Liz_serrano11
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Summary
After a hard season that took more than it gave, Oscar Piastri returns home and is forced to face the reality of his situation: losing the championship, a recent breakup, his tendency to overthink, and the lingering sense that something essential has been left unexplored for years.
A handful of small decisions pull him toward unfamiliar territory, where curiosity and want blur into something harder to control.
And Max Verstappen is there to enjoy the ride, an eye always focused on the prize.
or: Oscar gets close enough to the flame to feel its heat—and learns to crave it.
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Oscar freezes when he feels a familiar warm hand on his lower back. The hands he's been yearning for everytime someone touched him. The only thing he'll not recoil from on instinct.
Hot, rapid breaths fanning the back of his neck, before plump lips meet his jaw. Speaking of the devil.
Or
In the aftermath of Abu Dhabi 2025, after being forced to attend Lando's party, Oscar ends in Carlos's arms
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He was so beautiful like this, spread apart, wanton and expressive and if someone asked Oscar to commit himself to a religion right now, he would've happily continued to worship Carlos, kneeling right there between his legs.
(or)
the carlussy sequel. oscar never stood a chance.Series
- Part 2 of morphological mishaps
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“Why are you here, Oscar? You should sleep. You’re tired.”
It’s the edge of fondness in Carlos’ tone that always gets him. Oscar shrugs at first, pressing himself against Carlos, their bodies adhering in a sort of comically mismatched way. He, too, still reeks of stale club air and spilled Champagne, and there’s something in his warmth that makes Oscar want to beg for more, more naked skin against his, more contact, more pressure. He thinks he whines when Carlos finally buries his face into the crook of his neck, the tip of his ungraceful nose lingering in the soft spot behind his ear, shamelessly breathing him in and then blabbering something about “finding his true scent there”, to which Oscar replies with a noncommittal hum.
“I need,” he starts, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down and his pulse quickening a little, “I want you to fuck me until I forget my own name.”
There, he said it. The truth, nothing but the fucking truth, all of his cards on the table, the vulnerability he so fiercely protects ready to become an object of study or a weapon held against him. He doesn’t care, though.
(Carlos would never)Oscar isn't happy with how his season has ended and needs a distraction.
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Summary
Carlos Sainz knows better than to fall for another driver.
Oscar Piastri knows even better than to admit it.“We can’t keep doing this.”
“I wasn’t aware this had turned into an us thing.”Carlos and Oscar keep telling themselves it’s nothing. Just late nights, lingering looks, crossed lines they never name.
Until one quiet hallway forces them to admit that it’s already been an us for a long time.