13 Works by chaptercarcar
Listing Works
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Summary
Before Oscar could take it, someone shoves him forward. Hard. Oscar goes tumbling forward, his reflexes far too slow to brace himself before the fall.
And yet, he doesn’t fall flat on his face. Because the stranger’s hands brace him, grip tight against the sides of his arm. Oh god, he’s made a fool of himself.
“Whoa, careful there, señor! Wouldn’t want your pretty face to get hurt, eh?” he says, easy.
Series
- Part 2 of tumblr prompts
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Summary
When Carlos was younger, he dreamt of owning a big house, settling down in the countryside with his kids, and earning six figures by the time he was thirty.
Carlos is thirty. Carlos has none of those things. Instead, he has a rivalry with some guy named Oscar Piastri on eBird.
Series
- Part 1 of tumblr prompts
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Summary
“Hi, I’m Lando!”
Oscar blinked, taken aback.
“Uh, Lando Norris,” the Brit added hastily, feeling oddly self-conscious.
“Yeah, I know.” he finally shook Lando’s outstretched hand, his grip firm but not overly so. ”I’m Oscar Piastri”
The words hit Lando strangely. They weren’t rude exactly, but they weren’t warm either. Oscar sounded annoyed. Had Lando done something to offend him already? Was he annoyed by him?
“I’m not.” he said curtly.
What?
Or:
Oscar can read minds. Lando's is really loud. -
convoluted ways to hang out with your coworker slash archrival by chaptercarcar
Fandoms: Formula 1 RPF
05 Jul 2025
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Summary
Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.
Otherwise:
The three times Carlos and Oscar do each other’s special interests as part of a weird mating ritual. -
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Carlos was raised to be a gentleman.
Open the car door. Get her flowers. Pull out her chair. Offer to pay first. Get her home before 9. His parents raised him with manners.
His manners seem to disappear when he's on a date with Oscar.
or,
bi4bi carcar
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Summary
“Should you really say that to your childhood hero? Don’t you want me to sign your poster?” His grin was sharp, wolfish.
Oscar shot him a look, and maybe he’d started to scowl. “Shut the fuck up.” He downed another shot, the sting of the alcohol grounding him.
Carlos raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. He ran a hand through his hair. His stupidly luscious, shiny, soft hair. “Sure you want me to shut up?”
or, Oscar has a lot of posters of Carlos. A lot.
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Summary
Drunken Carlos barges into Oscar’s room and gets him to do the HOT TO GO dance with him.
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daydreaming about your lips (your hands on my hips) by chaptercarcar
Fandoms: Formula 1 RPF
28 Jan 2025
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Summary
That was when Lando had a horrifying realization: he would be utterly, wholly lost without Oscar. And when Oscar found someone else—when those heart-eyes weren’t reserved for Lando anymore—what then?
Ever since he came to terms with his pathetic crush, he understood that he was probably setting himself up for heartbreak. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.
Maybe that’s what made him break that fateful Sunday evening. The smell of chicken wafting in the air, the kitchen island a mess of ingredients and medicine.
“I can’t do this anymore!”
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He can’t sleep. It’s day 5 of his slightly (read: very) obsessive routine of listening to a stranger play Chopin's Ballade no. 1 again. The first time he heard this stranger play on the piano, he was immediately enamoured.
He gets in his usual position, sitting against the wall and closing his eyes as he listens to the music. Unfortunately, the music comes to an abrupt stop. Max grumbles softly, shuffling against the wall.
“You know I know you are there, right?” A voice comes out of the door muffled. It might be Max’s sleep-addled brain, but the stranger sounds almost French.
or, lestappen classical musician AU
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“I do not need a babysitter.” Charles exclaims, eyeing the foreign man on the other side of the couch. He has short, dirty-blond hair and striking blue eyes, and he’s clad in a simple white t-shirt and black pants.
“Max is not a babysitter,” Seb huffs pointedly, “he’s your new bodyguard.”
“That, I do not need either.”
“There were death threats.” the manager explains, his German accent growing thicker, “You cannot take them lightly. End of discussion, Charles.”
or, Charles is a successful model, and Max is his charming bodyguard.
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Summary
Oscar crashes into someone. They collide, head-to-head, chest-to-chest. There is a very distinct pop sound as the man stumbles down the stairs. Damn it.
“‘M so sorry, oh my god. Are you okay?” Oscar asks. The man doesn’t respond, rubbing his ankle and scrunching his face up in pain.
“I’m first aid, it’s alright. Can you put pressure on it?”
The man tries standing on his right foot, but winces in pain instantaneously.
“Okay, it’s fine, just sit down,” He suggests, and the man complies, slowly lowering himself onto the steps of the stairs. “Stay there, I’ll get you some ice packs for the foot. What’s your name?”
That is when the man looks up at Oscar’s face and furrows his eyebrows in confusion. He immediately recognises who he had bumped into, and curses. Of fucking course, it's top-five tennis player Lando Norris
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It was bullshit.
Mohammed bin Sulayem, the FIA, the Red Bull car, the McLaren flexi wing. All bullshit.
Most importantly, the fact that drivers can’t swear on radios and interviews is bullshit.
or, the 2024 grid stages a protest by all swearing in their native languages.
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He looks at his rearview mirror, as the man is toying with his sunglasses. It’s a pretty weird thing to do—wearing sunglasses at midnight, but he supposes it was to help conceal the identity of this ultra famous celebrity. Whether it worked or not, is something to be debated.
As the man behind him slides his glasses off, he recognises who it was. Striking viridian eyes, with freckles dotting the expanse of his cheeks. Holy shit, it’s Charles fucking Leclerc.
Or,
Max is a taxi driver, who drives Charles home one Sunday evening.