedly.

--

It takes Oscar weeks to build up the emotional fortitude to address the incident. They hook up a handful of times in the interim, and each time it’s good, but Oscar can’t stop thinking about it. Carlos’s head in his lap, the wet heat of his mouth, the slow rhythm of his breathing. Oscar wants him like that, wants to show him he can be better. 

The next time they’re alone, spending the night together at Carlos’s plush Monaco apartment, Oscar stops Carlos as he reaches for Oscar’s trousers. “Can we, um…”

Carlos looks at him, his eyes wide and warm. “Yes?”

Oscar’s fingers are stretched around the thickness of Carlos’s wrist. He feels it when Carlos relaxes his hand, lets his arm go slack. He opens his mouth, and falters. It’s not like he can just say, can I stick my cock in your mouth and we’ll see how long it takes for one of us to come? He bites his lip. “Do you remember, a few weeks ago,” he says slowly.

“When, a few weeks ago?” Carlos asks. The look on his face is just as confused as Oscar would be if their situations were reversed. 

Oscar knows it’s not fair to Carlos that he can barely express himself in English, the only language he’s ever known, while Carlos could ask Oscar to fuck him in three different languages and probably be sinfully charming in all of them. 

“We were playing cards at my place,” Oscar says. Carlos’s face is still blank, the dazed expression everyone on the internet loves to point out. Oscar looks down at his hand still clutching Carlos’s wrist in the narrow space between their bodies, realizes that’s making it difficult to focus in a different way, and fixes his gaze at the wall over Carlos’s shoulder. “We were messing around and you sort of…” He shrugs. “Face-planted on my cock.”

For a few mortifying seconds, Carlos says nothing, during which Oscar considers fleeing the country and going all the way back to Australia. “I remember, yes,” Carlos says. “Why?”

Oscar can’t help the shocked little sound that escapes his lips. Why. Oscar’s starting to wonder that himself, on a miserable, existential scale, when Carlos sways towards him and presses his lips to Oscar’s jaw. “Have you been thinking about me?” he asks. “On my knees, with your cock in my mouth?”

Oscar’s palms are sweaty, his fingers slipping from his grip on Carlos’s wrist. “Yeah,” he says. Carlos’s hands come up to clutch at his waist, his teeth scraping against his neck a half-second before he presses a kiss to the same place. Oscar tilts his head back with a soft groan as Carlos keeps kissing his way down Oscar’s neck.

Oscar reaches between them, unbuttoning his trousers and letting them drop, his underwear following a moment later. He lets himself sink onto the couch, pushing a pillow to the floor for Carlos, who braces his warm hands on Oscar’s legs as he drops to his knees. Once he’s kneeling between Oscar’s legs, he leans in and kisses him so slow and deep that Oscar could almost be content, just to do this all night. 

“Go on, then,” Oscar says, once they’re both a little breathless. 

Carlos’s eyes are dark, and he keeps his gaze on Oscar’s face as he sinks down the rest of the way. It’s Oscar who has to look away, thinking of cold showers and wet socks and any other unpleasant thing he can come up with as Carlos takes his cock in his mouth. He doesn’t suck, doesn’t move once he’s settled, just holds Oscar’s mostly-soft cock in the wet heat of his mouth. 

“That’s it,” Oscar says, brushing his fingers through the soft strands of Carlos’s hair. Oscar’s phone is on the coffee table, and for a minute he considers setting a timer, seeing how long he can last, how long Carlos will stay quiet and obedient on his knees. He stretches his arm out to its full reach and manages to grab his phone without jostling Carlos, but instead of starting the stopwatch he opens up Instagram and taps through people’s stories, his other hand still petting Carlos’s hair. 

Oscar loses all sense of time. Five minutes or an hour could have passed, Oscar mindlessly scrolling past post after post without remembering a thing about any of them. It’s just enough to keep him distracted, to stop him from thinking about Carlos on his knees, his lips stretched around Oscar’s cock. The moment Oscar starts thinking about it, his fingers tighten in Carlos’s hair, his cock starting to fill. 

Carlos groans, his hands flexing against Oscar’s thighs.

Oscar drops his phone on the couch beside him and threads both hands through Carlos’s hair as Carlos bobs his head, spit leaking down all down Oscar’s cock, dripping from his balls onto the couch cushions. Carlos is a vision, his shiny lips stretched wide, his eyes closed, practically whimpering as he presses himself closer. Oscar’s cock sinks deeper into his mouth, but he also feels something else – Carlos’s hard cock pressed against his leg, his hips twitching as he sucks Oscar’s cock. 

“Fuck Carlos, that’s so hot,” Oscar says, pressing his leg harder against Carlos to give him something to really grind against. “No idea you liked this so much.”

Carlos tries to choke out a reply, mumbled around Oscar’s cock. The feeling of his throat fluttering around him has Oscar shivering, his body strung taut. “I’m close,” Oscar says, tugging at Carlos’s hair. “Carlos, I – your mouth.” Oscar groans as Carlos swallows him down, bowing forward as he comes down Carlos’s throat. Carlos swallows it all, his tongue lapping at the tip until Oscar’s spent cock slips from his mouth. 

Carlos lays his head on Oscar’s thigh, catching his breath. Oscar tugs gently on his hair. “Did you…?”

Carlos shakes his head slowly. Oscar presses his leg against the line of Carlos’s cock, still hard, still in his trousers. Carlos gasps wetly. 

“Go on, you’ve earned it,” Oscar says. 

Carlos nods, humping Oscar’s leg in a clumsy, desperate rhythm. “Please Oscar,” Carlos says, clutching at Oscar’s thigh. He looks up at Oscar, his eyes hazy. Oscar would give him literally anything right now.

“Yeah,” Oscar says, stroking Carlos’s hair. “Yeah, whatever you need.”

Carlos’s eyelashes flutter as his eyes slip closed, lips parting to take Oscar’s soft cock back in his mouth. Oscar gasps, over-sensitive; Carlos groans, loud even with Oscar’s cock in his mouth, shuddering as he comes. His hands are gripping Oscar’s thighs hard enough to bruise, but Oscar finds he doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

Oscar lets him have a few minutes to enjoy the afterglow. Carlos is a warm, heavy weight draped over his legs, and Oscar can almost certainly get hard again if Carlos keeps his mouth on him. “Come on,” Oscar says, brushing Carlos’s hair out of his eyes. Carlos blinks up at him. “Let’s get you to bed.”

[collectedreading]

so my brain hasn't been the nicest and I literally can't seem to find the focus to write anything lately (I'm also looking for some serotonin T_T) so I'm popping on to drop the first like scene of otaku daniel because i honestly in my current state can't see me ever finishing it but I love it so much so yeah. I hope you guys like it, I've been meaning to post this for so long so I'm doing it before I chicken out again :(((

“Oh, a new sub! Max_v_maxx33, enchante.” The voice was accompanied by a grin and wink before a pink tongue was once again sticking out of the side of a heart shaped mouth.

Max settled himself in his rig, scratching a pec absently. He wasn’t scheduled to stream with Team Redline for another hour and that was good, he’d made sure to schedule the group stream after Daniel was finished with his. 

He’d found the account by accident a few weeks ago, a clip from a stream had made its way to instagram and he would admit to himself and himself only that he’d been dazzled by a smile and crinkly eyes. He didn’t watch many other streamers, and didn't particularly care to. He only streamed because Gianni had said it would have been a good way to get sponsors for Redline and he’d been right. 

Their streams were popular, no matter what they were playing. And once they disconnected, they tended to stay online longer– just to play some more together. Privately like they used to. 

Max didn’t really enjoy watching other people game. He also didn’t enjoy vlogs, yet he found himself tuning into Daniel’s streams when he could. If only to hear him laugh a little, or a lot. Daniel laughed a lot and Max loved to hear the sound.

He figured it wouldn’t hurt to sub from one of his burner accounts. Daniel’s account was a guilty pleasure of his and he didn’t need to share him with the wider world.

Dan_the_Badge3 or Daniel was a relatively smaller account. He lived and breathed anime and anything kawaii. It took Max a little time to understand that, he’d been annoyed at himself that he wouldn’t stop watching after the third time when Daniel went off into a rant about which anime were better for people starting out. He’d gotten into a full blown argument with the chat and ended up pausing his game. Max didn’t watch anime, didn’t plan to, but he found himself making note of Daniel’s choices all the same.

Daniel’s curly hair was dark, long and wild. And always covered by his favourite headphones that had cat ears on top. He rotated between three designs, and currently he used a blue and white pair with ‘old skool’ flames on them. He always sported a sweatshirt or hoodie, mostly his own designs and he loved them oversized so he could have ‘sweater paws’. Max found it endearing as hell. 

Today was Wednesday and Daniel used those for productivity power hours for his subscribers. He usually did something mundane and would chatter away for an hour or so. He called his Wednesday streams “Badger Mode” and at first Max didn’t ‘get it’, but a quick lurk of the chat had produced people chiming in on what they planned to work on and others thanking Daniel for his ‘parallel play’ and ‘sprints’.

Max inadvertently found that he relaxed more before Redline’s Wild Wednesday streams than any other day. So maybe Badger Mode had more positives than just him staring at the slope of Daniel’s nose for an hour. What a cute nose it was.

“So I told Chelle that I wanted to like try crochet– because she makes all these pretty things and like she laughed at me and asked me if I could count.” Daniel’s voice was fondly annoyed while he spoke about his older sister. Max grinned to himself at Daniel’s exaggerated eye roll. He had a skein of red yarn in one hand and a hook in the other, the pattern had already been started. “So I annoyed her until she gave me these and started a pattern for me. I wanna make like a small plushie, but maybe I should like start with something basic. Like a scarf. Or maybe a– a square.” Daniel continued to ramble and Max felt his shoulders drop in relaxation.

“What are you guys working on today, chat?” Daniel leaned back into his gamer chair– that also had cat ears– and put his foot up on the corner of the desk. A static rectangle popped up on the screen obscuring his feet with a cartoon honey badger holding a sign that read ‘no feet for free’. Max chuckled. 

“Good luck on your essay Falconado73! Meerlymeerly I feel your pain, that laundry isn’t gonna do itself!” Daniel continued to babble to the chat while attempting to crochet and Max enjoyed watching his fingers as he tried to work. “Jeepers, I really can’t count. Do you guys mind if I like count aloud for these next couple rows to get the hang of it? No one like told me there was so much counting involved?!” Daniel laughed before starting a halted counter while he focused hard on the red material.

Max checked his phone, answering a few emails about sponsor stuff and replying to the Redline private discord. He looked up a few times to see that Daniel’s tongue was once again sticking out of his mouth and he felt hopelessly endeared. His cat, Sassy, jumped into his lap for a second. 

“What’s that mark on your neck?” Daniel leaned closer to his screen to read before leaning back and laughing merrily. Max’s eyes honed to his exposed neck for this proposed mark and he absolutely ignored the slight clench in his chest. 

“I bet you all are hoping it's something like juicy but it isn’t. Yeah nah, sorry to burst your pervy bubbles.” Daniel snorted and Max took a deep breath. “I thought I was gonna get stung by a wasp and like was trying to bat it away with my brush and I scratched myself with the bristles. Then I realized it wasn’t a wasp but like a bee and I felt like so bad cause I didn’t want to accidentally kill it.” 

Daniel continued to ramble while he worked and Max stared at his mouth, at how his lips formed his words before stretching in a smile. Max thought Daniel’s Australian accent was hot as hell.

“How is the apartment search going?” Daniel read again and groaned. Max’s ears perked up, apartment search?

“Itssssss not going? Nah, yeah I haven’t like started looking as yet. I don’t even know which country I want to move to yet. So we’re still in the beginning stages of like that whole thing.” Daniel laughed. “Move to Japan with Yuki? Oh mochiro– I mean it's not out of the realm of possibilities. Yeah that’s all I’ll say there. I have like a list of countries and I guess I need to do a pros and cons thing–” 

Daniel did that sometimes, mixed other languages with his babbling. He spoke Japanese with his friend Yuki when they streamed together– there was an ai translator bot that provided subtitles, except for when they started rambling and laughing and it couldn’t pick up what they were saying. Those times, Max just liked to stare at Daniel. And he sometimes spoke Italian, specifically when he was speaking to people off camera, like his grandparents.

Max’s phone beeped with his Redline stream reminder. He stroked Sassy’s fur before hovering his mouse over the exit stream button. He took a long look at Daniel’s smiling face before leaving the stream and jumping into his team’s account.

[collectedreading]

omggg what about a carcar cruise au?? Like they meet on the boat 😭🫶

thank you for the great request <3

---

carcar, 2k words, rated m for language

---

When Carlos arrived at his McLarenCruise luxury suite, his luggage was already waiting for him on the bed, next to a young man in a bright orange uniform, who was standing there with his hands folded behind his back. As soon as the door fell shut behind Carlos, the man started to speak like a robot who’d been waiting for its activation command.

“Welcome to your private luxury suite aboard McLarenCruise, where your comfort is our priority,” he drawled in what Carlos guessed to be an Australian accent. “I am Oscar, your personal steward, and I’m here to assist with anything you may need during your voyage.”

“Hello, Oscar,” Carlos said, flashing him a cheeky grin. “What if I need a little more enthusiasm?”

“I’m afraid that is not a service provided by the McLarenCruise stewards' crew,” Oscar prattled on, if possible even more monotone than before. “If you are unsure of how to make use of the steward appointed to you, I can print out a list of appropriate requests. It includes things like unpacking and storing your luggage, stocking your suite with toiletries and other amenities, and delivering room service.”

“Relax, Oscar.” Carlos laughed, plopping down on the bed. “I was only joking. Don’t act like I asked you to take off your pants.”

“I can also print out a list of actions that aren’t appropriate,” Oscar said. “It includes sitting on the bed while joking about your steward taking off his pants.”

Carlos’s mouth dropped open to tell him that he would never, in a million years, ask someone like Oscar to take off his pants, because… well—have you seen Carlos? But he realized in time that the inappropriateness of such a reply was probably even worse than the joke had been to begin with, so he said nothing.

Oscar seemed to take this as his dismissal. He nodded, as if he had provided exceptional service, and then left the suite before Carlos could ask him to unpack his luggage.

****

“Hello, Oscar,” Carlos tried again once evening came around. He had ordered a Risotto al Tartufo Bianco over the comm and then spent 20 minutes checking his hair in the mirror to make sure his charm was turned up to eleven.

He wasn’t the type to treat service staff poorly. In fact, he prided himself on being well-liked by all his subordinates—whether at his own firm, in restaurants, or within his household. He could crack a slightly grumpy Australian, no problem.

“Good evening, sir,” Oscar replied as he wheeled the cart into the suite. “Will you be eating at the table by the window?”

“Yes, please,” Carlos said, following behind to watch Oscar set the dishes on the smaller table in the suite. He looked a little out of place, with his bright orange cap, bright orange polo shirt, black shorts, and white tennis socks, serving a $100 dish to a high-end luxury suite.

“The cruise company forces you to wear this outfit, or is it a personal choice?” Carlos asked as he sat down in the chair Oscar had pulled out for him. He made sure Oscar saw his bright grin and knew that he was joking this time.

But Oscar didn’t laugh. Instead, he heaved a slightly disappointed sigh.

“Please, sir. I know this is a famously hard lesson to learn for old white men. But it is never appropriate to comment on the outfits of people in your service. Please reconsider letting me print out that list for you.”

Carlos was reeling.

Had this guy seriously just called him an old white man? He was thirty!

He must have been reeling for a moment too long because, once again, Oscar nodded at him as if he had just been dismissed after doing an amazing job and left without looking back. He hadn’t even poured Carlos a glass of wine.

And Carlos desperately needed it now.

****

“Hello, Oscar,” Carlos said the next morning, upon opening the door to what he first mistook for a wandering corpse. He had not bothered with trying to be charming today, but the even pastier-than-usual color of Oscar’s round, unremarkable face made him soften a little. “Are you seasick?”

“No, just sick of this job,” Oscar mumbled, barely audible. “What could you possibly want at six in the morning?”

Carlos arched his eyebrows high, surprised by the sudden lack of robot-like professional speech.

“You were asleep?”

“What gave it away?” Oscar asked. There were pillow lines etched into his cheeks, highlighting the truly terrible, blotchy stubble vegetating between the acne scars. Carlos didn’t point that out, though, since the question had clearly been rhetorical anyway.

Despite looking like he had just rolled out of bed, Oscar was wearing his trusty orange hat and orange polo.

“Do you just sleep in these clothes?” Carlos blurted, remembering Oscar’s lecture about outfit comments too late.

Predictably, Oscar started, “I get that at your age, memory might begin to fail, but—”

Carlos threw the door in his face.

Fuck it. He could find the early morning spin class by himself.

****

Oscar continued to be the most infuriating, judgmental, and frankly useless service personnel Carlos had ever dealt with. The charm offensive was not working, just like Oscar’s eyes, apparently, because he kept insinuating Carlos was some geriatric creep with a power kink. All week, he made Carlos feel like the biggest asshole who ever lived, hinting again and again at printing out a list of appropriate and inappropriate behavior toward his luxury cruise stewards.

Carlos even started to have nightmares about a monster with an orange for a head and unblinking, dead eyes, accusing him of wanting to fuck it.

And yet. 

And yet, when he was lounging on a sun chair on the deck by the pool one afternoon, sending a request for a hopefully spit-less cocktail to be delivered to him, he felt an odd pang of disappointment when a different, much more chipper-looking orange-capped young man appeared to deliver it to him.

“Where’s Oscar?” he asked.

“Oh, he has the afternoon off,” the guy informed him, somehow managing to directly answer his question without implying Carlos was a sick freak who should be arrested for indecent behavior.

“I see,” Carlos said.

“I’ll be at your beck and call until he’s back, sir,” the chipper guy said cheerfully. After a week of Oscar’s flat stare, this guy’s energy felt borderline manic.

“That’s fine, I won’t be needing you again,” Carlos sighed, waving him away.

Damn. He had come on this trip to wind down from his stressful job, maybe have a little summer fling with a hot twink—not to be haunted by a prickly, orange steward.

Letting his eyes wander over the various people surrounding the pool dressed only in the tiniest swimwear possible, he found himself utterly uninterested in any kind of fling. Until…

Until a soft, high giggle caught his ear from a few deckchairs away, where a group of young men were gathered, towels wrapped around their hips or draped over their shoulders.

Carlos immediately perked up. Now that was the kind of laugh he would like to elicit from someone. Honest and unguarded, as if they weren’t used to it but just couldn’t help their good mood in his presence.

Glancing past the various people obstructing his view, Carlos finally found the source of that special giggle, and felt like the air got punched out of his chest for a second.

Because standing there was a guy who could only be an actual, honest-to-God prince. Light brown hair with almost reddish highlights from the sun, falling over his forehead in the most perfect, gravity-defying curl. Crinkly eyes, pale skin with rosy cheeks and a fine peppering of moles spread across his whole body. He was obviously fit, but not in the kind of anabolically enhanced bodybuilder way. His arms had a nice shape to them, as he stood in a cute little pose, hand on his hips, accentuating a tiny waist. And outlined by a wet pair of black shorts was the most perfectly round, biteable ass Carlos had ever seen.

Now that was a guy Carlos would ask to take his pants off!

He kept observing the guy, waiting for the right moment to make his move, and the instant the prince sank into one of the free deckchairs while his friends wandered off toward the pool or the bar, he seized his chance.

Leaving his untouched cocktail behind, Carlos grabbed his bottle of sunscreen instead, master plan already forming in his head.

The guy was lying on his stomach when Carlos reached him, wet drops of water glittering compellingly on his back, face hidden in the nook of his elbow.

Carlos cleared his throat twice before the pretty guy turned his head, blinking one eye open.

“Sorry,” Carlos said, all casual-like. “I noticed your back is starting to be a little red.” Showing off his bottle of sunscreen, he added, “Do you want some of this?”

The guy just stared at him, until Carlos started to sweat a little.

“I could… ah… I could put it on, if you want?”

Finally, the beautiful man pushed himself up on his elbows, his brows furrowing in mild irritation.

And then.

And then he started to speak.

In a very familiar, incredibly judgmental Australian drawl.

“Top subject on the list of inappropriate interactions with your stewards,” he said. “Has to be approaching them on their afternoon off and offering to rub sunscreen all over their body!”

Carlos dropped his bottle of sunscreen without even noticing.

“Oscar?” he croaked, eyes snapping open so wide, he felt they were in danger of rolling right out of their sockets.

“Yes?” Oscar said, as if it was incredibly obvious that this… this God of a man was the same sickly pale steward who kept pestering Carlos’s every waking and sleeping moment with his thinly-veiled insults and scathing remarks. The same orange little traffic light figure. The same bad-mannered human Cheeto who complained about being woken up too early up to eleven o’clock, despite being tasked with bringing Carlos his breakfast.

Carlos turned around, not bothering to pick up his sunscreen, and launched himself right into the pool.

Because that was the closest he came to throwing himself overboard the ship.

****

He was surprised to actually find Oscar by the door come dinner time, wearing the same orange cap and polo and unimpressed expression as always. Carlos had almost expected to be permanently switched to the borderline-manic guy.

“Hello, Oscar,” Carlos said contritely, and stepped away to let him wheel in his little cart.

“Spaghetti Carbonara—the classic Italian version, per your request,” Oscar narrated, as he put down the dishes on the little table by the window. Carlos noticed the additional plate with a cloche over it, hiding its content, before Oscar even pointed it out.

“There’s a special little something for dessert under there. On the house. Bon appétit!”

And with that, he left, once again without pouring Carlos any wine.

Carlos waited until the door had fallen shut behind him, then lunged for the cloche, lifting it up.

As he had expected, there wasn’t actually any dessert under there.

Instead, it was a piece of paper.

Carlos took it and read through it, groaning louder the further he read.

Once he was done, he balled the piece of paper up and threw it across the room. Then he went over to the comm and dialed the steward’s office.

“Mr. Sainz! How can we help you?” a female voice asked from the other side.

“I have a message to leave for Oscar, please. Do you have something for writing?”

“Sure,” the woman said. “Go on.”

“Please write down: Carlos Sainz, 055-8155…”

****

[collectedreading]

Lando Norris is a famous streamer with a new Darktrace sponsorship and an invitation to a gala hosted at the McLaren Technology Centre. She's not expecting to enjoy herself, and she's definitely not ready for Oscar Piastri, McLaren golden boy, to take a sudden interest—forcing her to confront long-held secrets and examine what's important in her life.

Take It Easy On Me - Part 1: Play Pretend Lando / Oscar, Streamer/F1 Driver AU For the @landoscar-fest - Thank you to the organizers! Tags: Transfemme Lando Norris, Streamer Lando Norris, Lando Norris is a Mess, Gender Dysphoria, Formula 1 Driver Oscar Piastri, Closeted Character, Drunk Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Fear of Discovery, Wingman Lance Stroll

Take It Easy On Me Soundtrack Thank you to @ericaisokay for the lovely banner!

[collectedreading]

okay, stream is off, whats happening with lando and max now?

what are your thoughts

[collectedreading]

oh i need more of this, incredible

if you're still doing trope requests-- carcar/soulmates/meet ugly??

maybe i took "carcar" a little too literally here.

thanks for the request! <3

___

Oscar was on his way home after an exhausting day at work when he felt it.

The unmistakable, magnetic pull.

He knew exactly what it was—had been prepared for it his entire life—but that didn’t stop it from hitting him like a freight train. One second, he was driving normally, and the next, he was swerving in the middle of the road. Fighting against it was harder than he expected, but he was pretty sure he’d managed to stay on his side of the lane divider.

Not that it mattered.

Because whoever was on the other end of this pull had clearly felt it too—and unlike Oscar, they hadn’t reacted fast enough. A second later, a car slammed into his side, metal screeching against metal, the sound sharp enough to make every hair on his body stand on end.

With a sigh, he eased his car to a stop in the middle of the road, completely ignoring the chorus of honking that erupted behind him. They could go around. It wasn’t like this was some catastrophic crash—thank rush hour traffic for that.

When the road was clear, he slipped out of his car, drawn forward by the pull like a compass needle locked onto its destination—until he came face to face with the inevitable result of this fated encounter. And while accidents like this weren’t exactly uncommon, thanks to magnetic soulmate bonds, it was just Oscar’s luck that the car he had crashed with was a stunning, bright red Ferrari F40.

And clambering out of it was a gorgeous, well-dressed man with thick, shampoo-commercial hair, who didn’t spare a single glance at Oscar—the person he must have felt the same magnetic pull toward. Instead, he was tearing at his perfect hair, muttering, “No, no, no, no, no!” over and over.

Then, as if suddenly remembering Oscar existed, he spun around, wide eyes locking onto him in pure devastation, and wailed, “Why?”

“Um…” Oscar started, but apparently, his soulmate wasn’t done yet.

“Why of all days, today? Mate, I usually drive a Golf! You could not choose any other day to crash into me? I borrowed this car! Lando is going to kill me!”

“Technically, you crashed into me,” Oscar pointed out. With a queasy feeling, he noticed a crowd gathering around them, phones out and pointed—mostly at the Ferrari, but some were definitely filming this disaster of a first meeting as well.

His soulmate let out a sort of garbled, incredulous laugh, running a hand down his face.

“Please! I drive cars for at least ten years longer than you!” the terribly gorgeous man said, gesturing at Oscar’s entire being. “How long do you have your license? Are you even old enough to drive yet? No way this is my fault!”

Accompanying the magnetic pull was now another feeling Oscar was not very familiar with: hot, seething rage.

“Mate! Are you blind or what?” he asked. “Look at the lane marking. You’re clearly over the line!”

“I hope you have good insurance!” the infuriating man continued, not even glancing at the road. “Do you have any idea how expensive this car is?”

Oscar was speechless for a moment.

This asshole could not possibly be his actual soulmate, right? He was still feeling the pull, though, so someone around here had to be. Subtly, he glanced past the dramatically wailing man, scanning the gathered crowd. Maybe it was someone behind him?

“So what is it—car insurance or soulmate insurance?”

Oscar tuned back into the conversation.

“I have both,” he said, shrugging.

“Good, at least you are not a complete idiot!” the guy huffed. He had moved on from tearing at his hair to gnawing at his nails.

The rage in the pit of Oscar’s stomach burned even hotter. He glanced at the Ferrari.

Maybe it was the car.

Maybe Oscar was an objectophile or whatever it was called, and he was soulmates with the car! It would make sense. He had always been a car guy, and this one was without a doubt a very sexy car.

Please, God, let it be the car.

“Ah!” His not-soulmate suddenly perked up as blue lights flashed behind them. A police car had pulled up, its sirens flicking off as it stopped at the scene. Someone in the crowd must have called them.

Two officers stepped out, slowly circling the Ferrari with expressions like they’d just stumbled onto a particularly bloody murder scene.

“Well, fuck,” one of them muttered when they reached not-soulmate’s side. “Damn shame, that.”

“Yes. Rookies on the road,” Oscar’s soul-enemy sighed while both policemen shook their heads as if they were gathered before an open grave.

Yep. That was it.

Oscar was going to sue fate herself.

*****

[collectedreading]

[collectedreading]

[collectedreading]

[collectedreading]

This was a treat!

how is girl lando doing what was her australian christmas like

you know what anon, i think she had a pretty nice time...

i'll be there if you're the toast of the town

“We should’ve flown private,” Oscar says grumpily, as he picks up Lando’s tote from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. “Least the first part. We could’ve...”

“Remember when you hated me hiring a plane?” Lando says with a smile, rubbing her lip balm over her bottom lip. There’s still a ridge from where she bit into it over the last few races of the season, a deep bleeding groove he’d kissed in the garage at Abu Dhabi, their champagne doused clothes sticking to their skin. “Now you want to take one to Australia.”

girl!Lando/Oscar | part of girls just wanna f1 | explicit | rule 63 | 7k

here on ao3

(i have been SEVERELY blocked for writing for nearly a whole month now, so decided to just have a bit of fun writing my fave 'verse and wow... i forgot how easy and great that is!!!! so thank you anon for leading me down the right path ���)

[collectedreading]

not to be all up in ur asks but 25. demon summoning from those fic prompts... with pairing of your choice... i feel like u being a horror connoisseur would go crazy on this one...

ask and you shall receive!! but also,, i did write a spookier thing that got too scary and not sexy enough so,, i made a fluffier one instead!!

play pretend lando norris/oscar piastri | 1.6k words | rated T

There was a guy in his room. A little taller than him, much broader around the shoulders, pale skin, a head of swoopy brown hair. Kind eyes, nice smile. Approachable. Someone warm and easy to talk to, probably. Someone who looks eerily similar to Oscar.

[collectedreading]

Put That Guy in a SituationTM - look something about Landoscar in a 20/32 type situation has me hooked….trying to not let others on to their predicament, maybe it’s a bit embarrassing how it happened 🤔

hi anon!!! thank you for the prompt! i went a smidge away from my usual cutesy fluff for this one - your suggestion of embarrassment really sparked something in my brain, even if i took it in a slightly different direction. i hope you enjoy!!!

(prompt list here)

“Look, we just gotta act natural,” Lando says.

Or, well, Lando-as-Oscar says, because it sounds like Oscar’s voice and it’s Oscar’s mouth that’s moving, but it’s Lando that’s actually saying the words and–

Lando-in-Oscar’s-body huffs. “You’re having a crisis again aren’t you?”

“You know it’s weirder of you to be 100% ok with this.”

“It’s a body swap curse, mate, it’s not rocket science.”

Oscar runs a hand through his hair and cringes at the uncanny feeling of there being someone else’s hair on top of his head. “I understand the concept, Lando, what I’m struggling with is everything else related to it like, I don't know, how the fuck this happened."

“I don’t know. Do you reckon we need to have sex to break the curse?”

“What?” Oscar squawks, “Why would we need to have sex to break the curse?”

Lando flushes. “I dunno. Just felt like the right solution.”

“Based on what?”

Lando mumbles something about seeing it online once and Oscar chooses to ask no more follow-up questions lest Lando tells him he learnt about it from some random porn he watched once. He heaves a sigh.

“Listen, like you said, we should just act normal. This whole thing is,” Oscar pauses to search for the right word, “Strange. And I’d really rather not bring anyone else into it to begin with.”

“Agreed,” Lando says before adding, “Hey, if we’re still like this for the race tomorrow and I win but in your body, does that mean you get the points?” Oscar glares at him and Lando pouts. “It’s a genuine question!” he whines.

Oscar’s about to point out they have bigger things to focus on than the effects of this on a race when Jon sticks his head into the room.

“Debrief in five, guys.”

“Sounds good, mate,” Lando says, in an accent no human being has ever used before.

Jon blinks at him. He turns to look at Oscar. Or, rather, he turns to look at Oscar who he thinks is Lando. Oscar smiles weakly.

“He’s, uh, trying to do an impression of me doing an Australian impression," Oscar lies, hoping it sounds vaguely believable.

“Oi!” Lando says, “My Australian accent’s mint.”

“Yes, Oscar,” Oscar says pointedly, “Your Australian accent would be mint because you are from Australia.”

Lando's eyes light up in realisation and he starts nodding furiously. “Right, yep, what he said, exactly.”

Jon blinks at both of them this time. He sighs.

“If you two are doing roleplay, I don’t want to hear about it.” Lando and Oscar both start spluttering, but Jon keeps on talking over both of them. “Just be on time for debrief.”

With Jon gone, Oscar breathes a sigh of relief. Or he starts to, until Lando pipes up.

“I still reckon us having sex will fix it.”

Oscar reminds himself that if he kills Lando right now, he’s possibly going to do irreparable damage to his own body.

The thought’s still tempting.

“Is there a particular reason you’re so desperate to have sex with yourself?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

Lando clearly wasn't expecting that question because he freezes. Oscar’s always hated how easily he flushes but right now, watching it brutally incriminate Lando, he can’t help but be grateful for it.

“I’m not fucking desperate to have sex with myself.” He doesn't sound like he's lying, but the blush on his face suggests he's not telling the whole truth.

Maybe…

His eyebrows raise. “So you’re only desperate to have sex with me then?”

Lando looks up at Oscar, eyes wide. He swallows.

Got you, Oscar thinks to himself.