tiredeg

[tiredeg]

f1 + txt posts = true 17.0

[tiredeg]

Winter Warmers ☃️

Winter Warmers is taking place in December and there will be daily prompts for you to write, draw, or create.

There are two different prompt lists for Winter Warmers - a spicy list ❤️‍🔥, and then a fluffy list🧣from @leatherandcherryblossoms! You can stick to one list, mix and match your daily prompts, or if you're feeling adventurous try and incorporate both prompts into one creation. It is totally up to you!

Tag #winterwarmers2024 so we can see your work!

Day 1: ❤️‍🔥 Lingerie | 🧣 Coffee on a Cold Morning

Day 2: ❤️‍🔥 Coming Untouched | 🧣 Evening Fire

Day 3: ❤️‍🔥 Dildo | 🧣 Holding Hands

Day 4: ❤️‍🔥 Frottage | 🧣 Cuddling For Warmth

Day 5: ❤️‍🔥 Praise | 🧣 Tree Lighting/Fireworks

Day 6: ❤️‍🔥 Threesome | 🧣 Playing in The Snow

Day 7: ❤️‍🔥 Omegaverse | 🧣 Blanket Fort

Day 8: ❤️‍🔥 Humiliation | 🧣 Holiday Decorating/Baking

Day 9: ❤️‍🔥 Big Cock | 🧣 Work Holiday Party

Day 10: ❤️‍🔥 Sweat | 🧣 Holiday Travel

Day 11: ❤️‍🔥 Virginity | 🧣 Ugly Sweaters

Day 12: ❤️‍🔥 Daddy/Mommy | 🧣 Mistletoe Kisses

Day 13: ❤️‍🔥 Free Use | 🧣 Cold Hands/Feet

Day 14: ❤️‍🔥 Pillow Humping | 🧣 Holiday Shopping

Day 15: ❤️‍🔥 Roleplay | 🧣 Ice Skating

Day 16: ❤️‍🔥 Omorashi | 🧣 Secret Santa

Day 17: ❤️‍🔥 Public Sex | 🧣 Hot Cocoa

Day 18: ❤️‍🔥 Orgasm Denial | 🧣 Christmas Market

Day 19: ❤️‍🔥 Bondage | 🧣 Holiday Magic

Day 20: ❤️‍🔥 Thigh Riding | 🧣 Matching Pyjamas

Day 21: ❤️‍🔥 Squirting | 🧣 Winter Storm

Day 22: ❤️‍🔥 Gang Bang | 🧣 Presents

Day 23: ❤️‍🔥 Small Cock | 🧣 Singles Holiday Party

Day 24: ❤️‍🔥 Crying | 🧣 New Traditions

Day 25: ❤️‍🔥 Glory Hole | 🧣 Holiday Alone Time

Day 26: ❤️‍🔥 Cock Warming | 🧣 Snowed In

Day 27: ❤️‍🔥 Edging | 🧣 Wrapped Up Warm Walk

Day 28: ❤️‍🔥 Lactation | 🧣 Cozy Hobbies

Day 29: ❤️‍🔥 Somnophilia | 🧣 Seeing Family

Day 30: ❤️‍🔥 Spanking | 🧣 Lights

Day 31: ❤️‍🔥 Overstimulation | 🧣 NYE Countdown

[tiredeg]

Charles Leclerc at the Casino de Montecarlo, 11.11.24

via monaco_luxurystyle

[tiredeg]

mutuals can always dm me but be warned i talk like your coworker who is trying too hard to get to know you and my response times are akin to the response times you might get if we were communicating by letter

[tiredeg]

hellooo! how about alex albon for the request thing? please and thank you ✨️🙏🏼

of course 🙂‍↕️ with your favourite horsey

[tiredeg]

Carcar 44, 57 whichever inspire you!

just under 1k of 57. accidental hand holding under the cut!

Oscar likes to think he knows himself pretty well at this point in his life. He knows the things he’s good at (driving, maths, sleeping through his alarms) and the things he has to work at (expressing his feelings, most sports that involve some level of hand-eye coordination). Oscar is well aware that he is both a professional athlete and a bit of a klutz. He knows he trips over his own feet on an embarrassingly regular basis, and it still manages to catch him off guard every time he goes and does it.

He should really start to expect it, particularly once he’s gone more than a few days without stumbling over something or into someone. It would be just Oscar’s luck for it to happen in front of several cameras, thousands of fans, and all nineteen other drivers on the grid. His reputation for being cool and calm will go flying out the window any day now.

It’s been raining on and off all morning, a light, misty kind of rain that clings in his eyelashes and leaves everything just damp enough to be annoying. The clouds have parted by the time the driver’s parade rolls around, and the forecast for the race that afternoon is for brilliant sunshine. A lovely afternoon, by all accounts, until the moment Oscar trots up the steps onto the truck for the parade and his foot slides right out from under him. 

“Whoa – shit,” Oscar yelps, arms windmilling as he struggles to regain his balance. 

Warm hands grab onto his own and hold him steady. Oscar looks up from under the brim of his hat into Carlos Sainz’s wide-eyed face. “Watch where you are going,” Carlos says, holding his hands until Oscar has both feet safely on the platform. 

“I was. I am,” Oscar says. Carlos tuts, dropping one of Oscar’s hands. Oscar’s left hand is very much still being held, warm and secure in Carlos’s grasp. Oscar should pull away, but if Carlos resists, Oscar might just go stumbling into Yuki behind him. It could be slippery on the platform, or maybe there’s something on Oscar’s shoe that’s causing him to trip. It makes sense to keep his hand in Carlos’s. 

Honestly, it’s kind of nice. More than kind of, really. It’s quite nice, Carlos’s hand warm and strong wrapped around his own. Oscar curls his fingers around Carlos’s and lets Carlos tow him along the truck to the empty space beside Charles and Pierre.

Carlos drops Oscar’s hand and leans back against the railing. Oscar stuffs his hands in his pockets and tries to keep his face blank, nodding hello to Charles and Pierre. It would be stupid to pout when Carlos had just been helping him out. He clearly didn’t mean anything by it. 

The truck lurches into motion and Oscar jerks back, still unsteady on his feet. Maybe there really is something on his shoe, like a banana peel or a set of skates. 

Carlos reaches out again, catching Oscar by the arm this time. Carlos slides his hand easily around Oscar’s shoulders and pulls him in, their shoulders bumping together. Oscar can feel every point of contact, all down their sides. He wants to leap away at the indignity of it. He also wants to wrap both arms around Carlos’s solid tree trunk of a body and cling like a koala. 

“Is this how you’re going to drive today, too?” Carlos teases, his grip tightening around Oscar’s neck so he can veer his hand back and forth in front of Oscar’s eyes. “No grip, all over the track?”

“No,” Oscar says, swatting at Carlos’s fingers. Carlos drops his hand, his wrist dangling over Oscar’s shoulder. “It must be from the rain. Everything’s slick.”

Carlos hums, glancing at the track behind them. The pavement’s nearly completely dry. “Looks alright to me.” He raises his hand to wave at the fans gathered in the grass beyond the fencing. His elbow is braced against Oscar’s shoulderblade, the barest support for Oscar to lean back against. 

“Whatever,” Oscar mutters. On Carlos’s other side, Charles and Pierre have slipped into French, ignoring them entirely. Lando is up at the front, not so subtly waiting for Max to be done with his interview. Oscar’s truly stuck with Carlos now. “Guess I know who to look for when I need someone to break my fall.”

Carlos looks at him, his expression puzzled. “You are saying you are going to crash into me on purpose?”

Oscar frowns. “What? No, that’s not…” Carlos’s arm is still around his shoulders. Oscar realizes with an unflinching certainty that this is going to be all over Twitter. More than likely it already is, the damage already done. He can’t really make it any worse if he stays where he is, tucked against Carlos’s solid warmth. Oscar sighs. “How long d’you think it’s going to take Max to get past George?”

Carlos gives him a sly look, and launches into several detailed hypothetical race start scenarios. His keeps his arm around Oscar’s shoulders as they loop around the track, all the way until the truck comes to a stop in the pit lane. Once the truck stops moving, Carlos slips free and bounds down the steps ahead of him. Once he’s on the ground, Carlos turns back around and offers Oscar his open hand. 

Oscar stares.

“Watch your step, Oscar,” Carlos says teasingly. “I’ve heard it’s slippery.”

Oscar rolls his eyes and slaps his palm hard against Carlos’s, letting Carlos support his weight as he descends the last few steps. “My hero,” Oscar says drily, thankful his bland tone hides the hitch in his breath at the feeling of his hand against Carlos’s once again.

Carlos beams at him – and then offers his hand to Charles, coming down the steps right behind him. Charles takes Carlos’s hand with a giggle. 

Oscar really should’ve seen that one coming.

[tiredeg]

WE ARE SO BACK

[tiredeg]

fic rec uno

rules: rec a fic with something in common with the one before. it can be broad (e.g. ship, fandom), narrow (e.g. setting, trope), or niche (e.g. van camping, hot tub scene)

This is suchhhhh a fun idea I love it!

I was tagged by @rockyteriyaki who put forward (the excellent!) desire, divine, drenched by @bighoneyenergy, a fic that includes squirting, just like:

sliding in the wet by Anonymous (3k, Carlos/Lando, Explicit)

Good, Lando thinks. Carlos’s body is so good for this, for taking instructions mindlessly, perfectly. Even when Carlos can feel the empty bulge at the front of Lando's boxer-briefs where his dick should be. Even when Carlos realizes Lando got swapped, he still lets Lando do this. “Shh, just don’t, I’m—” Lando rolls back onto his ass and slides his boxer-briefs down and off. “Stay there. If you move your hands, you lose,” he says, firm like he only can be when they do this.

This has a sex swap, squirting, light dom/sub, anxiety, Carlando, so I'm going to tag @newbromantics, @pidgeooooon, and @foggieststars if you want to, to recommend a fic with a connection to this one ☺️☺️

[tiredeg]

body swap, for carcar or even landoscarcar?

He wakes up, disoriented. It’s not even light out yet, why the fuck is he awake? His throat’s a little sore, his hips are a little sore. Jeez. Didn’t even bother to put some pants on last night, and did he chafe his ass on like, the sheets or something? Wow. He’s sore all over. A settled, pleasant kind though, a muscle ache too deep for him to reach. Maybe he can skip the gym today, hop on a stream, relax. Grab Carlos for a round of golf before he leaves, if he’s not too busy mapping Monaco on his bike.

He turns to his left. Claps a hand over his mouth, shrieks into it.

Like, he’s groggy. He doesn’t have the remnants of a disaster headache, so he’s not hungover. But it’s early, and he never wakes up early. Must be why he’s hallucinating.

When he can bring himself to look again, Carlos is still there. Close enough that Lando can hear the air whistling softly through his teeth.

Lando shifts uselessly, stares. That’s Carlos, alright. He’s always been a loud sleeper. Back in their McLaren days, when they’d shared hotel rooms, Lando had taken voice recordings to prove to an adamant Carlos that he snored. The memory makes his lips twitch. It’s nice Carlos looks well-rested. Better than he has in awhile. A pretty trophy will do that for you. If he wants, Lando can choose to waste precious time counting Carlos’s lashes while he figures out what to do. He’ll lose count at probably a hundred.

That’s Carlos, alright.

What were they doing last night? Surely Lando would’ve remembered. The party was loud, raucous, the Prince of Monaco victorious here at last. All podium finishers present, fourth place included. Drinking, laughing, cozying up to one another. Carlos and Oscar smiling tentatively at each other after sharing just one couch, animosity seemingly forgotten. The prickly itch crawling under Lando’s skin, until Charles finally manages to bag him a set. The music, beats pounding a tattoo into his brain. He remembers all of that.

Surely he would’ve remembered taking Carlos’s clothes off. He’s wanted to for—

Lando slaps both hands onto his cheeks, hard enough to sting. He needs to take a leak.

He squeaks out of the bed, as quietly as he can. Trips over a pair of jeans that look vaguely familiar, rams his toe into the wheel of a suitcase that definitely wasn’t there last night. Finds the bathroom, closes the door with a silent snick.

Fumbles around like a dunce for the light switch, right there where all light switches usually are.

Flicks it on. Shrieks for real this time, without his hands to cover the noise.

It’s a good thing Carlos has always slept like the dead. To be absolutely fucking certain, Lando peeks his head out.

Yep, still asleep. That’s Carlos, alright.

Deep, deep breaths. As deep as he can go without passing out. He returns to the mirror. Feels for his face like it’s a foreign object.

Which it is. Because that’s Oscar Piastri, looking right back at him.

--

He means to start off with something useful. Something like, Hey, do you remember what drugs we were on last night? E? Salvia? Because mate, these are the strangest withdrawal symptoms I’ve ever experienced. Or even something funny, like Haha, now I know what you look like naked. The fans are going to have a field day.

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “Why are you sleeping with Carlos?”

“Good morning to you too,” Oscar says, after the longest pause on planet fucking earth.

He didn’t mean for that to sound as sulky as he did. But he’s sore all over, and his lips, which are not his, but Oscar’s, feel extremely kissed, and he definitely does not expect that to make something in his chest twist tighter than a coiled spring.

“Aren’t you going to answer?”

“What did we drink last night?” Oscar says, unsurprisingly choosing to be the level-headed one in this conversation.

“Something bright green, something ocean blue. Dunno. Lost track during the set.”

“Lando,” Oscar says patiently, in Lando’s voice. Which is just all kinds of weird. “Something green, something blue, doesn’t sound all that normal.”

“I knew that DJ couldn’t be trusted.”

The world-weary sigh Lando receives makes his skin prickle with heat. Things have been happening. The car’s gotten faster. Everyone’s been talking about a chance he could pull out of thin air. It’s not his fault he wasn’t paying attention. At the club, or to every encounter Carlos and Oscar had prior to this that has led them here.

“Look, I’m gonna—where are you?”

“In Carlos’s room,” Lando says, rudely, unhelpfully.

“Right. I’ll. I’ll be there in. We’re staying just, two blocks away, right? I’ll be there in ten. Could you. Could you please, just—”

Lando expects him to say something totally condescending. Please just don’t freak out. Please just don’t do anything until I get there, because I’m being responsible and you’re being a baby.

“Just, go back?”

“What?”

“Be next to him, when he wakes up?”

Lando swallows. The acid from yesterday must be making his stomach churn. Oscar—in Lando’s fucking voice, sounds smaller and more hopeful than Lando ever wants to hear himself sound.

“I don’t want him to think.” Oscar stops. Lando can practically see him scrubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t want him to think I left, or anything like that. Could you—”

Lando hangs up.

The earnestness. The, the audacity.

The phone rings again, and Lando hangs up again, out of pure spite. He paces wildly, in front of the mirror. Each time he turns on his heel he imagines his body morphing back into what’s right. Each turn smacks him with the image that Oscar’s pale skin turns splotchy red when he’s angry.

What. A useful thing. To know.

It’s been half an hour since he’s woken up. Which means, oh fuck. Fuck. Carlos’s body clock has always been impeccable. Eight, on the dot, he springs out of bed like it’s a wonderful thing being alive at that hour, and then goes and makes coffee without fail. Which means in three, two minutes, Carlos will open his eyes. And, and he’ll be alone in bed.

He’ll be alone. That’ll make Lando feel better, right? Carlos will be alone, and then Oscar will no longer be a problem, and then the itch under his skin will disappear, for good.

Carlos will be alone.

He flicks off the light, slips out of the bathroom. Bangs his toe again on that damned suitcase. Slides under the covers, adjusts himself into a position he hopes might be believable. Head on one hand, face tilted toward Carlos. Body leaning, reaching. Always reaching. Eyes half-closed.

But open enough so that he can see the exact moment Carlos wakes. See that small, relieved smile. See the way Carlos clicks his jaw askew, the way he always does before making a decision. Then feel Carlos run the backs of his knuckles against a face he wishes were familiar.

[tiredeg]

Max/Daniel | Rated E | Chapter: 1/? | Ongoing | Playlist

It had been years really, since Daniel had felt this kind of wanting. Or: Daniel’s edges have been blunted and filed down to nothing. Luckily for him, Max still has his.

Written for @motorsport-halloween fest Find on A03 here

[tiredeg]

“Fernando” S1E4 - Fernando Alonso & Carlos Sainz Sr.

[tiredeg]

Daniel Ricciardo | 2018 Singapore GP | 📸 by Ian Thuillier

[tiredeg]

saw this post and had a vision

[tiredeg]

you were a good man. there will be rpf about you

[tiredeg]

I love seeing my mutuals in my notes because it confirms they’re not mad at me. yet

[tiredeg]

huevember day 5: oscar pastry

[tiredeg]

Pondering the orb

Tag list: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @albonoooo @ch3rubd0lls @brawngp2009