10 Works by verathethird
Listing Works
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oscar qualifies third. carlos qualifies sixteenth. both are trying not to commiserate about their season.
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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.
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the carlussy sequel. oscar never stood a chance.Series
- Part 2 of morphological mishaps
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Besides, Oscar shouldn't be that far gone at a work event. Even if it was an end of the year celebration. It was– unsafe. Yes. And irresponsible. What if someone would, seeing Oscar in such an exposed state, do something untoward. Take advantage.
But deep down, maybe not so down, Carlos knew what he was really hung up on.
He wanted Oscar like that. With him.
Drunk and loose with a huge dopey smile directed at Carlos.-
carlos desperately needs a drunk oscar piastri in his arms.
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“Woke up with a pair of these. Splendid, you'd reckon.” Oscar jeers. Carlos hasn't heard a single word of what he just said because Oscar's t-shirt, normally looser and properly fitting – is stretched tight around his chest, the swell of his chest– breasts obvious.
Oscar wakes up with a brand new pair of tits, and unanimously decides that Carlos should solve it like it is his fault.
Series
- Part 1 of morphological mishaps
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His eyes immediately found the Williams logo on the hooded sweatshirt that Oscar was still wearing, the thought multiplying and reverberating in Carlos' mind that the inside of the collar had Carlos' name and number sewed on.
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Carlos shuffles around and freezes. He lets out a hiss when his back hits the bed. He knows what it is, has been a victim to it for a while.
“Fuck, Oscar– what– when was the last time you cut your nails? Fuck, it stings. I am not letting you near my back again. How hard did you go?” Carlos groans, wincing at the sensation of sheets against his back. Oscar scratched him– again.
He grabs Oscar’s wrist.
“You need to stop. I'm–” Carlos pauses midsentence when he sees it. Oscar's thumb.
He can't see the rest of the fingers curled in Carlos’ palm.
The fingernail was painted a light pink.
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Oscar Piastri unintentionally conducts Pavlov's experiment on h̶i̶s̶ ̶r̶i̶v̶a̶l̶ ̶n̶e̶m̶e̶s̶i̶s̶ ̶b̶o̶y̶f̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶ Carlos and produces successful results.
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"Don't be difficult. It is simple. Whoever will finish lower, under fair circumstances will not–" He stops. His boisterous air of confidence is shattered a little when he stutters and waves a hand, not completing his sentence, not saying the words.
"Come for the night?" Oscar finishes for him, tone dry, cutting Carlos some slack despite enjoying his flustered state.
"Yes." Carlos immediately parrots, cheeks red and embarrassed.
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Carlos pulls back and Oscar almost chases after him, almost.
His eyes are starry, fixed on her probably ruined mouth.
“It didn't smear.” His voice is awed, tender fingertips tracing the edges of her lips.
Oscar turns her head by a fraction to look in the mirror, and while her eyes look glassy and pink blush is starting to form on her cheeks, the lipstick really is intact, the red unmoving.
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*narrating this in the tone of voice overs in the beginning of the old barbie movies*
'twas the winter break of 2024 and Oscar Piastri was curled up on the sofa, a little hot chocolate in his hands. he had a bit of time to himself so it was decided what better way to spend time but to categorise what kind of kisses he was particularly fond of
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ma boi piastri daydreams about kissing carlos cuz he's whipped like that lol