#what In The Body Language Is Happening Here?

#crying as of now

#LandOscar

post brazil gp landoscar fluff because i feel like we all need some of that rn lmao

Lando doesn’t expect Oscar to follow him, after.

Sure, they’ve been having this thing going between them for a few weeks now, a thing that started with a frantic make out session after the wild ride that was the Singapore Grand Prix and continued all throughout the shared podiums in Japan and Qatar, but still.

To be fair, when the US GP had happened, Lando hadn’t really expected Oscar to follow him either. DNF’s always sucked, and Lando usually liked to deal with them by rolling himself into a blanket and eating a pint of ice cream and wallowing over all the things that could have gone different, that should have gone different, that he could have done different.

But Oscar had followed him anyway.

After Mexico, too, which wasn’t bad but wasn’t good either, but Oscar was still there, tight smile and tired eyes, following Lando to his hotel room and kissing him softly the second the door closed behind them.

Still, after all of that, Lando doesn’t expect Oscar to follow him. Not this time. Not after that disaster of a first lap. Not after Oscar had to watch Lando take second place even though he had to spend the entire race playing a game of catch up he was never going to win.

And yet, when Lando gathers the last things in his drivers room, tries to shove everything back into his bag with a franticness that only ever comes with a great desire to go back to the hotel and sleep, Oscar appears in the doorway. He looks a little tired, a little sad, a little withdrawn, but when Lando looks up, meets his eyes, a smile takes over his face. It’s a soft, gentle little thing he only ever seems to save for Lando. “Hey,” he says, leaning against the doorjamb. “Ready to go?”

Lando pauses, gives Oscar a calculating look. “You don’t. We don’t have to,” he says, eventually. He’s not. He wants to. He always wants to. He thinks about that sometimes, how much he always seems to want so much from Oscar. How Oscar always seems so willing to give.

“Okay,” Oscar says, brows pinching together. “But I want to.”

The ‘Do you?’ hangs unspoken between them.

“It’s just,” Lando starts, searching for words. “You had a shit race. I get it if you want some time alone. Or something. You don’t owe me anything. I’d get it.” He’s been there. He’d get it, if Oscar just wanted to be left alone for a bit.

Oscar hums, pushes himself off the doorjamb to make his way over to Lando. “I know. Thank you,” he says, taking Lando’s face in his hands and pressing a kiss to his forehead, leaving Lando a little flabbergasted and a lot flustered. “You’re sweet. But I would really just like to go home.” He takes Lando’s bag from his hands, then, slings it over his own shoulder and glances around the room to see if they’re forgetting anything.

Lando unfreezes when Oscar says. “Lando? You coming?” From where he’s standing in the doorway again, and hurries after Oscar, hoping he can blame the flush on his cheeks on the exertion of the race.

It isn’t until later, much later, when he lies in his bed in his hotel room, listening to Oscar’s soft even breath as he sleeps peacefully next to Lando, that he realizes.

When Oscar had said home.

He’d meant Lando.

may i pretty please request some more somno? “your protector” knocked me flat on my back 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

filling alongside another anon prompt for landoscar cnc :)

somno + lando with a pussy (for reasons including but not limited to: i could not stop thinking about lando norris’s g-spot)

prompt 3/?

You wouldn’t know what they were planning on doing, if you were a fly on the wall. The day goes the same as most of their Woking trips: sim sessions, media duties, chatting with the factory staff.

Lando has a meeting with Zak and picks up a few more hickeys while Oscar meets with Andrea – an hour of body worship in low, soft Italian as Andrea pulls him apart with his tongue.

So Lando and Oscar are both pleased and loose when they meet back at their rental flat for dinner. They share a meal over the type of easy conversation they’ve earned from being teammates for so long. It’s domestic – routine, even.

But then night falls.

As Lando’s washing his face before bed, he catches Oscar’s eye in the mirror. He’s wearing one of Oscar’s faded boarding school t-shirts, long enough to graze the tops of his thick thighs. “Was thinking, Osc. Could you do it tonight, then?”

Oscar’s hand pauses on his toothbrush, but he resumes a scant moment later as though his head’s not instantly flooded with memories. A dark room, Lando’s sleepy huffs of breath. Unloading inside him with four more hours left to sleep.

“Yeah?” he asks, rinsing his mouth under the tap.

“Mm-hmm,” Lando returns, calm and happy. He swipes on some lip balm and turns to go back to bed with a cheeky smile. Oscar just watches the sway of his hips in the mirror, grinning like an idiot.

They dick around on their phones for a while before turning in for the night – Oscar reading motorsport.com articles, Lando playing online poker like he’s forgotten money has real-world value – and then Lando yawns and settles into Oscar’s side with a sleepy, “Love you.”

Oscar makes himself wait, then.

Two hours, until the ancient alarm clock on the nightstand is flashing single digits. Beside him, Lando is curled in on himself, his back to Oscar. One knee is drawn up, and he’s breathing deeply, chest rising and falling rhythmically. The bathroom light is still on across the room, and Lando’s silhouetted in a warm wash of light.

The duvet is tangled around his waist, but the waistband of his Calvin Kleins is just visible where his t-shirt has rucked up above the curve of his ass. In one slow motion, Oscar reaches out and slides Lando’s panties down, his mouth watering when he sees the cotton stretch over Lando’s tan skin.

His panties are damp – a sizable wet spot catches the low light. In his sleep, Lando makes no reaction. Naughty thing. Must’ve had a nice little dream about what Oscar was going to do to him tonight.

Oscar drops a kiss to his shoulder and then drags the panties down to Lando’s knees. He doesn’t remove them all the way – it’s hotter somehow, like Oscar might need to make him decent again with a moment’s notice.

They’ve got a mirror on the wall back home so that Oscar can watch himself do this bit – but here, it’s left to his vivid imagination. He takes in a deep breath and releases it very, very slowly as he lets the fat head of his cock slip between the swollen lips of Lando’s pussy. It’s an easy slide – Lando’s soaked tonight, his body blindly responding to Oscar’s touch, even though it could be anyone’s fingers, anyone’s cock. It could be Leclerc, or Danny Ric, or…hell, even Mark fucking Webber. Lando would have no way of knowing, wouldn’t he?

The pink, weeping tip of Oscar’s cock pushes through to the other side, appearing just beneath the hard knob of Lando’s clit. As gently as he can manage, and anchoring one palm on Lando’s hip to keep the bedframe from shaking, Oscar builds to a steady pace, fucking him and yet not fucking him. He rocks his hips, cock pushing between Lando’s pussy lips with a sinful squelch. His cock pulses as he pauses to catch his breath, and Lando makes a soft moan, curls shifting on the pillow.

Oscar stays very still and watches his face, making sure he stays asleep. Nothing passes across Lando’s slack face. Satisfied that he’s under enough, Oscar carefully twines their fingers together and resumes.

He’s not actually penetrating Lando, but it feels – insanely – like he’s buried deep within him. Oscar gets off on that, too – the idea that he’s just shamelessly rutting against Lando’s sloppy cunt like a teenager trying to keep an abstinence pledge, trying to make it to marriage without just sticking it in.

He pulls out halfway to give himself better access to Lando’s hole. He tucks one tapered finger inside Lando’s body, fingerpad curling against the place where he’s spongy, where he gives a little extra beneath Oscar’s touch. Lando doesn’t notice, just continues his deep, heavy breaths. In, out. Oscar rubs inside him in tiny, maddening circles, biting his cheek to keep from moaning at the drip of wetness that’s steadily working its way down his wrist. Lando is soft and pulsing inside – heaped to the brim, taut. Filled.

Oscar presses harder against Lando’s G-spot, curling his fingers right up against Lando’s pelvic bone. Fast, short strokes – the way he’d touch himself if he had a pussy, too.

Lando makes a tiny, hurt sound, and then, without warning, he’s soaking his thighs, Oscar’s cock, the sheets. His thighs slip apart as he does it, the waistband of his panties stretching around his knees. He squirts in his sleep like something out of a porno. The sound of it is electric in the silent room. The trickle of come on the hardwood nearly makes Oscar’s eyes roll back.

Oscar wishes, madly, that he could be a thousand places at once: here, and down between his thighs with his lips sealed around his clit, getting come all over his face, and suckling at his sweet little tits, and lifting Lando’s thigh to fuck his other hole, too. To make him feel good everywhere.

Lando just hums and readjusts in the sheets, oblivious to the mess he’s just made. His eyelashes flutter a bit, but his eyes stay shut. A soft huff of breath, like Oscar’s just covered him with his favorite blanket. He looks peaceful, serene. As though he hasn’t just drenched the mattress.

“Ah—jeez—” Oscar grits out, unable to keep quiet any longer. His cock’s dripping with Lando’s come, shiny and slick like he’s just pissed inside him or something. And fuck, that image – it’s all he can do to pull out and shove his cock against the gusset of Lando’s panties before he’s coming, spunk pooling on the cotton and turning it sodden and see-through. He breathes hard against Lando’s shoulder blade, forcing himself to stay as quiet as he can.

When his orgasm has worked its way through him, he swallows dryly a few times before tucking his cock back into his sweats and then, very carefully, pulling Lando’s panties back up. His own come squishes out the sides, mingling with Lando’s soaked pubes – and Oscar’s cock jerks painfully at the sight. Lando makes a small noise, the way he does when Oscar slips him a little tongue when they’re making out.

Pushing his luck, probably, but Oscar reaches one hand around to press the hot, wet cotton against the seam of Lando’s cunt, gently massaging his come into his pussy through the fabric. Getting his come in every fold, every hidden valley of Lando’s body. Making him thoroughly, completely his.

Lando squirms happily back against Oscar’s chest – Oscar’s touch must feel good.

“That’s it,” Oscar whispers, daring to push his fabric-covered thumb up inside, shallowly fucking Lando with his own soaked panties. “Good, baby. Good, that’s it.”

His pussy’s tight around him, like it’s sucking at Oscar’s fingers, wanting more, wanting him deeper. Oscar is powerless to resist the call of his body: he fits his fingertip against the firm outline of Lando’s clit and massages it, using his own come as lube.

Lando’s whole body goes tense. His brow creases, and he whines in the back of his throat as he trembles through another orgasm – only this one, he wakes up to. He blinks his wide, wet eyes open and gazes up at Oscar even as he’s shuddering through it, his glossy lips parted in wonder. He’s confused for a fraction of a second, and then he’s moaning – a broken string of “yes” and “fuck” that make Oscar throb inside.

Lando’s eyes droop as he works through the aftershocks, and by the time he turns his face into Oscar’s chest, he’s already fast asleep. Oscar noses up the side of his neck and buries his face in his curls, holding him close. He’ll let him doze for a minute, and then when the sheets get tacky and cold, he’ll carry him to the ensuite and give him a bath by candlelight.

He presses his lips to Lando’s temple, and Lando instinctually brings his palm up to hang onto Oscar’s t-shirt – wanting to go with him.

spooky 🎃

If you see this, lol, its Halloween

George n Lance spooky

need to read this and like put it on my wall or something 😔

STOP BEING SELF CONSCIOUS ABOUT YOUR CREATIONS STOP SECOND GUESSING WHAT YOU REALLY WANNA DO STOP DEBATING IT'S WORTH. LET YOUR ART SERVE YOU INSTEAD OF THE OTHER WAY AROUND

i did it again 😐 (x)

Oscar polite cat-ing

#oh my actual gosh #who say that? #THISISMADNESS #NO #THISISSPARTA MYSANITYISHERENOMORE

lewis hamilton during the national anthem before the race, monaco - may 25, 2025

not beating the creature allegations, july 2020

Lando Archives 6/?

this tiktok is my roman empire

Lando Review 146/? • June 2023 • MLB in London