Kenngry88 - Untitled

"you're not a chilli anymore. I'm going to keep it. I will."

"You're going to forget it there."

"I won't (softly)"

This is my 1st time seeing the full clip and the way charles is so soft here god 🥹

carcar, carlandoscar, 3k, explicit content, set after the hungary gp (so, rancid)

The muteness wore away when the ceremony started. First place, no matter how convoluted, suited Oscar just fine. Carlos watched him hoist the trophy high, while wondering if Oscar had an extortionate sense of payback. The last time Carlos had won, in Melbourne, he hadn’t let Oscar come until Suzuka. Not even on Thursday before media duties. But on Saturday, after Qualifying, because no matter how mean he’d tried to be he couldn’t be the one to affect Oscar’s actual race.

His appendix surgery had been a good excuse. Carlos said, “You’re going to have to work for it yourself, if you want to come,” and intentionally kept the circle of his hand around Oscar’s cock loose and easy. Oscar had whined his frustrations, rutting fervently into Carlos’ palm for any sort of friction. It wouldn’t have needed much anyway; Oscar had been so weak for it.

“Asshole,” Oscar said as he came, but the viciousness of it was taken away by the way he’d almost sighed it, and then slumped into Carlos’s arms after. Soft and almost sweet.  

And then Carlos had podiumed. And Oscar had gotten eighth. Great feelings all around.

He’d seen it in the way Oscar had looked at him after though, the heat in his eyes burning its way up Carlos’s back in a slow crawl. Carlos knew. The next time. He’d be made to return the favour.

There wasn’t much of a wait. Not even a couple of hours after the champagne had been drunk, and the confetti peeled of sticky skin.

Carlos stared at the text with a room number. There was no other instruction, nor a time. Already, the itch under Carlos’s skin was becoming a near physical presence. If it were Carlos, he’d push, tell Oscar not to keep him waiting. Oscar would let Carlos draw his own conclusions. Let him wonder if he’d show up too early to an unoccupied room, and have to storm away and make the same trip twice. Or overthink and show up late, and be punished worse for it.

The AC was turned up high, but Carlos imagined he was sweating. Blood pooling in places he could not hide just from the anticipation.

He wasn’t sure of the time when he finally knocked. Two neat taps. He forced himself not to rock on the balls of his feet. When Oscar opened the door, Carlos could pretend he looked calm, in control.

“You took your time,” Oscar said. He didn’t sound annoyed or impatient. There was probably little room for it; winning tended to take up too much space. That didn’t mean Carlos could let his guard down.

“I assumed you’d be out with the team.”

“Two drinks.” Oscar shrugged, stepping aside so Carlos could come in. “That was about all I could stomach.”

Asking why was redundant. It was a one-two for McLaren. Lando would’ve been there, surely.

For such a straightforward guy, Oscar was surprisingly hard to read. He’d give Carlos these little clues, nothing else. The deal was that the winner could take all. Melbourne had been such a lesson. But Oscar seemed to be waiting for permission, paused at the narrow hallway less than a foot away from Carlos.

“So what you’re saying is,” Carlos said, “you haven’t celebrated.”

“No,” Oscar agreed. The wry twist of his lips was encouraging. “I have not.”

“Well,” Carlos said slowly. “What are you waiting for?”

Oscar’s spine stacked itself up, straight as can be. Impressive how quickly his demeanour changed. Imperturbable, unaffected Oscar, who was actually so perturbable and affected. Carlos was secretly delighted.

When Oscar planted himself at the edge of the bed, knees thrown apart with all the self-confidence of a race winner, Carlos went without a second thought. Knelt between Oscar’s legs obediently, and opened his mouth.

--

Oscar seemed to like Carlos’s hair. He kept his fingers knotted through, at times tugging hard enough for Carlos’s scalp to ache. It was a nice distraction, because Carlos wasn’t as much sucking as he was trying not to choke. Oscar hadn’t given him much time to adjust. His cock felt thick and inescapable in Carlos’s throat. Occasionally, Oscar would pull Carlos off by the hair, give him a shaky moment to breathe, before impaling Carlos back on his cock.

“Too much?” Oscar asked casually, when Carlos couldn’t stop the weak whimper forced out of his throat. “Ah, no. You like it.”

Of course Oscar would notice, Carlos growing harder by the second, while his hands fluttered uselessly under his thighs. His entire body jolted when Oscar nudged his foot against Carlos’s cock. Only enough to be the worst of teases. 

“Don’t whine,” Oscar said, when Carlos whined. “You made me wait two weeks.”

Carlos shivered. All he could comprehend was the weight of Oscar in his mouth. Solid, unforgiving. Drool slipped out, trailed down his chin. He didn’t want to think about the kind of picture he was making, looking up at Oscar like that. Pathetic enough for Oscar to soften.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be nice.” Oscar continued to stroke Carlos with the tip of his big toe. Carlos couldn’t stop himself from curving into a half-moon shape, in an attempt to chase the paltriest of touches. “I’ll let you come today, if you’re good.”

Too easy, too easy. Carlos wasn’t stupid. Oscar wasn’t looking to be nice today, not after what his team had done to him. There wasn’t any of the usual triumph available to dampen the blow.

Carlos squeezed his eyes shut, braced himself, when Oscar began to thrust in his mouth. He gagged, fighting for a wet gasp of air. His throat was a stinging mess of sensation. The dull ache in his lower belly was worse. Above him, Oscar groaned, and the curl of fingers in his hair became an iron-clench.

“That’s what you’re good for,” Oscar said. He sounded miles away from Carlos, disembodied. “Your mouth, fuck, taking me so well. Your ass.” Carlos trembled, his hole clenched. A premonition of what was to come. “That’s all you were made for, for—”

Oscar came suddenly, violently, hips twitching. Like that was enough for him, the idea of Carlos just being his for the taking.

That was fine. Oscar was a race winner, and Carlos had come in sixth, behind Charles. He didn’t yet have a seat. In the moment, Oscar’s come pooling on his tongue, it didn’t make him feel that bad.

--

Oscar had him strip down to just his briefs, the fabric wet and constricting around him. Air felt like pins against his overheated skin. He was face down, hips up, knees kicked wide. Vulnerable in a way he could never get used to.

Unsurprisingly, Oscar hadn’t touched Carlos after he came. It was a good thing Carlos’s throat was all used up; he wasn’t above begging.

Oscar ran a hand down the inside of Carlos’s thigh, and he seized up like he’d been tazed.

“Sensitive,” Oscar said. “You waxed for me?”

No, Carlos thought sourly, but all he could manage was a garbled sound. Oscar rubbed his hole roughly through the cloth of his briefs, and the sound tapered into a high-pitched whine.

“You want it,” Oscar said.

Yes. “Yes!” he yelped, when Oscar laid a flat palm across his ass. More shock than pain. He tilted his head such that his cheek was squashed into the sheets, the eye contact somehow making everything better and worse. “I want. Oscar.”

Oscar dragged his briefs down, only so much that it exposed his hole, and left it uncomfortably taut around his upper thighs. His cock was still clothed, still begging for a touch that didn’t feel like a scratch. Protest was a helpless shake of his head, and Oscar pinched the flesh of his ass, a little meanly.

“Always complaining,” Oscar said. “Always wanting more than you can have.” 

A quality that could have been used to describe any of them. And so what? So what if he wanted? Pride slammed Carlos’s throat shut again. All he could do was push his hips back, begging for it in a way he could deny later.

It seemed an eternity, by the time Oscar deigned to slip a lubed-up finger into him. Carlos felt as if he’d been waiting so long, his abdomen tightened, his toes curled. Oscar was content to pump one finger in and out of Carlos, giving him nothing else. He’d smack Carlos’s thigh, tug his hips up whenever he got too close to the bedspread, leaving him rutting mindlessly against air.

Couldn’t even voice his complains, for fear of opening his throat and letting any of that neediness escape. His cock was so hard he was afraid he’d start sobbing.

“Hey.” Oscar’s finger stilled in him. He sounded funny. Carlos rocked back, pleading for more, and got a stinging slap against his ass for his troubles. “Do you want to try something new?”

Carlos had to count, take stock. The patch of sheet under his mouth was damp with saliva. His shoulders were starting to ache, taking the brunt of his weight. His thighs would start to shake soon, even with all the biking he’d been doing. Anticipation always wore him down quick. His right big toe was cramping up. This was a trap.

“What,” he croaked. Curiosity was going to kill him, as surely as a carelessly taken corner. “What are you thinking?”

“I said I’d let you come today, but I don’t really—”

Oscar paused. Carlos swore he could hear a buzzing in the room. His pulse sounded like thunder in his ears. Every one of his senses tuned toward Oscar.

“Don’t really deserve it, do I? Don’t really deserve to fuck you.”

No. No.

“Hey, Carlos.”

“Please,” he whispered into the bed, but he didn’t think Oscar could hear.

“Let’s get Lando in here.”

Carlos knew the second his body gave himself up. He clenched wildly around Oscar’s finger, his cock jumped in the confines of his briefs, and his knees gave out.

“Ah,” Oscar said. His finger in Carlos crooked down, viciously enough for Carlos to see stars. Barely anything had been done, and Carlos was already a gasping, trembling pile. “You want it.”

Carlos let himself imagine it. Lando. Lando. Draped over him, covering every inch of his skin. Fucking him while Oscar watched. All that talk about not being deserving, but it was Oscar who got to peel back Carlos’s skin while he sat and did nothing. Oscar. Oscar. Oscar.

His mind was patchwork of burnt synapses. Distantly, he was aware his hips were twitching, rubbing pathetically against the sheets. It wasn’t enough. Wouldn’t be enough until Oscar gave him what he wanted.

And he wanted, God, he wanted.

“I, I.” He couldn’t form the right words, throat working uselessly. “Fuck, Oscar.”

“Shh,” Oscar said. “I’m calling him.”

--

“Oi. Osco.”

Carlos blinked muzzily. Hell. That was—Lando, stepping through the door. Carlos hadn’t even noticed the automatic lock click, so focussed he was on the three fingers spearing him open. But now all Carlos could hear were Lando’s footsteps, each one taking him closer to the bed.

“Lando,” Oscar said, deathly calm. “Glad you could make it.”

“You win one race and you think you can order me around—fuck.”

Carlos swallowed, his throat clicking. He couldn’t turn around to see what expression Lando was wearing. Couldn’t close his legs either. The surface of his skin felt as if it were on fire, all his shame on display. Oscar reached down, and tugged sharply on Carlos’s balls, and the whimper that slid out of him would haunt him for a long time.

“Oscar, what the fuck.” Said bewilderedly, but not uninterestedly.

The suggestive wonder in Lando’s voice had Carlos’s hole clamping down on Oscar’s fingers reflexively.

“Look at him,” Oscar said. “You just got here and he’s already gagging for it.”

“Oscar, again,” Lando said. “What the fuck?”

“Carlos needs someone to fuck him today,” Oscar said, as if they were discussing the weather. Or some produce at the supermarket. Look at this peach. Ripe and ready to eat. “Can’t be me though, right?”

A second ago Carlos couldn’t put together the jigsaw puzzle comprising of Lando’s face, while he looked at Carlos all spread out and leaking like a tap. But now, it slotted together, piece by perfect piece. Carlos sensed the moment Lando understood. The moment he accepted Oscar’s handshake over a chessboard.

“Right,” Lando said. “Can’t be you. Not after today.”

The silence that followed tore at Carlos, produced another whimper. Very different games from the ones he and Charles played. Maybe he’d just been driving in circles blind, this whole time, while everyone else made chess moves that far eclipsed the mid-field.

“Go on,” Oscar said. “He’s all ready and waiting for you.”

“Carlos?”

Almost sweet, the slight hesitation. Lando thinking to check, even while Oscar dangled Carlos in front of him, three fingers still thrusting in and out of Carlos as if he were a toy.

“Carlos,” Oscar cut in. The way they said his name was so unlike, wrapped in their own version of favour. “Tell Lando what you told me, just now. Tell him how much you want it.”

The order shot straight down his brainstem through his spine and into his dick. Carlos moaned, shifting desperately on his knees, thrusting his ass up higher. “Lando, please,” he said. “Please, fuck me.”

“Fucking Christ,” Lando said.

There was a muffled sound, skin on skin, with weight behind it. Lando shoving Oscar out of the way, tearing Oscar’s fingers unceremoniously out of Carlos. There came Oscar’s very bothered, unbothered scoff. Carlos wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. 

At least Lando was willing to tug his briefs down all the way, release Carlos’s cock which slapped against his stomach. He was so embarrassingly hard.

“He’s kept you waiting, huh, Carlos?”  The thin veneer of gentleness made the hair on Carlos’s forearms stand. Had Lando ever crooned so softly at him? Carlos couldn’t remember. Back in his McLaren days, maybe. The orange stained them all differently.

“And you’re making him wait even more,” Oscar said.

Carlos would grumble, if he knew he could get away with it. So now Oscar’s impatient? Now that there’s someone else in the room to witness Carlos falling apart?

“Fuck off, Oscar,” Lando said, media-trained pleasantness turned on full blast. The click of the lube, the slow, slick sounds of Lando stroking himself. By the time Lando pressed into Carlos, Carlos would have remade himself waiting, he was sure of it. “I’m doing your work for you, in case you forgot.”

“You’re both,” Carlos rasped, unable to bear their catfight any longer, “children—”

The stretch was almost bearable, after how brutally Oscar had played with his hole. All the breath punched out of Carlos’s lungs. He moaned piteously, even as he did his best to shove himself back on Lando’s cock. Carlos could choke on them both; he had the appetite for it.

“Baby,” Lando cooed, “you feel so, so—”

“He feels good,” Oscar said. Can’t let Lando get one over him. “He’s always, always, so fucking tight.”

Oscar was never careless with his words. Never. Not even when he complained about Carlos in front of god and country. Always. He knew what Lando would think. Three chess moves ahead.

The prickle of indignation fell to the wayside when Lando started fucking him, harder than Carlos thought Lando would ever touch him. No gentleness or finesse. His cock was an uncompromising stab in Carlos. He felt it all the way up his belly, even to his throat. Aftershocks of when he had Oscar in him. Lando was trying to redo it all. Carlos didn’t know how to break it to him that used was used.

Lando slipped out, in haste or contemplation, Carlos couldn’t tell. Were they both looking at his abused hole? Or were they looking at each other? Carlos’s mind was coming up blank.

Lando fucked back into him, finding his prostate, and Carlos cried out. Scratched at the bed thoughtlessly. He wasn’t holding himself up; he was barely holding on. Lando’s hands were wrapped around his hips, digging in bruises that Carlos would feel all the way to the next race. His cock dribbled pre, a mess on his stomach and the sheets.

“Oscar,” Carlos said.

He flinched when Lando smacked him on the thigh, hard. At a better time, Carlos would tell them they were two sides of the same coin. “I’m the one fucking you,” he said.

“He can’t come unless I say so,” Oscar said, voice dipped in satisfaction. “You want to, Carlos?”

“Yes,” Carlos gasped. “Yes, fuck, I want.”

“Ask for it,” Oscar said. “Go on, baby.”

Never a mistake. Carlos tossed his head, whined his displeasure. Lando was splitting him open and it still seemed as if Oscar had Carlos fit into the palm of his hand. Lando was going to see Carlos begging for it. That had been the plan from the very start.

Lando was silent. Carlos couldn’t be. No self-preservation left, worn down to the quick.

“Please,” Carlos sobbed. “Please, please, please, Oscar, please—”

Oscar’s hand found his wet, desperate cock, stroked him to the time of Lando’s increasingly irregular thrusts. “Good,” he said. “You can come, Carlos. You’ve worked for it.”

Carlos shook, every muscle tensing up, before thawing like melted butter. He came, mind wiped clean from the pleasure and the shame. Sparks rewiring him from the inside out. He fell forward, and there was Oscar’s arm, supporting him against the dull weight of Lando on his back. He twitched, moaned, mouth rising and falling in pleading shapes.

“Good,” Oscar said again.

--

“You can leave now,” Oscar was saying to Lando.

Carlos’s eyes were barely open. There was an arm around him, stroking his shoulder with a gentleness completely lacking before. Whose arm was it? Carlos couldn’t give a damn.

“Or shower, if you want, whatever. I don’t care.”

Don’t let him play you like that, Carlos wanted to say, but his tongue was too thick in his mouth. And anyway, he should probably take his own advice, before giving it. Carlos leaned into the doting hand with a sigh. He was sore everywhere a body could be sore.

The last thing he knew before falling, was the soft, apologetic press of lips against his. Slightly chapped, smelling of that godawful Papaw lip balm. In the far, faraway background, the sounds of the shower started. Someone murmured his name. But Carlos was too tired. They could continue this in the morning.

...

My 2024 all F1 ART （2）

this entire week was a LOT for Oscar and Lando clinging to each other through responsibilities but Sunday was like a masterclass in Oscar 'Let Me Take Care Of Lando' Piastri during what was sadly probably going to end up being one of Lando's darkest days

first Oscar fucking bodying the disappointment of his own race by chuckling ruefully about it in the interview next to a brooding (but at one point smiling!) Carlos. then Oscar looking at Lando's forlorn little face during the group photo...

and deciding from there on out to be Gregarious Outgoing Oscar - to pick up the remainders of their home race weekend on his very strong shoulders and see it all through on a high

like goddamn is his competence and maturity and sense of responsibility and desire to perform acts of service specifically for Lando are sexy as hELL !! starting with bearing the brunt of the post race recap so Lando doesn't have to - and watching Lando finally smile by continuing the tradition of saying "thanks Osc" is such a relief and Oscar would probably let Lando use any nickname he liked so long as it made him smile like that.

and then Lando - who'd been fighting a full on breakdown since the wrong choice of tyres right up to the group photo and working very hard to be happy for the team - sees Oscar putting in all of this effort and watching him and hovering and even doing that standing back a few paces so that Lando's home crowd can focus on Lando! and Lando knows he can do just as he likes and Oscar will allow anything! won't even do his completely fake and ultimately futile "scolding" no he's gonna give Lando whatever he wants just to make Lando smile and laugh. he's gonna 'keep him happy' :)

and Lando wants another shoey! he wants it to be Their Thing at Silverstone! and he wants Oscar's shoe and for Oscar to go first! and then Oscar gives in immediately and purrs "well since you put it like that" and Lando doesn't even fight the smile spreading across his face. then when it's his turn he wants to giggle and squirm and put his hands behind his back, ducking his head and going all cute like "but Oscah I'm too petite and fertile for a shoey" and he's loving Oscar going all pushy and pulling his pigtails, his absurd white sock treading in cold beer as he advances on Lando and not giving a damn bc Lando's dimples are out and he's being so cute and it's all for Oscar :)

and then suddenly Lando wants to project all of his frustrations into Oscar's shoe and hurtles it into the crowd and he can't quite believe he did that but!! Oscar is doubled over with laughter so Lando doubles over too and it's so wild and absurd and any other friend would steal one of Lando's shoes in retaliation and hurl it at the crowd - but not Oscar !! Oscar is exuding relief at seeing Lando this happy and Oscar never thinks of taking a second of that joy for himself and he is so happy to be the foil for Lando to act up and be wild and feel all of his feelings because it makes Lando feel !Safe! knowing that Oscar will never throw him a curve ball or do anything unexpected and whatever Lando says or does, Oscar will make it all okay by finding it hilarious or cute or he'll pretend to be exasperated and it's all the same thing really.

because Oscar doesn't care about the media! he appreciates the fans but he's not going to sacrifice any of himself for us and he certainly won't dance or perform! he doesn't care about his "image" so long as he's mostly left alone to focus on what's important to him. he doesn't give a damn about PR and he REALLY didn't care about creating a bromance or a PR package with Lando, not just bc it's not Oscar's thing but also bc Oscar had spent 8 years enjoying Lando as a driver and genuinely liking what he saw of him online. he saw a real future with McLaren - one he'd sacrificed so much to have - and he really saw a future with Lando. however their relationship was going to develop he wanted it to be solid and without any meddling for the sake of publicity. he doesn't hand over his time to just anyone and is perfectly alright being largely alone if need be! so the investments he's made with Lando are entirely a conscious choice - he wants to spend that time with him even when it's not for work or PR or social media.

Oscar both knows and cares that what is temporarily frustrating to him is utterly devastating to someone who feels things the way Lando feels things. that they're Different in so many ways but that in the same way Lando has watched Oscar closely to figure him out, Oscar has too. and Lando has gotten so incredibly comfortable with Oscar that he's let a very wide range of his emotions out around him! he's even shown his downright annoying and infuriating sides to Oscar and Oscar either smiles and allows it or smiles and pretends to be firm with him. sometimes Lando is especially annoying because it's quite fun seeing Oscar fighting down a smile and pretending to be firm with him :) they've basically turned that Sport Bible interviewer into their comedic marriage counselor.

and Lando didn't insist on the shoey for show - and as he had said after his very first one two years before, had no intention of ever doing another - but because this is their home race and now it can be Tradition! and because it was a bonding moment for them last year! and he doesn't throw Oscar's shoe bc it's a great "bit" or bc he's playing up to the crowd, it's because he's currently experiencing the most dizzying extremes of high and low all at once and we know very well that Lando has to channel a meltdown every now and then! he's genuinely surprised at himself for a moment when he so casually hurtles the poor shoe - almost unconsciously and he didn't even check to see who was watching or if Oscar saw it - and doesn't laugh until he sees Oscar laughing. and it felt SO good and cathartic to do and Oscar never complains !! Oscar wouldn't retaliate make Lando have a cold foot for the remainder of the fan stage! he even took off the other shoe and threw it himself for good measure!

and goddd do I love how you can see toward the end some kind of strategizing going on between Oscar and the members of the McLaren media team where Oscar wants Lando to throw the last hat for the cameras (I'm assuming). but Lando is euphorically performing the crowd and thrilled at how they respond to him waving his arms - even makes sure Oscar sees him do it to see Oscar beam at him! but the prompter down by the stage monitors has been flashing "WRAP IT UP" for a long time now so Oscar spares a moment to let Lando have his fun and revel in the moment before prompting him to throw the remaining hat.

and the thing is that Oscar has been saying how much Silverstone came to mean to him after last year - when the crowd chanted his name and Lando said how Oscar should've been on the podium with him and Lando almost floated off the stage with joy when Oscar said he watched when Lando was leading! - when they were still figuring each other out and Oscar was still very quiet and mostly wanting to just get through public appearances unscathed - and yet !! in the face of Lando's joy at a home podium, Oscar had plucked up the courage to push an arm around Lando's waist and squeezed him close. a move so unexpected and momentous that Lando literally looked a little dazed by it before slinging his arm around Oscar's shoulders and somehow smiling harder than he already was.

so isn't it a nice little bookend that this year, when Lando is now utterly devastated by third place and not remotely in the mood for crowds and jubilation - he is the very flip opposite of his hopeful, ecstatic colorful self of the previous three days buildup - but!! that Oscar has grown to know him so well that he'll gladly shift gears and be more animated and outgoing, all in the same way that even the general public recognize how Oscar provides Lando words he can't think of or facts he can't remember or helps him sound out words he doesn't know - and in this instance, Oscar can see where Lando's ability to turn himself "on" for the public drops off and needs Oscar to help out.

and Oscar knows probably better than most apart from the closest members of Lando's team how Lando needs time to get over a severe disappointment. he needs to stew and spiral and recover. he'll do his best in the meantime but it's a labor. so every time Lando droops again in the hours following the race, Oscar doesn't once get tired of watching him and boosting him back up. Lando leaves the stage and you can immediately see the dejection and weariness again because it's time to get in the car with Oliver and leave. (poor Max F today posting a very telling video of golfing with Lando in the rain and Max's face saying everything about Lando's continued state of mind)

so Oscar posts Those Moments of fan stage joy - just the two of them - on every social media platform he has and lets the images of himself and Lando in the setting sun take up the top row of his instagram. and Lando replies to one of his own very few posts of the Sunday with a video of the shoey calling him "Osc" - bc it's one of Their Things. it makes them smile and if the public likes it that's fine but it only happened at first by accident and without any audience so it's still just Their Thing. just like how the shoey Lando found so yucky in 2022 is now Their Thing to do at Silverstone. just like it's Their Thing to know when the other needs the support and for the other to step up. and how the public call them "twins" but really, it's that when you watch someone close enough and you Care, you just naturally slip into patterns and you know what they're about to say!

race day at Silverstone 2024 was absolutely nothing of what Lando had hoped, and all coming after the giddiness of both media days and FP and quali with Oscar right there beside him both on the track and off it. he didn't even hold his trophy like usual in the post race because only the big gold one meant anything anymore. but he had "Osc" and Their Shoey and Oscar who takes a shower and rinses away all his frustrations and shows up for Lando in the same kit as Lando's team and smiling for Lando no matter what. it's no wonder those are the only moments Lando wants to remember <3

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this should be all the video sources I used in the compilation but pls let me know if I missed one and I'll add it <3

tumblr.com/eightyonefour/755376682323623936 x.com/folklando/status/1810032883865993489 x.com/safeforlando/status/1810028772634009855?s=46 instagram.com/p/C9IteqeInL2/ instagram.com/p/C9IpL8itplz/?img_index=6 instagram.com/p/C9IpZBaN-NO/ instagram.com/p/C9IxcU2tntu/ instagram.com/p/C9IlzaBoaKX/ instagram.com/p/C9IrQW9tMhc/ instagram.com/p/C9In7rvNgsQ/ instagram.com/p/C9Io-ERNwgM/ instagram.com/p/C9Iheq3NQ1d/ instagram.com/p/C9IkX-vNuUF/ instagram.com/p/C9IvhKMNTJU/

in tears 😭💕💕

we got a new landoscar content 👀

love game

and when i punch them both in the face then what🤨

Do u have landoscar fics recs?

boy do I have a list for you ><

by conquest's right by @amilyame

literally every fic by @passengerprincipessa

again, every fic(I binged thru all of them in a night) by @ellusionist

cx's collection by @cx-boxbox

second movement by @lellabellas

casual by @loquarocoeur

anon collection

you love me(but you don't know it yet) by @nyoomfruits

october birds by @wanderingblindly

every fic by @its-all-papaya

every fic(againx4) by @ocontraire

all fics (getting little repetitive here...) by @ipleadbritney

landoscar social media au!

this is almost canon by now, bUT i tried imagining them in a way that matched their personality so oscar’s feed is organized and lando’s more colorful!