From the vantage of halfway up the stairs, the bodied sea almost makes sense, has a certain current to it. Parting and cresting, surging, slowing down. There’s a guy right in the middle defining the tide. He’s not huge huge—he’s like, Shane huge. Just noticeable. Anything so sturdy in the middle of the ocean would be.
“Who’s that?” Shane asks, and regrets it.
Hi everyone! This mini-fic is a gift for all of the anons that have been unhappy with the way I characterize Lando and Oscar respectively in my fics. I'm actually really proud of this one, and I think it'll make everyone happy. I hope this makes up for my previous errors 🥺
Once upon a time there was a Formula 1 team named McLaren. They had an evil CEO, who was way worse than any other CEO ever, and he was evil. They also had two drivers on their team, and they favored both of them over the other all the time.
"Lando, my golden boy," Zak bellowed Americanly on the phone to his favorite driver Lando, "Just wanted to let you know we sabotaged Oscar's car again! I hate him and I won't let him win the championship, okay?"
"Okay, sounds good Zak, my favorite person ever!" Lando said Landoly. He's so glad that he has his favorite evil CEO Zak to help him.
Five minutes later, Oscar's phone rang.
"Oscar!" It was Andrea, in an Italian voice, "Zak thinks we're sabotaging you but we're actually sabotaging Lando instead, I already talked to the mechanics!"
"Yippeee, I hate Lando and I hate this team!"
Max overheard the conversation and walked over to Oscar, because they were in the same place for some reason.
"Oscar, come to Red Bull. We'll treat you fairly here. Just look at our history not only over the last two years with our second seat but also just all throughout the team's participation in the sport! We never have a problem with favoritism!" He said.
Oscar laughed because Max is always so funny and sexy.
Later, Lando was going to his driver's room when he saw Oscar going to his right across the hall. They glared at each other.
(If you believe in Lando top, read this. If not, skip to the next parentheses bit please.)
"You're so dumb and I hate you," Oscar spat at Lando, and not in a sexy way.
"You're also dumb, and I hate you more." Lando growled.
They started making out like crazy and Lando pushed Oscar against the wall. He put his penis in Oscar's butthole and they had freaky, nasty sex.
(If you believe in Oscar top, read this. If not, skip to the next parentheses bit please.)
"You're so dumb and I hate you," Lando spat at Oscar, and not in a sexy way.
"You're also dumb, and I hate you more." Oscar growled.
They started making out like crazy and Oscar pushed Lando against the wall. He put his penis in Lando's butthole and they had freaky, nasty sex.
(Ok smut time over, no more triggering top/bottom dynamics.)
And then they both won the championship and neither of them took the number 1 because that's dumb and cringe, and everyone lived happily ever after.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
The ‘Drag Queen John’ Fic that nobody asked for....
‘Paul wasn't looking forward to attending the Drag Cabaret with his friends, but after meeting a 'Queen' with a great ass and killer personality, he questions his life decisions.’
Written for my dear friend @unchaineddaisychain who humored me with this stupid idea! Xo
fic: is it a video
pairing: hollanov
tags: sex toys, amateur porn, obviously the enormity of his desire disgusts him
Shane lowers his voice. “I didn’t think you were serious about that.”
“Yes, you did.” Rozanov has a way of talking that makes it feel like he has more teeth than a normal person. How a shark has two rows so that a second always snags you, scrapes off the perfect amount to swallow you whole just when you think you’ve survived the first. “When am I not serious about you, Hollander?”
–
or: Shane wants to see exactly how they fit together.
fic: bull in the heather
28k, now complete
pairing: hollanov
tags: yearning, angst, the three pillars of fic: fuck around, find out, and happily ever after
Rozanov sends pictures and they don’t talk much. A bronze duck statue, a really gorgeous dress shoe sitting on top of a gross snowbank, the bright hole the moon makes in photos. Always unfocused, more the vague idea than an accurate representation.
Jane, 2:30 pm
What are these?
Lily, 2:41 pm
Contact photo. i think you are duck most
Jane, 2:45 pm
I’m insulted. Being a sculpture is obviously less impressive than being a satellite planet.
Lily, 2:46 pm
True. i changed my mind. Youre a robot planet, is true.
When does a vice become an addiction? When does the relief refuse to stop at the exhale, just keeps breathing out all the air in your life until you can’t remember what used to fill the rest of it up?
fic: chisel between my cheekbones
pairing: hollanov
tags: roleplay
“I want to know about Mexico. And your nervous blowjob in LA.”
“Like,” Shane said, blinking like he hadn't understood immediately, “you want me to tell you what happened?”
“No.” Ilya’s fingers knit in a loose cradle behind his head, elbows bent out wide, making a big show of him against the headboard. Of his chest. Shane's eyes dipped and came back up shining. “You will show me.”
Shane laughed. Like he was nervous again. He got the way he always got in front of something he badly wanted and knew he shouldn't: played shy. Looked away. Squirmed until want swelled into need.
fic: american motor over smoldered field
pairing: hollanov
tags: catfish au
The play is very, very obvious. Ilya has spent most of his life wanting to be away from it, and to do that, you need a lot of money. The man in front of him has a lot of money, and better yet, a deep appreciation for the muscles that make up Ilya’s stomach.
Ilya wishes he had the texts in hand, thick, soft pieces to feed back into his frowning mouth. Remember? When you said: I like you so much, and god I feel crazy and Fuck me, fuck me harder, more, god you feel so big, so good. I can feel you—please, you’re going to make me come. Please can I come. Please, Ilya.
Always, they beg. Ilya is happier than he thought possible to fit in one body.
fic: norman fucking rockwell
pairing: hudcon
tags: mind-reading, a grindr spreadsheet
Connor hums, considering. What if I'm an alien?
Mm, no, because what would that make me? Hudson scrunches his nose. I can do sometimes alien, not all the time alien.
Connor is all tangled in him on the couch. The nose thing is making it impossible not to put his palm flat on Hudson's face and smush further. Big eyes blink from between the fan of his fingers.
Okay, picky. You can be everything else. Like, if I'm the rabbit, you’re goodnight red balloon, bowl of mush, moon. You’re the rest of the room.
