Ropi23
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Rumor in the paddock is that Piastri got a tattoo.
Lando won’t lie and say he’s not curious about it; he’s curious as hell about anything to do with Oscar. He’s a little fucked up about it, to be honest, and that’s exactly why he’s trying to be so very cool about Oscar apparently getting a tattoo.
Except Lando’s never been cool about a single thing in his life.
Bookmarked by Ropi23
19 Jun 2026
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Max doesn't have a crush on Charles.
Really. He's seen the memes, he's seen the fucking videos.
He's also seen Charles Leclerc.
Who can blame him if, just sometimes, he looks a little bit too long? And so what if he’s bending over backwards to cater to him?
It doesn't mean he's into him.
Bookmarked by Ropi23
07 Apr 2026
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Lando shows up to the circuit bouncing on his feet, fresh-pressed and smug, wearing the shirt.
The shirt from the most recent upload. A thin cream-white thing with faded blue stripes. It had been rumpled in the video, clinging to sweat-slicked skin while a dildo was being fucked into a hole Oscar now knows too well.
Lando bites into a banana and says, “You good?”
Oscar blinks. Thinks about pressing Lando against the wall and having his way with him. Sending Lando off to media duties with a stretched hole and come trickling down his thighs. “Yeah. Fine.”
Or,
Oscar stumbles upon a camboy account that looks a lot like Lando. It ruins his focus, rewires his brain, and makes him want things he shouldn't.Series
- Part 8 of landoscar works by this anon
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Bookmarked by Ropi23
19 Feb 2026
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Post-race and high on ego, Lando decides to poke the bear. He wants to see Oscar break — wants to be put in his place. Oscar obliges. The brat gets what he asked for: manhandled, used, spread wide, and ruined. And Oscar? Oscar’s never been more in love.
Bookmarked by Ropi23
09 Feb 2026
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“You here to congratulate me?” he says, voice bright, cheeks flushed from the win, from the noise, from the ego. He tilts his head, all pretty elegance.
Max doesn’t answer. Just stalks forward until he’s toe-to-toe with him, until the smell of Charles’ sweat and champagne and heat floods his nose. “Congratulations?” Max growls, voice low and poisonous. “For what? Ruining my race? Driving like a fucking brat?”
Charles’ smile sharpens, a playful glint lighting his eyes. “I got P2,” he says simply, voice almost lighthearted, as if that explains everything. “Don’t be sore just because you couldn’t keep up.”
Max’s hand snaps out, grabs the back of Charles’ neck, fingers curling tight into the sweaty curls at his nape. He leans in, breath hot against Charles’ ear. “You’ve got no idea how close I came to running you off the track. Lucky for you, all I want is to fuck you so hard you forget everything else —especially how to drive.”
OR: Charles clips Max at the race, so Max punishes his bratty omega by making him remember his true purpose. [UPDATED 8/28/25]
Bookmarked by Ropi23
26 Dec 2025