#Landoscar snippet

[lescarbille]

Snippet : 481 pounds of fine | Landocar | OS | >22K | College AU |

“Student ID?”

The boy pushes his student ID card on Oscar’s desk with two long fingers. Lando Norris. Art student. At the sight of the date of birth, a senior, like George, Max and Alex.

Oscar gives him a bored look, as he enters the card into the reader.

Then, he looks a second time, in what he could describe as an obvious lack of professionalism caused by his own singleness and lack of sleep.

Oscar doesn’t like to blame his celibacy, but sometimes, in this kind of moment, when he takes a second look at a handsome man in front of him, he decides to blame it.

Lando Norris is a man with a blinding smile, showing the slight gap between his two front teeth, and two dimples. His skin is tanned, as if he had spent the school year traveling around the world. His gaze is the most striking to Oscar, a mix of blues, greens, grays with hazel glitter, like an ocean. The narrowing of his eyes gives him a mischievous look, a mix of: "I've never done anything wrong in my life" and "I'm the most evil gremlin you've ever met."

Oscar swallows.

Lando is criminally handsome, but he's not the type to linger over every man who comes to his office to pay off their fines, and it's not like he'll be seeing each other again after this.

"So? Please tell me it's twenty quid, I only have twenty quid on me."

Oscar shakes his head to distract himself from Lando, before looking at his screen.

Under a flash of pixels, the amount appears and Oscar can't help but gasp in surprise and lean over to check the amount.

“You’re fined four hundred and eighty-one pounds,” he checks the figure a third time, taking off his glasses in the hope that it might make any difference.

[passengerprincipessa]

what if i briefly lost my mind due to this photo and wrote a 1.5k landoscar strip poker drabble. what if (landoscar, 1.5k words, nsfw)

Sometimes, Oscar wonders if Lando does things purely to torture him.

They’re on the private jet McLaren’s chartered for them back from the FIA Awards. Zak and Andrea are somewhere up in the front of the plane, probably sleeping off their hangovers. Andrea looked like he might puke at any second when they got into the car that morning to head to the airport. Oscar and Lando are at the back, sitting across from Sam Bird, one of McLaren’s drivers in Formula E.

Oscar likes Sam well enough, but he can’t help but wish Sam was literally anywhere else. Oscar feels like he’s going insane with Lando sitting right beside him, buried in an oversized hoodie, his curls still sleep-mussed. Lando keeps shooting Oscar these cheeky little grins, like he knows exactly how crazy Oscar’s felt all weekend.

Their rooms at the hotel were right next to Zak and Andrea and they couldn’t do anything without risking being overheard.

But it didn’t stop Lando from sending Oscar a mirror selfie after his shower, Lando’s towel slung ruinously low around his hips, water dripping down his torso. It didn’t stop Lando from following Oscar into a single-use toilet at the awards ceremony and palming Oscar’s dick through his tuxedo, kissing him hard and wet and filthy, before leaving Oscar panting against the sink, desperately trying to calm down. It didn’t stop Lando from sending Oscar a text in the middle of the ceremony that just read, can’t wait for u to fuck me tmrw 😇. Oscar had to work very, very hard to keep a neutral expression on his face.

At this point, Oscar sort of feels like he might die. He knows you can’t literally die from blue balls, but he also can’t help but feel like Lando’s trying his hardest to test that theory.

Two hours into the flight, Lando announces, “I’m bored.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. He’s not feeling particularly sympathetic at the moment, not when he’s half-hard and trying desperately not to go get himself off in the plane toilet while his bosses are on the flight. 

“Play your Switch or something,” Oscar says shortly. “Don’t you have, like, a million films on your iPad?”

“Yeah, but I’ve already watched all of them,” Lando says, pouting. “I want to do something fun.”

Oscar’s about to snap that he reckons Lando’s had more than enough fun these past few days.

But Sams interjects before Oscar can, saying, “I have a poker set?”

“Brilliant,” Lando says, face lighting up. “I love poker.”

“Why do you have a poker set?” Oscar asks. It seems like a bit of a random thing to just have on you in case the opportunity arises.

But Sam just laughs. “Love of the game, mate. Love of the game.”

Lando tips his head toward Oscar, grinning. “Only real poker heads would understand.”

“Oh my god,” Oscar says, shaking his head. “You only got into poker, like, a month ago—”

“Two months!” Lando says, holding up two fingers.

Oscar has to look away. The sight of Lando’s massive fingers has Oscar feeling things he really, really shouldn’t only two hours into a nine-hour flight.

“Oh, well then,” Oscar says, voice only slightly choked.

Out of the corner of his eye, Oscar sees Lando grin, like Lando knows exactly what Oscar’s thinking.

“You know how to play, right?” Sam asks Oscar.

Oscar shrugs. “Well enough.”

In truth, Oscar’s pretty shit at poker. But not as shit, apparently, as Lando.

Within three rounds, Lando’s down to a measly pile of chips. He keeps playing horrible hands, betting huge on hands that even Oscar knows almost never win. Hands like queen-high or a flush draw when Lando only has one card from that suit in his hand and there’s only one matching card on the board after the flop. Like, Oscar’s not good at poker, but he knows enough to know that Lando’s playing so poorly it almost seems like Lando’s trying to lose on purpose. 

That theory’s confirmed when Lando finally runs out of chips and says, “Shit.” He looks over at Oscar, his expression all wide-eyed innocence. “Reckon I’ll just have to start betting clothes, then.”

Oscar almost chokes. He briefly fantasizes about jumping out of the plane. It’d stop Lando from fucking torturing him at least. 

Instead, Oscar says, “I’m not playing strip poker.”

Oscar expects Sam to back him up, to realize what an absurd idea it is to play strip poker on a plane with their coworkers.

But Sam starts banging his fists on the table chanting, “Strip poker, strip poker, strip poker.”

Lando cackles and immediately joins in, and soon enough the two of them are making such a racket that Oscar’s worried they’ll wake up Zak and Andrea. Oscar has no interest in being on the receiving end of one of Zak’s tirades after being woken up in the middle of a nap.

“Fucking fine,” Oscar grits out. “Fine, we’ll play stupid strip poker.”

The thing is, though, Lando’s the only one out of chips. Which means Lando’s the only one actually having to bet any of his clothing.

Oscar prays Lando will start small. Maybe bet a bracelet or a shoe or something.

Instead, Lando says, “Hoodie.”

So that’s how it’s going to be.

Lando, predictably, loses, playing fucking eight-two offsuit when Oscar has a set.

“Rats,” Lando says gleefully, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a seat across the aisle. He knocks his shoulder against Oscar’s. “Shit luck, eh?”

“Yeah,” Oscar grits out, studiously ignoring looking over at Lando. He sort of hopes that if Lando doesn’t get the attention he clearly desperately craves, he’ll stop.

But on the next hand, Lando says, “Shirt.”

“Fucking hell,” Oscar groans, under his breath.

Lando giggles. “What was that, Osc?”

“Nothing,” Oscar says, staring dejectedly at his hand. He wishes it were something awful, something he could just lose with to keep Lando from ripping off his shirt, but it’s a fucking pair of kings. Oscar feels like the universe is conspiring against him.

The only blessing is that Sam seems oblivious to whatever sexual psychodrama is playing out on the other side of the table, whistling happily as he looks at his cards.

Lando loses again, peeling off his shirt and settling back in his seat.

Oscar really, really doesn’t want to look, but he can’t help but glance over at Lando, his dark nipples tight in the cool air of the plane, lean muscles on full display. Lando’s eyes spark, lower lip pulled between his teeth, grinning like the cat who got the cream. While Sam’s still looking down at his cards, Lando brings a hand up to his chest, running it over his skin before dragging it up to his neck, fingers wrapping suggestively over the thick muscle. Almost like he’s imagining Oscar’s hand there.

“Oh my god,” Oscar groans.

Sam glances up. “All good?”

“Yep,” Oscar says, voice tight, forcing himself to stare at his cards. “Everything’s really, really good.”

Next to him, Lando lets out a delighted little giggle.

As they go around placing their opening bets, Oscar pleads silently with Lando to fold. Just once.

But Lando doesn’t fold. Instead, he announces, “Sweatpants.”

Oscar stumbles to his feet, praying his hoodie’s hiding his boner. He chokes out, “I have to—” and pushes his way past Lando, beelining for the toilet.

He’s furious as he pulls his sweatpants down. Angry as he wraps a hand around his cock. Pissed off as he starts to stroke himself. 

Fucking Lando. Always fucking teasing. Knowing exactly how to get Oscar riled up, how to make him feel like he wants to say fuck it and drag Lando into the plane toilet in front of their coworker and bosses. Even though Oscar feels like he’s losing his mind, he can’t deny that it’s possibly the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. That he knows he’ll put up with it every fucking time if it gets him off this hard.

But he sort of wants to torture Lando back.

Oscar pulls out his phone, opens his camera, and hits record. He tries to put on a show, thumbing over the head, zooming in on the wet tip, twisting his wrist the way Lando always likes when Oscar does it to him. But Oscar's so on edge that he’s coming before he’s even really gotten started, spilling over his fingers to the image of Lando on top of him, Oscar’s fingers on his nipples, Oscar’s hand around his throat as Lando fucks himself on Oscar’s cock. Reminding Lando who’s in control.

But as much as Oscar likes to pretend, he knows it’s not him.

Still, Oscar feels a surge of power as he opens his texts with Lando, sends him the video of him getting off, and writes, Don’t touch yourself until we’re home.

When Oscar comes out of the toilet, he’s pleased to see Lando squirming in his seat, glancing up at Oscar with flushed cheeks, eyes desperate. Sam’s not paying any attention, headphones on, watching something on his phone.

“Having fun?” Oscar asks, blissfully relaxed after his orgasm.

Lando squirms a bit, tugging his hoodie over his crotch. But he grins up at Oscar, the gap between his front teeth on full display, and says, “Loads.”

[cretaceos]

how to paint pitch blue in dark red — vampire oscar. (landoscar)

Lando doesn’t look behind when he hears the noise of an opening door. He mostly doesn’t care; it’s a public pool, could be anyone. But then he remembers it’s rather late, and he’s specifically in the indoor area, where it's more lonely and moody. Some nice place to be mourning.

His head tilts back, noticing a woman walking away, as a male enters. The big windows that should be facing some sort of garden are closed, and even though it’s dark outside, Lando wished they were open. The view might be debatable, but it helps the feeling of claustrophobia, being stuck somewhere he can’t escape.

Takes him more than minutes to realise it’s Oscar. The walking gives it away. How he comes close to the border before jumping, childish-like of him, in Lando’s opinion—although if he got himself in the water, he‘d probably do the same. He emerges again in the middle of the large blue extension of tiles. Somehow, the sickly white tone of his skin seems to match with the surroundings. Lando looks away. There’s still the winning glow on Oscar.

He chose to not get wet, sat there and swung his feet only, feeling the hot water enveloping his sore ankles. Oscar stares at him. Lando knows, even though he doesn’t have the powers of genetics on his side. Not like Oscar does. However, Lando became quite a professional at feeling when Oscar is ogling him, never giving it too much thought and just assuming it's something vampires do. Stare. 

Oscar swims closer, making waves as his body cuts through the pool, closer to Lando, who sighs in defeat.

“Why are you here?” He sounds more annoyed than he should. But then Lando’s still depressed over the weekend, couldn’t manage a better tone when Oscar was disturbing his peace.

“Didn’t know you bought the place, mate.”

Lando holds back the urge to fight back. No, but I could.

“Forgot my sunblock, in simpler terms,” Oscar completes before Lando can say anything further. “Sucks to be around here without suppositories.” 

Lando knows that too. Mainly because he heard Jon commenting on how it could go bad for Oscar and all his lab rats modified genes. Not as bad as Lando would like because it’s still a night race, but it should’ve been uncomfortable for him anyway.

They don’t usually burn in the sun, like the obscure stories he heard as a kid; nevertheless, light and vampires don’t usually go well together. Seems rather unfair looking from outside; people like Oscar get to be the summit of human civilisation and still have to give things away. No long walks on the beach, unless you’re filled with proper medicine for that. No common diet, blood at least two times a day to stay healthy. And still.

There he is—race winner. The type of champion that attaches to your neck and—takes.

“Why are you here, though?” Oscar’s voice travels across the area, echoing through the walls, shattering his skull. “Reckon you could go somewhere nicer, the beach maybe.”

Lando side-eyes him, “No, thanks. Maybe when it’s not pitch black outside.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

Oscar dips his head, trying to get the water to fix the messy situation on his head. His hair smells like champagne, a reminder of a podium, also a note of Lando’s horrendous, dismaying performance. It weighs. The win, the gap, the pole, the champagne, and his fangs out and grinning for a crowd. The win.

“Thought you guys didn’t get along well with water.” Lando bursts out before he can get his mind around it.

Oscar frowns, “That’s holy water, it’s different.”

Lando hums in agreement, trying to wrap his head around why people made in laboratories, with the finest equipment ever, get hurt when some blessed liquid is thrown at them.

Silence stays for a moment. It’s unfair. Oscar won; it’s done, nothing else matters, time’s not going back, and there’s nothing Lando can do about that besides sitting around and collecting his mistakes. He’s being selfish, a bit of a cunt too. Sharp tongue wanting to hurt Oscar, share the pain of being two steps under.

“I can hear your heart.”

Oscar turns to him, pupils wide, shaking. Rabbit caught hopping too high.

“Did you eat?” Lando asks, unsure, holding back the grin; it’s nice to see him suffer for a while.

“No, had a problem with my pills too.”

Oscar tries to play casually about it. Lando knows he has to cover up the earlier loss, either by drinking blood or getting himself some pills to enable the hunger until he gets a chance to kill it. He can’t have either of those.

“C’mere.”

Lando wonders if at least part of what his mother told him as a kid is true. That vampires are, indeed, creatures with the purpose of hunting only. Their ruby-coloured eyes, white skin—never seen the sun—and the endless boredom—no long walks on the beach—are part of their gifted traits. 

Oscar hesitates, as if he’s not sure whether it’s safe to approach. Lando wants to scream.

“C’mon, mate,” he whines, “I don’t have all night.”

Oscar swims carefully, like any disturbance in the water would break down the moment. Lando is not used to this. He’d only ever seen the version of Oscar that does not feel the unhinged hunger. His eyes were never dark, and his canines never begged for skin like they seem to do.

Lando’s insides bubble in fear. Suddenly he’s aware of how uncontrolled Oscar looks, almost losing it as he gets closer. Lando would like to break him down and eat the crumbles.

Oscar places himself in the middle of Lando’s legs. Suggestive and bold. Kind of careless too, trusting too much that Lando won’t try to drown him.

“Open your mouth.” 

Lando can’t tell why he asks so or explain the painful beating against his chest. Adrenaline crawls in his veins, and mania begins showing itself inside his brain. Caged behind his skull, he’s becoming deranged, obsessing over the slow pace that Oscar obeys. His pointy fangs lay protuberant on his tongue.

He rubs his thumb against them. Counting, marking, feeling the hard pressure on the tip of his finger. Lando goes further. Circles his molars, premolars, brushing his tongue on the way. Oscar stares, passive and silent, breathing heavily, salivating around Lando’s knuckles.

“Do it.” 

Lando moves, shoving his wrist against Oscar’s lips. He hesitates again. Could be a trap.

Oscar’s falling for it.

“It’ll hurt.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure about—”

“No, Oscar, to be very honest.”

Lando has that trembling voice in him, like he’s begging for it. Imploring for a bit of pain as a punishment, perhaps wanting to be hurt, gushing organs and sorrows.

Oscar bites him.

Lando can’t tell, but at some point the world spiralled into chaos blue. Oscar licks on his wrist, tongue darting out, blood flowing down his throat. Red cells, leukocytes, all dripping down his chin. He looks good like that. Some scarlet feverish dream, starving for every single part of flesh.

He sucks the teeth mark, and then Lando notices he’s hard because it makes his dick ache.

“Oscar.” 

The name rolls out without his wanting. Lando’s body feels limp, controlled not by him but by someone else. By Oscar.

He turns to Lando. Messy cheeks, all red and shiny, almost like he’s been deprived of eating for days. He looks good. Wild, feral, ready to rip off Lando’s viscera. He licks his lips before getting them back to work, ignoring the tent on Lando’s trousers.

“Oscar”, Lando pushes himself to the stained pool, blue meeting ruby; some barriers are being broken.

Oscar holds his waist, pinning Lando against the border, too focused on getting dirty with his blood. Lando’s head lolls, embraced by the hot water and drunkenly reaching for Oscar. His hips moving forward, reaching and reaching.

Oscar shoves his thigh between his legs. Lando doesn’t catch the exact moment he starts humping, but it happens. His senses are numb, cock throbbing in his pants, hurting. He wants to get off so bad. Just a bit more. Oscar should take more. Bite again and suck him dry. His hips move faster.

Lando drops his forehead on Oscar’s shoulders, whining shyly. He’s offering. Showing neck and whimpering whenever Oscar rubs his tongue against the swelling wound on his wrist. Oscar grabs his hair, forcing his scalp with savage fingers. He’s still dirty with blood, and Lando wants it so much.

On his lips. Maybe above. Maybe under. Bite. Take more, drink him up and absorb all he ever had to give, swallow up the sadness and anger, raging over stupidity. Drink him.

Lando comes with a cry, drooping over Oscar. His muscles are gone; so is his right mind. Nothing echoes inside. There’s silence and murky water. Still weights, the sun, the podium. The bite.

[adventuringblind]

COUGH

Writing a fic that's camboy/femboy Lando who is OUTRAGEOUSLY kinky and just goes with the flow of what feels good X F1 driver Oscar who is autistic and decides BD/SM is going to be his special interest at sixteen (I'm not projecting 🫵🏻 you are) and is well educated in this realm and knows all the technical stuff and stims by practicing knot tying.

Featuring, but is not limited to: Exasperated Logan who makes Oscar and onlyfans account because Mark said he can't risk going out to clubs anymore so Oscar is sad and bored which is how he finds Lando and Logan is tired of hearing about it, Max F indulging Lando in a weird semi toxic way, Lando and Oscar working their way through the grid one threesome at a time, Oscar and his color coded spreadsheet which he sends to anyone who wants to join them because 'if you don't help me with my experiments then you cannot fuck my boyfriend', and Lando living his best life as a the paddock whore and Oscar's pet all happy cause he gets fucked and gets his every need met while being spoiled by the entire damn grid and they would probably die for him if he were to bat his eyelashes and pout.

COUGH

Who said that?

[nyoomfruits]

osctober day twenty nine

prompt: alpha pairing: lando/oscar a/n: snippet from the pregnant lando fic i'm writing, which TOTALLY ocunts for this prompt because it has alpha!oscar lmao

Life is so much better wrapped up in the buttery soft fabric of Oscar’s hoodie. Lando gets through three other admittedly boring meetings and an hour long conversation with Zak without any more bouts of nausea, although by the end of it he does feel exhausted, and his chest has this itchy painful feeling that’s getting really hard to ignore.

He contemplates just going home, but it’s not like there’s anything waiting for him there, so he holes himself up in one of the tiny flexible workspaces that are dotted around the MTC, and opens his laptop to stare mindlessly at some stuff the PR team asked him to look at.

Here’s the thing he did not consider. The flexible workspace area is pretty open plan. So if anyone were to walk by, they could see Lando sitting there quite easily. Anyone, really. Someone like, well. Oscar, for example.

“Uh,” Oscar says, roughly three meters away from Lando’s little table. “I, uh. Lando?”

Lando looks up from his laptop, dropping the hoodie string he’d been chewing on from his mouth. “Oscar, hey. ‘Sup?”

Oscar, meanwhile, is just kind of staring at Lando, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “You, uh. The uh,” he starts. Lando needs to have a talk with management, later. Clearly they’re overworking Oscar, based on the way he’s spacing out right now. “Hoodie?” Oscar eventually manages to stutter out.

Lando’s blood turns cold as he suddenly realizes what the problem is. The hoodie. He’s still wearing Oscar’s hoodie. Oscar was never meant to find out, but now he definitely has, with the way he’s staring at Lando like he’s some kind of alien. “Fuck,” Lando says, frantically wedging himself from behind the table. The second he comes closer to Oscar, Oscar takes a step back, takes a deep breath in through his mouth. “Fuck I am so sorry, it was just-“

And yeah. How is he going to explain this one? He can just lie and say he was cold, but then why. Why would he grab Oscar’s hoodie and not one of the million McLaren hoodies readily available? Besides, does he really want to lie to Oscar? Oscar, who’s never been anything but honest with him, has always treated him with kindness?

“Fuck,” Lando says again, “Really, this is. This is very embarrassing for me, actually, but uh. Your scent? It kind of helps? With the uh… Nausea and shit. I realized yesterday, when you helped me when I was puking and so uh. The hoodie was just there and I… Well. But you can have it back? Here let me-“

“Don’t,” Oscar says, almost like it gets ripped out of him, the second Lando tries to wrestle his arm out of one of the hoodie sleeves. “You don’t. You can keep it on. If it helps.”

He’s bright red, not making any eye contact with Lando, clearly uncomfortable, but. But he said. If he didn’t want Lando to wear his hoodie he would…. Right?

Lando tucks his arm back into the sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “This is like, super weird.”

Oscar shakes his head. “It’s fine. I know smells can be like, weird, when you’re pregnant, so it’s… I get it.”

[jusst-you-race]

i really like ur landoscar so,, lando and oscar texts after oscar's succesful debut on lando's stream

i hope this is sort of what you had in mind... god i can't wait till these two sort their shit out they make me smile <3 thank you for suggesting this for the ccc snippet prompts

Oscar sorry about earlier 

didn’t realise you were streaming 

Lando its fine

not like it was a surprise that im dating someone

Oscar I hope no one was weird about it

is that something people are weird about?

Lando uh

depends what u mean by wierd

Oscar wait why 

were they weird?

Lando no no 

i dunno 

ur like a inigma in my chat 

Oscar wait what?

Lando their kinda obsessed with u 

Oscar me?

why?

Lando uh 

i guess i mention u sometimes 

Oscar yeah?

Lando yeah 

Oscar you’re being so evasive about this 

I’m curious 

going to watch the stream vod now 

Lando noooooo 

donr do that

Oscar I’m sure it’s not that bad 

Lando its embarrassing

for me 

Oscar okay well now I’m definitely watching 

Lando ugh

i hate u 

just dont like laugh at me 

Oscar I would never 

Lando literally a lie but sure 

Oscar huh

“is that mystery smile man?” 

what does that mean?

Lando nothing 

dont worry about it 

Oscar “I can’t believe the smile is even bigger when he’s there” 

what are they talking about? 

Lando its nothinggggggg

Oscar please?

Lando no

ugh 

fine 

my chat has been teasing me for months about the mystery guy that i text on stream sometimes 

Oscar go on…

Lando i guess i have like 

a specific smile i do when im texting you

and chat noticed 

Oscar oh 

that’s 

really cute 

Lando shut up 

Oscar wait months?

Lando um

Oscar we’ve not even been dating for a month yet 

Lando yeah

funny that 

Oscar oh my god 

we’re both really idiots aren’t we

Lando a bit 

Oscar stay there I’m coming to kiss you 

Lando okay ❤️

yay ❤️

Oscar you’re an idiot 

omw

[sediciquatttro]

okay land of landoscar i’ve had this in the drafts for i don’t know how many weeks now and i need to know if this is, like, anything

—

It all boils down to the fact that Oscar does not know how to stop being in love with Lando.

It’s simple, really. Nothing to write home about, when Oscar allows himself to think about it. It’s been there, simmering, humming in the back of Oscar’s mind like a song that you cannot quite stop singing over and over again, for so long now that Oscar has kind of figured out how to tune it out.

Oscar is in love with Lando. He was in love with Lando, in a strange, dreamlike way, when Lando did not even know his name. He was in love with Lando when he was first hushed into a McLaren office and Lando was there, grinning softly, saying hey, I’m Lando, and Oscar had to stop himself from answering I know. He’s been in love with Lando for the entirety of last season, so much that the team orders in Hungary had him finish those last laps with tears in the corner of his eyes. He’s in love with Lando now, too, in a way that is both distant and desperate to be close at the same time, because as much as his head knows that they’re fighting for a championship, for glory, for the biggest of wins, his heart yearns, yearns, yearns.

Again, it all comes down to Oscar not being quite able to let go of this love. He’s tried, of course. He unfollowed Lando on every social media when Logan got ahold of his phone and raised a single eyebrow at the amount of notifications from Lando’s Twitter account. It lasted about a week, and even then, Oscar still went back to Lando’s profile to check for updates every few hours. He had done his best not to get his hopes up when he wiped his sweaty hands on his thighs before entering Zak’s office, because what if Lando was not the person Oscar saw in the media, what if Lando did not like him, what if Lando wanted Daniel, Carlos, anyone but Oscar. But Lando had smiled, had held Oscar’s clammy hand with surprising strength, his own hand dry and a little callous and bigger than Oscar thought, had said mate, I’m very glad we got you out of Alpine, and Oscar’s shoulders had dropped the tension right there, an immense relief running down his spine, Lando’s hand still engulfing his. He is still trying now, as he stands on the podium, gazes down at Lando, who is in second place most of the time, but is always grinning up at Oscar like he doesn’t resent him, like he’s glad Oscar is doing well, to let himself down gently before Lando can do it for him. He’s been staying two steps away from Lando at all times, not quite distant, not quite close, because Lando will burn him if he dares to approach, but Oscar will freeze if he strays away.

And at the end of the day, it’s simple. Oscar is in love with Lando. And Lando, who is wonderful and gorgeous and kind and has never said anything bad about Oscar, not even in Hungary, not even in Abu Dhabi, Lando, who Oscar loves, does not love him back.

Nothing to write home about.

[mintraindrop]

anyone fancies a snippet of what might be on ao3 later today or tomorrow? yes? okay.

Lando thinks back to the last race weekend. To Friday evening when he had invited Oscar over for a round of COD. Or two. Which had turned into five. To Oscar’s smile. To his tired eyes and how endearing all of this made him. To the growing urge to tangle his fingers in Oscar’s hair and pull him close to kiss him. To the butterflies going wild inside of Lando. They had spread from his stomach to his chest and into his brain.

They are awake now as well, just by thinking of coffee eyes and caramel hair.

let's call this... fic x. it still needs a name.

writing tag list: @leftneb @slideleftt @oscatmeowstri @justwannabelovedbylou @fanboyoff1 @notheroicnotromantic @oopslandiia @fairielux @standgrand @nxlx96 @lyslsstuff @lovelycarica

if you want to be tagged whenever I post smth about my writing - and my art - just let me know :) I'll happily put you on the list.

[landoscaring]

new romance (ilysfm) (alternatively, the "they got accidentally married in vegas oh no" fic) snippet

MY DUDES I AM FINALLY DOING IT I AM WRITING THIS SHIT.

So far I have like, 2k of it. I want to get it to a good...3.5k? So bear with me. Meanwhile, have a little sneak peek of one of the scenes i am the most obsessed with. i might be coerced into sharing more, but. we'll see. hopefully i'll be posting before the end of the week! exciting!

//

Oscar blinks twice.

Lando holds his breath.

“We are gathered here today—” George starts, and is interrupted by Lewis saying, with a shake of his head, “I don’t think that’s necessary, George –”, and then:

“Does this mean I’m your father-in-love now, Lando?”

“In-law, Charles, I’ve explained a million times now –”

//

cheers! besos! l'chaim! lots of love!

[fabbyf1]

you got landoscar on your phone?

🤭🤭🤭

i've gone down a landoscar bender the past few days, and uh....

well.

snippet under the cut 🤠

OP: Your hand would look so good wrapped around my throat.

OP: Shit 

OP: Sorry, mate. Wrong person.

OP: (Obviously)

Lando blinked at his phone, more confused than he had ever been in his life. 

“What the fuck,” Lando muttered again, moving out of the way to let Max Fewtrell continue down the aisle in search of the Weetabix. He was back in the UK before the Silverstone weekend, staying at Max’s house since he had sold his place in Woking a few years back, but he never could have guessed that a trip to Sainsbury’s would end in an accidental sext from his teammate. 

Lando re-read the original text, his eyes flicking up to the top to make sure he had read Oscar’s name correctly (not that anybody else was asking him to choke them) and couldn’t help but chuckle again. 

Because what the actual fuck? 

It was so out of character. 

Oscar didn’t seem like the kind of guy who liked to be choked or the type to request it before breakfast, but they had never discussed their kinks before. That wasn’t something that came up in casual conversations, and their marketing team must not have thought it’d go over well for a McLaren challenge. 

So maybe Lando had no idea what he was talking about. 

Maybe Oscar was the type of guy who liked a hand around his throat, even though that seemed... impossible. Because Oscar was so... Oscar. He was quiet, unassuming, and even-tempered. He kept his facial expressions to a minimum and his opinions to himself. He was a walking mystery around the paddock. 

It’s not that he thought Oscar was a blushing virgin or anything, but choking?!  

LN: who the fuck are you sexting at 9 in the morning, oscar?  OP:You, apparently.

[its-all-papaya]

[me being rlly normal, processing my current personal angst in a healthy way]:

“My job’s alright,” Lando concedes, “I’m lucky that I get to do it. I like it a lot of the time. I’m just… not sure that it’s the best thing for me. Anymore.” He can feel his heartbeat in his temples and his throat and his lip where it’s caught between his teeth. He’s never actually said it out loud, that. Not sure who he’d even say it to. Oscar twists a little on the sofa so they’re facing each other more directly, “Can you not do something else, then?” “I don’t know,” Lando doesn’t really want to talk about it, even if the soft, attentive look the conversation’s put on Oscar’s face is sort of nice, “It feels too late to just switch for no reason.” Oscar lifts an eyebrow, “Well it wouldn’t be for no reason. It would be to make you happier. That’s a good enough reason.” Lando puffs air out through his lips. His feet drop back to the floor, tension going out of him in a fell swoop that leaves him sort of curled on his side, blinking up at Oscar’s warm brown eyes. Steady. “Scary, innit? Making a choice like that?” he whispers up at them.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

WIZ ITS ELLIE. soft + landoscar please?

Oscar doesn’t know why they’ve found time to sneak down to Oakleigh. Or how, exactly. Just that he had a contact of a contact, and they were always going to welcome him back here. And they’ve given the both of them some race suits, free run of the track, and a “go have fun”.

They’d found this place, like a shared secret. Clattering through the gates and sneaking away from their handlers. Each making an excuse about quiet time. Nobody questioned either of them about it, chalking it up to the general air of celebration after Albert Park. That’s the beauty of being golden children, you see. When you win. Standing in the sun, silverware in your hands, in front of a camera. Oscar hadn’t even needed to pretend at all - he beamed at Lando because he really meant it. P3, P4. For the team. Nothing to do with the way Lando’s smile creeps into him like sunlight. Nothing like Oscar’s own reflection staring back at him from the dish, gently held in Lando’s hands.

Besides, Oscar knows he’s hungry. He wants more. But it’ll be his time.

And right now, he gets to relive his memory of karting, on the track where he started. Growing awkward into his limbs that didn’t work how he wanted to yet, a fierceness that he hadn’t tamed, conscious of the knowledge that there were boys always faster, faster, faster than him. And chasing people like them, chasing Lando, was like driving towards an apex and knowing you would hit it — it was just a matter of time. How fast you could launch yourself at it, come close to bending time. Oscar has tried, and he will try still. There is something in him that will not be sated, and it is in Lando, too.

But for tonight: they rest. Just him, and his teammate. The floodlights. Boisterously loud crickets. Their own helmets, in their own hands. Two karts. Back to the beginning. Except the beginning is here, it’s when he was seven years old and dad helped him climb into the kart. It’s him in an airplane with one stop going to a cold and wet country where vegemite has the wrong name. It’s Rokit and Prema and Alpine and lawsuits and loud chatter and media distractions.

It’s a sea of eyes assessing him, but only one person’s that he cares to remember. Blue-green eyes, daring to ask the question without words: who are you? what will you become?

Oscar knows, because he has looked into the mirror and asked himself the same, too.

Those blue-green eyes search his own now. Then they steady.

The two of them. Same height, barely two years between them. Same dreams.

Then Lando smiles. Eyes the colour of soft streaking sky, the way it is when Oscar’s in the car and has a chance to look up.

“Ready for me to kick your arse?”

“You won’t.” Oscar says, easily back.

It’s taken them a year, but Oscar thinks he gets it. Talking to Lando is like holding a bird in the palm of your hand. A fluttering thing, fast.

And he thinks of the journeys birds take. Of comings and goings, of the silent effort of flight. He thinks of being two years behind and too small, and looking at the boy in the go kart, on the screen of his phone, who believed in himself enough to do it too.

Oscar zips up his race suit. And he grins. Lando’s eyes glitter with promise.

“But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[nyoomfruits]

anyway. that was a lot. here's lando and oscar being insane about bracelets in the summer fest fic

Lando stops at a small store selling handmade jewelry, propping his crutches up just so, so he can admire some of the bracelets that are on display.

“Those are pretty,” Oscar says, appearing next to him, looking over his shoulder. “I like the one with the shells.”

“They all have shells,” Lando says, looking up at him. Because of their positions, their faces are suddenly unexpectedly close, and Lando can see the soft flush on Oscar’s cheek, the delicate flutter of his eyelashes.

“Well, then I like them all,” Oscar says, with a shrug. “Are you getting one?”

“Maybe,” Lando says. “I like collecting bracelets on vacation or when something’s special has happened,” he continues, holding up his own bracelet riddled wrist. “So I can just look down when I feel sad and remember all the cool shit I did.”

“That’s nice,” Oscar says. “I like that.”

“You should consider it,” Lando says. “It’s really fun. Wait, here, I’ll get you one.” He riffles through the bracelets, finds one with soft, earthy colors and pretty little shells that remind him of Oscar a little bit, and holds it up. “Perfect. Now you can start your own collection.” Before Oscar can argue, Lando picks an orange-y sunset colored one for himself, and then heads to the check out to pay.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Oscar says, when they’re standing outside again, hidden from the sun under a little canopy, so Lando can put his newly acquired bracelet on.

“Nonsense,” Lando says. “You’ve already done so much for me this week, just see it as a thank you, yeah?” He adds, grabbing Oscar’s wrist and slipping the bracelet on. His fingers brush against Oscar’s warm, slightly sweaty skin, and Oscar breathes in sharply, like the movement startles him.

He ties the ends of the bracelet together carefully, and then grabs Oscar’s hand, laces their fingers and holds it up so Oscar can see. “See, perfect! And now every time you feel sad you can just look down and remember this awesome trip we went on that I definitely didn’t ruin for you.”

Oscar frowns at him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he says.

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Lando says, raising a playful eyebrow and sticking out his wrist so Oscar can tie his bracelet too, desperately trying to keep it light.

Oscar takes his wrist, but doesn’t tie the bracelet, just looks at Lando rather intently. “Lando, you aren’t ruining my trip. I’m genuinely having a lot of fun and I really like spending time with you.”

“Right,” Lando says, feeling a little hot, all of a sudden, and he’s not sure if it’s the sun, or the way Oscar’s looking at him. There’s just something very intense about Oscar’s gaze, the way he’s holding Lando’s wrist so gently yet firmly. The way the rays of the sun that are creeping through the canopy light up his face like some kind of halo. “That’s. I know that. I’m having fun too. With you.”

“Good,” Oscar says, and then finally, finally concedes eye contact and ties the bracelet around Lando’s wrist.

When he lets go, there’s a split second where Lando misses the contact. And then he tells himself not to be ridiculous, and slips his arms into his crutches again. “Alright, on y va, isn’t that what the French say?”

Oscar laughs, doubles over a little, shakes his head fondly. “Yeah,” he says, smiling so softly at Lando Lando actually has to look away. “On y va.”

[utopiastri]

tagged by @wanderingblindly , @1425fivefive and @nyoomfruits to do the last line game (you're all SO wonderful, thank you all for the tags 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕)

"Lando!" Lando finally takes a breath: "Yeah?" "Why...why did you do all of that?" Oscar asks. "Because you wanted me here," Lando says simply.

is this perhaps for an osctober prompt? maybe so.....

no-pressure tagging @ipleadbritney and uhhhhh anyone else who sees this and wants to have a go!

[gwenie-creates]

finally sitting down to write chapter 9 of my fic

sorry it's taken me so long I've been really busy

here's a snippet of chapter 9

“Right, so we should probably introduce ourselves, I’m Agent Verstappen and this is my partner Agent Piastri.” The scary– Agent Verstappen said, motioning towards the man beside him. 

Said man was the hot– Agent Piastri apparently. 

Hmmm, Lando liked the ring of that. 

“Agent Piastri?” Lando asked, looking towards him, through his lashes. 

Sue him, he wanted to see if that would gain a reaction out of Agent Piastri, and if that’s a crime then arrest him. 

His action did get a reaction, much to Lando’s satisfaction. 

Agent Piastri swallowed hard before nodding, “You can call me Oscar.” 

Lando tilted his head until they made direct eye contact, opening his mouth to slightly wet his lips before repeating what Oscar had said. 

“Oscar.” 

The word rolled off Lando’s tongue and a smile made its way onto his face. 

The name came out more as ‘Osc-ah’ thanks to Lando’s accent, but the agent seemed to like that if the way his eyes darkened meant anything. 

[prettysureimlost]

Nervous wreck 23 year old lando anyone?

Before he can overthink himself into a stomach ache, he sends a simple “hi it’s lando from earlier :)” He waits for a minute, staring at the screen. Then another minute. By the fifth minute he has a stomach ache. 

^boy who is a teenage girl