Kenngry88 - Untitled

This years' love, it better last

spooky 🎃

If you see this, lol, its Halloween

George n Lance spooky

#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 He looks a little tired, a little sad, a little withdrawn, but when Lando looks up, meets his eyes, a smile takes over his face.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.

went truly unhinged and wrote an entire fic summary of mafia!carcar @__@ special thanks to the good ppl over at the carcar discord <3

as usual I worked google's p*ssy tired to put together the details so pls ignore/handwave anything erroneous

Okay, so for regional specifications let’s say that Carlos has worked for years to be vouched for in the mafia. He’s actually a spy and in an extremely dangerous position - he was plucked from law school in Spain to be trained up in the intelligence agency and was assigned to Sicily due to his fluency in Italian. So even though he’s only 26, he’s already highly skilled and has been living and working full-time as a secret agent and translator - as well as liaison for the mafia - in Sicily for years already.

Oscar is fresh off his A-levels and touring Italy with lofty dreams of becoming a race engineer for Ferrari but assuming he’ll end up back in the UK in some bland office where he’ll hope to make enough money to go to F1 races - and maybe one day take his rightful place on that pit wall.

Palermo is at the very end of his trip before he flies back to London and he books a tour of the Norman Palace. He’s enjoying the fusion of cultures in the art and architecture, totally unaware that his name had been noticed by one of the palace’s administration when he’d bought the ticket a week before. An untraceable number of emails and messages had brought his existence to the attention of mafiosi who had until that moment assumed that particular royal line had died out. 

They immediately scour what little exists of Oscar in the public domain and the even less available through government authorities (the boy is barely out of childhood and has done nothing of note except leaving his homeland to attend school in the UK and hasn’t even gotten so much as a speeding ticket). His social media however reveals a hunch that young Oscar is not unaffected by handsome men, possibly with a penchant for Spanish men in particular, and that he is an ardent Ferrari fanboy. A hastily put-together plot to snare the boy into the mafia by establishing him in his rightful royal position has all the promise of strengthening the mafia control of the region. 

Meanwhile, many consiglieri have long been suspicious of Carlos and see this as an opportunity for him to commit his oath for good - or to see him and the Oscar boy easily disposed of if the Spaniard was discovered to be a rat. They will install Carlos as a translator for Ferrari and he will then claim that he is also on holiday in Palermo when he “bumps into” Oscar at the palace. As they are marveling at the Palatine Chapel’s interior and Carlos is using Ferrari and himself to work every charm at his disposal, a royal scholar with ties to the mafia will approach and inform them of his suspicion that Oscar is of royal descent. He will then ask them back to the University of Palermo to confirm his suspicions (which had of course already been confirmed). By that point, Oscar will have been successfully wooed by both Carlos and the promise of taking his rightful place as a prince, so that the mafia can insinuate themselves into his life and eventually his reign.

Only Carlos’ training can prevent his dismay from being revealed to his bosses as the plan is described to him, but he’s horrified at dragging some poor, unwitting kid into all the danger and ruthlessness of organized crime. He decides to defy his bosses back at the intelligence agency and play the long game of making Oscar his husband and strategizing at every turn to keep the boy alive and hopefully at some point extricate him back to his normal life - or at least into a witness protection program. Anything else would certainly risk Oscar’s life and even if Carlos hadn’t become fond of the kid from a distance, he still wouldn’t sacrifice him for a shorter route to cutting off an entire arm of organized crime.

The plan proceeds as expected, with Oscar dazzled and blushing over Carlos’ attentions and the royal scholar having approached them. It all suddenly goes awry when an overzealous nephew of a mafiosi - fresh off a 12-hour drug bender - infiltrates operations, taking Oscar hostage in the chapel and insisting that the government immediately recognize Oscar as royalty and that the church marry them there in the chapel. He then turns the gun to dispatch an unarmed Carlos, only to be knocked unconscious by Oscar wielding an antique censer. 

The royal scholar - Andrea Stella - is a good man who now speaks urgently to Carlos in a peculiar coded language (they both have on wires) informing him that he knows of the mafia’s plans and that he too wants to see Oscar kept safe. Oscar surprises them by not only understanding the code but speaking it back - albeit brokenly - to them. The code is known only within the Ferrari elite and sounds identical to everyday Italian but with a sequenced pattern that carries a second meaning to every other word, something that amateur cryptography genius Oscar picks up on remarkably quickly.

Which is how Oscar learns that his claim to royal status is fully valid, his entanglement with the mafia is very real, but worst of all is that Carlos’ romantic interest in him was all a lie (or so he assumes).

The police and media attention that the hostage situation attracts results in the mafia’s plans proceeding as expected, except for all three men pivotal to their machinations being in cahoots to foil them. Oscar is granted status as a prince but without anointing or coronation by the church due to him taking Carlos for a husband. They are installed in a part of the palace now closed off to the public and begin their work ingratiating Oscar with said public and even winning them over to the idea of him being married to another man (Carlos not being Italian ends up being the biggest hurdle for them to get over). Oscar’s youth, beauty, shyness and sweet giggle work unexpected wonders, as does the promise of a return to all the regal romance of a pre-unified Italy while not actually returning to those times politically. 

Carlos and Oscar have a tense private relationship because Oscar is nursing a wounded heart as well as a stubborn attraction and love for Carlos - while Carlos feels ashamed of having tried to seduce Oscar for duplicitous purposes and is also struggling with an intense attraction and growing affection for him. Andrea is the architect of their whole counter-strategy and is both the heart and the brains: the brains because he has lain in wait for decades for the right opportunity to destroy the mafia’s power, but also the heart because he sees Oscar as a son and can also see the misunderstandings going on between Oscar and Carlos.

Oscar is a complete surprise package in having an iron-clad poker face and an uncanny ability to remain calm even as his life is turned upside down that rivals seasoned operatives. He even manages to dupe his own family when they visit for the wedding. When Carlos asks how he can so easily lie to them about it all, Oscar levels him with “I could do anything just to keep them safe.” To which Carlos replies that he knows what Oscar means and raises Oscar’s hand to kiss over the ring he now wears as prince. Then he kisses Oscar at one of the highest points of the palace with Mount Etna visible in the distance.

They begin an all-consuming sexual affair that they both privately claim is beneficial to confirming their relationship to the mafia while conveniently remaining in denial of their real feelings. Carlos pours all of his into kissing every inch of Oscar’s pale skin until he’s pink all over, and Oscar puts all his aching heart into taking Carlos down his throat just out of view of the public or forcing Carlos to handle meetings while Oscar is crouched between his ankles. A few lowly messengers of the mafiosi bring back stories of hearing the prince’s cries punctuated with the banging of furniture against palace walls. Carlos can’t keep his hands off his pretty husband either in public or private conclave with “officials” who are really mafiosi under different titles. 

Meanwhile, Oscar is still presumed by the mafia to be none the wiser about the criminal element of his reign and does such sleek work with his angelic face and adorably unassuming attitude that any lingering discussion of dispatching him is immediately shut down.

Which makes it all the more shocking four years later when a sudden mass assassination frames half the criminal element for the death of the other half and throws the whole of the syndicate in chaos that dissolves their control entirely. The ensuing months see Oscar, Carlos and Andrea sequestered - along with their court - inside the palace which is shut to the public amid fears of another hostage situation, while arrests and investigations take place. 

Tensions across the city are high in the wake of the ensuing widely publicized trials and Oscar insists that a public appearance from him outside the palace would reassure and distract the public - and that it would solidify his position as more than seemingly ceremonial. The palace officials agree to the plan but as they are deciding on the security detail, Carlos realizes his presence alongside Oscar has not been mentioned. 

Later that night in their bedchamber, Carlos raises his concern and states that he will be accompanying his husband during his appearance. Oscar attempts to shut him down by stating that Carlos would only represent a greater threat by seeming to taunt the mafia and encourage retribution. 

They argue until Oscar calmly pulls rank, to which Carlos responds by kissing him fiercely and forcing him onto the bed. They desperately make love and fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

The next morning, Carlos awakens in their room alone and with the sun at a suspicious slant through the windows. He realizes Oscar has stolen Carlos’ phone from its usual place by the bed to ensure that he slept in - clearly hoping Carlos would sleep through Oscar’s public appearance entirely. He realizes the little beast had baited him into fucking him so thoroughly that Carlos was exhausted and woke late.

He pulls on clothes and tears down the stairs to the courtyard with just enough time to compose himself and stand beside one of the guards. Oscar stood out in front with the selected media in a semi-circle and an enormous crowd at barriers set further out, many of whom were calling out affection and support for their prince. He does not see that Carlos has joined them and proceeds with his speech.

Carlos spots the gun at the same time as the guard next to him, but it is aimed at Oscar and not himself. 

As Etna smokes and rumbles what will be called a mild yet deadly eruption in the distance, two shots are fired after Carlos and the guard wrap their bodies around Oscar and force him to safety. The remaining guards - and a few members of the public - detain the gunman (none too gently) and Carlos and Oscar are bundled back to their rooms and the guards take up position outside.

Inside their bedchamber, Oscar frantically paws at Carlos, wildly suspecting that he’s been shot and doesn’t realize it. He tugs Carlos’ jacket and shirt off and gives a heartbreaking cry of relief when he doesn’t see a single mark on his husband’s body.

Oscar breaks down at last, releasing four years of stress and anxiety in a gust of tears and collapsing in Carlos’ arms. He pours out how he had contrived the mass assassination plan mere months after his life was altered forever in the Palatine Chapel - how he brought Andrea into it to help him with things like the details and movements of mafia members, members who would be willing to work against the family and the risk to innocents, even down to developing a seemingly arbitrary fascination with volcanology so that he could be made aware of Etna’s activity far enough in advance to take the admittedly wild final gambit of disposing the remaining members by having them conveniently perish in Etna’s next eruption. He realized that while conspiring half the local mafia against the larger organization would result in a certain amount of mutually assured destruction, as well as concealing forever Oscar’s role in it, he would have some stragglers to deal with who could regroup in retribution. A suggestion was therefore sent down via Oscar’s court officials to the police loyal to the palace, and then to remaining criminals-at-large (also those with the bloodiest histories in the mafia) of escaping arrest by scaling the crater during a period of high activity and therefore remaining undetected by officials, guides and the public. Their treacherous expedition was promised to take them to the other side of the volcano and then to the coast where boats and new identities would take them from their troubles. 

Oscar had reasoned that if Etna hadn’t taken them then their desire for escaping arrest would scatter them and effectively extinguish their power hopefully forever. Andrea had marveled at Oscar’s command over strategizing the whole plan mostly by himself and said that Ferrari would mourn missing out on hiring him if they knew what he was capable of.

Carlos cradles Oscar on the carpet, kissing his sweat-cold brow and begging to know why Oscar didn’t include Carlos in the plan? Does he still not trust him after all this time? Because if so then he wishes the bullet had found him and put an end to playing husband to the man he loves but who will never love him in return.

Oscar looks up into his eyes with a face full of wonder and brings a hand up to lovingly stroke Carlos’ cheek. Because he kept Carlos out of it precisely so that he wouldn’t do anything stupid like sacrifice himself and ruin Oscar’s hopes that when his plan was finished, perhaps they could start over and he could make Carlos love him the way he loves Carlos.

For the first time, they kiss knowing their love is mutual. And while they realize their positions will always involve some element of danger and their lives will never be “normal”, they admit that they’d never choose any other life if it meant not being together.

ENDITO!

i did it again 😐 (x)

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.

youtube playlist: comfort f1 videos 🏎️💨

featuring: charles leclerc, lando norris, carlos sainz, oscar piastri, alex albon, max verstappen, daniel ricciardo, lance stroll, george russell and many more

disclaimer: these are MY comfort videos, so there will be bias towards some drivers and not others, enjoy :)

Hallo new portrait. I neeed to draw bodies. Craving it heavy

silent communication comp :,)