#choscar fanfic

[wanderingblindly]

hi hi hi, kiss prompt 29 anon here!! i totally understand, i was just going with the "safest" option. i am a lover of rarepairs my self so choscar, maxcar, maxlewis, are some examples i am currently obsessed with. but write with any pairs youd like or think fit the prompt best, im just here to enjoy your thoughts on them!! thanks in advance

thank you for sending a second prompt!!!! And thank you extra for understanding my previous response <33333333 have some Chocsar, set loosely before Monza! It's my first attempt, and I'd like to workshop it more but i fear doing so would... result in my never posting ever so. tadah! Prompts!

Hunting, Hunted

F1 is, all things considered, not that different from F2 – at least not to Oscar. There's the learning curve, there's the growing pains that keep him up at night, and there's the spotlight; it's not all the dissimilar from the F3 transition to F2, really.

But there's one thing that he hadn't anticipated.

It's a lot more… He shifts in his seat as he thinks about it, not paying nearly as much attention to the driver's briefing as he should. Charles looks over at him, sat between Max and Pierre, and his eyes are like pins in the wings of a butterfly – sharp, painfully sharp and oh so focused.

As fast as he looks at him, he looks away.

Oscar swallows.

It's a lot more like foreplay, like some really fucked up foreplay where everyone wants to claw out your eyes before they shove you down.

Frankly, Oscar's not sure if he's handling it well; he's certainly not handling Charles Leclerc and the way he can wrap anyone around his finger with a one dimpled smile. Lando's give him looks before, the silent one where Oscar's positive he's calling him an idiot, because he's caught him staring at Charles in the paddock – Charles laughing through interviews, Charles jogging after Carlos with his racesuit tied low around his hips.

But it's not the looks. Beautiful men, like many things about F1, aren't that new from F2.

It's Charles, and everything about him, specifically.

It started in Belgium, lap thirty-six.

Oscar managed to beat him on the outside line, managed to show him that he was that much more confident, that he was that much better. And it felt good, it felt fucking electric; Oscar nearly let himself smile in the car, and maybe he would have if he'd spared a look back – but he hadn't.

Somehow, that made it so much sweeter.

Charles had given him a look cold enough to freeze hell later that day, and Oscar had taken it in stride – literally. He kept walking by, not giving him the pleasure of even a raised brow. But that was normal, at the time, or at least Oscar wasn't alarmed by it. Competition is competition, and tensions run high. They did in F2, they do in F1, whatever.

But by Zandvoort, Oscar realized he was wrong.

Charles had sought him out after the race, still dripping champagne and rubbing at his eyes – trying to will away the blinding sting. In the fading daylight, he still looked shockingly alive, as if he drained himself in the weeks away from the podium like a sacrifice. Before Oscar could mumble out a disingenuous genuine congratulations, Charles beat him to it.

"No smart move from you today?" He smiled, all teeth and no sweetness.

It punched Oscar in the nose. As the crush of post-race circus swarmed around them, Charles drove a knife right into his smarting cuts. He twisted it.

"I was hoping for a better fight. From you, I mean." He continued, and all Oscar could do was stare, mind gone entirely blank. With a wink, one of his better attempts, Charles clapped Oscar on the shoulder and started to walk on – pressing him down like a disobedient dog. "Try harder for me next time, yes?"

Belatedly, at a speed entirely unacceptable for a racing driver, Oscar put the pieces together. Charles wanted to do more than beat him, dominate him. He wanted to consume him after breaking him down into miniscule pieces, but he wanted a fight; it makes his stomach twist, makes somewhere lower than his stomach ache.

Rolling his shoulders, mentally brushing off the feeling of Charles's hand on his fireproofs, Oscar moved on like nothing happened.

And now Charles is looking at him again.

Pierre turns and looks too, losing interest immediately and whispering something in Charles's ear. Charles swats at him blindly, still holding Oscar's gaze – almost as if to prove that he can. He needs to prove that he won't look away first, maybe. Or that, more importantly, Oscar will.

He doesn't.

Neither looks away as the briefing ends, pulled together by some invisible string amidst the casual chaos of the drivers dispersing. They stand nearly chest to chest; Charles smiles like he wants to lean forward and bit Oscar's nose off, spit it down at his feet.

They wait, peripherally aware of the room growing empty, the air becoming still. The wait until it's just them, just the sound of Charles's voice.

"This circuit is mine." Charles says, faux-casually. It's loaded with meaning, loaded with an unspoken 'so try and take it from me'.

Oscar raises a brow. "Thought it was Ferrari's."

"Is it not the same thing?" He leans closer, taunting.

"Guess so," Oscar agrees, voice not betraying his heart rate. "Beaten both before, anyways."

Charles laughs a little, haughty and toying – like a cat watching a mouse try and work out some clever escape. Their faces are too close together for Oscar not to feel it, for it not to leave a trail of blushed Ferrari red on his cheeks.

Charles still hasn't looked away. Neither has he.

"Make it a good fight, I want to earn it." Charles finally says, voice ringing in Oscar's ears.

"You think I'll just roll over for you?"

"I would never," His voice drops low, head tilting slightly to the left – lips parted like he wants something from him. "Because I want to rip it from you, the podium. So promise," Charles's breath is hot on Oscar's lips. So close. Their eyes stay open. "Promise to try and get me."

Oscar moves first, leans forward to steal Charles's lips in some sort of psycho-sexual moment of delirium. He takes Charles's breath, he takes Charles's hands in his hair, he takes every bit of Charles that he can get under his nails and teeth and tongue, as some sort of agreement – some sort of 'I promise'.

[nyoomfruits]

ellie nyoomfruits writing choscar 👀👀👀

HEHEHEHE

“Oscar!” Charles exclaims, when Oscar wanders through the door the next morning, impressive levels of zombie state. He startles when Charles says his name, like he forgot he was actually out and about for a moment.

“Morning,” Oscar mumbles, a rosy blush on his cheeks. It must be getting cold out, the last wisps of summer finally officially melting into autumn. “Can I just get a blueberry muffin this time?”

“And your drink?” Charles says, leaning on the counter, fluttering his lashes in the way he’s seen Lando successfully do before, whenever he needed Carlos to do shit for him.

“Uh,” Oscar says. “Oh, uh…” He pauses. “Are you okay? Do you have something in your eye?”

“What?” Charles asks, stops fluttering.

“No, just, you were like. All twitchy?” Oscar’s flush has returned, coloring his cheeks and creeping down to his neck.

“No, I’m,” Charles sighs. “I’m okay. But, your drink? We have an absolutely delicious Apple Pie Frappuccino on the board today.” He throws in a wink for good measure.

“Are you sure your eye is okay?” Oscar asks.

Charles suppresses the urge to thunk his head down onto the counter. This is not going how he envisioned it. “My eye is fine,” he grits out. “Drink?”

“Oh,” Oscar says. “Small Americano?”

Goddamnit.

[jusst-you-race]

Perhaps 56. “It brings out your eyes.” for a rare pairing of your choice?

my lovely Liquid thank you for this prompt and thank you for then immediately giving me Choscar office au brainworms for it <3 i hope you enjoy this!!!! prompt list

“It brings out your eyes.”

Oscar sighs, reading the text on his phone for the hundredth time this morning.

Enjoy your first day ;)

Fucking Arthur. Oscar will always regret confessing to his best friend that he’d had a decade long crush on his older brother, but today in particular he is really feeling that burn of resentment. He can’t even feel good about it either, because as much as working under his best friend’s hot older brother is going to suck, it’s a really good job that Oscar simply never would have gotten without the connection. He sighs again.

He’d been silently praying in the lead up to this week that this was one of those workplaces where he didn’t really have much face to face time with his boss. But now, after having just finished his orientation, he’s come to the devastating realisation that this is the kind of workplace where he will be seeing a lot of his boss. Thank god he’s had so many years to practise his poker face. 

He fiddles with the one personal item he’s set up on his desk. It’s a photo of him, Logan, and Arthur, arms slung around each other and all in different states of uncontrollable laughter. It sits lopsided in a second hand frame that Oscar had picked up for cheap, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. He tries not to think too hard about who had taken the photo.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat and his head snaps up. Oscar quickly suppresses the groan that threatens to fall from his lips when he sees who it is.

Charles is smiling down at him, pretty green eyes somehow twinkling in the ugly fluorescent lights of the office. He’s dressed impeccably in slacks and a button up shirt; undone enough to be borderline indecent in a professional setting but Oscar’s sure no one would ever complain. He’s leaning on the divider next to Oscar’s desk, an effortless poise to him that to this day Oscar can’t help be mesmerised by. 

“Hello, Oscar.” It comes out like a purr in his accent and Oscar swallows. Hard. 

“Hi, Charles.” Oscar tugs self consciously at the boring sweater he’d thrown over his button up to hide the creases he couldn’t seem to iron out this morning. Charles’ eyes track the movement. 

“Are you settling in okay?” And that’s just the worst of it isn’t it. Oscar thinks he’d be so much better equipped to handle this ridiculous infatuation of Charles wasn’t so… kind. 

He nods.

“Yeah, everyone seems really nice. I’m excited to get started.” It sounds like the sort of generic thing anyone would say to their new boss, but Oscar genuinely means it. Charles smiles like he knows this. 

“Good. I’m very glad to have you on board.” Charles is purring again and Oscar feels like he might be starting to sweat under his gaze. 

He tugs at his jumper again. Charles watches. 

“Cute jumper, Oscar.” The corner Charles’ mouth curls up into a smirk that’s on the edge of teasing. Oscar rolls his eyes.

“You don’t have to lie, Charles,” he mutters.

Charles laughs, a musical, tinkling sound that has Oscar curling his toes in his shoes. 

“No, no.” Charles waves his hand. “I do mean it.” His smile slides into something more genuine. “It brings out your eyes.” 

And there it is. The real reason Oscar suffers so much because of this stupid crush. Charles is a flirt. 

His cheeks warm– there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Something glints in Charles’ eye and Oscar thinks he might pass out from the humiliation of it all. 

“Thanks, Charles,” he manages to get out. He ducks his head and sinks down into his chair, hoping to become one with it. Thankfully, perceptive, kind Charles decides to give him a break. 

“I’ll let you settle in.” And then he squeezes Oscar’s shoulder (Oscar feels like he might actually die) and swans off towards his office. 

Head in his hands, Oscar comes to the conclusion that this might be the worst job of his life. On his desk his phone buzzes.

Has Charles been annoying yet?

Little does Arthur know.

[scythewrites]

new fic!!! choscar post baku hurt/comfort (_:

[kimis-gloves]

here is a brief list of what to recommend or what to expect from my writing:) please be aware im fairly new to writing fanfic and may not be the best at the start.

i will be trying to keep my fics relatively short, mostly writing one-shots or short multi-part stories if requested

original post here - my ao3

who i will write about:

- Lando Norris

- Oscar Piastri

• LandOscar

• ChOscar

- Charles Leclerc

• Lestappen

- Max Verstappen

- Daniel Ricciardo

• Maxiel

• Kimi Raikkonen

& any other drivers that might make sense for plot reasons.

(i will basically write anything for landoscar, maxiel & lestappen as they are my main ships)

i am open to writing:

- angst

- fluff

- smut (pg-13 & 18+)

- a/b/o

- driver x driver

- driver x y/n / reader

- poly relationships (dxdxd or dxdxreader)

- alternate universes

- literally anything else

MES A VERY FREAKY GAL so please do not hold back in your suggestions >:)

specific things that i will not write about

- suicide

- rape

- eating disorders

- violence

- anything including animals or minors

- smau / social media alt. universe (i really dislike these please don’t recommend 😭‼️)

[wanderingblindly]

as i've gotten three different choscar kiss prompts (are yall. ok?), and idk when I'll get to them, i figured i could split the difference by sharing some of my choscar wip. is that a fair exchange? choscar anons pls love me premise is: charles as the "childhood best friend's older brother". oscar as the long-term down-bad idiot. charles is now -- surprise! -- oscar's boss at his new job.

Mr. To You

Is he allowed to use his phone? How often is too often to get up and wander towards the café? Is it weird to explore the floor a bit? Maybe introduce himself to his new coworkers?

He looks over at Max – sat in a different row, the middle desk – and notes the distinct lack of cell on his desk. That probably settles at least one question, doesn't it? Movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention; he shifts to take a not-so-subtle look, face freezing between two expressions: shock and abject terror.

Walking down their half of the hallway, waving good morning to a man that Oscar can't see, is a ghost from Oscar's past.

Or rather, a ghost from his entire childhood, teenagehood, and adolescence.

His shoes, light brown Italian leather, perfectly elegant and perfectly on trend, tap against the short-pile carpet as he draws closer – flashing another smile towards Max, whose shoulders visibly tense from behind.

Oscar feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, red-hot heat rushing under his skin like he's been doused in boiling water. Time seems to move in slow motion as he takes another step closer, as his hand – adorned with an oversized watch that should look horrendously gaudy, but rather highlights the span of his palm – moves to undo the button of his navy blazer.

And his chin turns, pink lips parted to flash yet another smile.

At him.

Charles Leclerc, the object of his hormone-fueled fixations since before he even had hormones to blame, looks at him – brilliant green eyes catching his with ease, dimple starting to show as he mouths 'good mor–'

Before he can finish, Oscar bolts; he scrambles to his feet and dashes towards the glass door a few steps behind him.

He's moving before he even realizes it, storming out onto the small balcony and stumbling over the wrought-iron seating set. He nearly falls flat on his face, which – at this point – may have been a mercy. Maybe if he punches in his nose and knocks out his teeth, Charles Leclerc won't even remember who he is – maybe he'll get to go home and quit over the phone, and no one would ever need to know.

The beating sun feels like ice compared to the blood pressing up against his skin, painting him a frantic, alarming shade of pink.

Not even taking a moment to calm his racing heart, Oscar pulls out his phone.

Oscar Piastri

What the fuck did you do

Arthur

yes yes good morning

im good! how are you???

Oscar Piastri

ARTHUR

Arthur

so polite, i am always saying this

why is it always me thats doing something??????

what the fuck did YOU do?? huh???