#oztri.fic

[oztri]

[STR8 Aussie Guy Gets WRECKED by Hung British Twink, FIRST TIME]

landoscar | explicit | 16.6k

When Lando had suggested the idea in the first place, Oscar didn't believe him. I mean, who would have? Lando had always been known for saying odd things. Why would this be any different? Oh, how wrong Oscar had been. The worst part? He didn't even know Lando was into guys like that!

READ HERE! [AO3 Locked] ©oztri

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[oztri]

You're Just As Wet as the Evening Rain (And I Really Dig it When You Call My Name)

landoscar | explicit | 7.6k

For a split second, Oscar remembers where they are. A dirty bathroom stall covered in writing. Outside, there are people. A lot of people. Anyone could walk in on them, could open the bathroom door and see two pairs of feet fumbling over one another and hear them breathing heavily into one another's mouth. Oscar thinks he feels himself gush. "Lan—" "Hush." Oscar bites his tongue, shuffling a bit to widen his stance. Lando, of course, takes notice. He grins again, letting his tongue peek out to wet his lips before that gapped-tooth smile is on display. Oscar wants to lick between his teeth and taste every inch of his mouth.

READ HERE! [ao3 locked] ©oztri

[oztri]

[STR8 Aussie Guy Gets WRECKED by Hung British Twink, FIRST TIME]

"So, I see you've decided to take me up on the offer," the man grins. He's older, probably in his mid to late forties, hair graying at the temples. Salt and pepper is scattered throughout the rest of his head. There's stubble lining his face. Handsome, Oscar thinks. Handsome in, like, the totally normal, not gay-way. Oscar has eyes. He can appreciate when someone is attractive. Lando just grins, big and shit-eating, up at the man. "Couldn't pass it up, honestly," he says, pointy canines on display. Lando sits back on the couch, spreading his thighs. His hands rest there heavily, large palms spread wide and warm over denim. He rubs up and down for a few seconds before he rests his head back. "Getting paid to just jerk off? Sounds like a done deal to me." Oscar can't help but wince at how candid Lando is. Doesn't understand how Lando is so… Chill about this whole thing. It's not… It isn't that Oscar is homophobic, no. He knows plenty of gay people. One of his best friends is gay! But, Oscar isn't… He doesn't do this—the gay stuff. He doesn't even know how he'd let Lando talk him into doing this, but here he is. The older man smiles wolfishly at the two of them, clapping his hands together before he's moving to the camera. "Great. Yeah, you two are… You're gonna look incredible together." Where the hell did Lando find this guy? There's a soft beeping noise coming from the camera, the power turning on. Oscar watches the way the lens adjusts, falling into its preset position as the guy sets everything else up. For a porn shoot, everything sure does feel… Underwhelming. Oscar had thought there'd be more to it. Sure, they're just getting off next to each other, but he'd always imagined it'd be a bit more… Inviting? Warm? He thought there'd at least be a crew of people. Maybe a guy holding a boom mic over his head while he thinks about tits and that girl he hooked up with after midterms were over. And, yes, he's seen casting couch porn, of course. But, it's usually a girl dressed in short-shorts and a low cut top who inevitably gets railed by some muscle head. And, okay, sure. There isn't usually a whole lot of set decoration now that he thinks about it… Oscar swallows any thoughts he has when the man with salt and pepper hair adjusts the camera and stands with his arms over his chest. "Alright," he croons. His smile feels dangerous. Feels grimy. "Let's get started, then. What are your names?" Slightly invasive, Oscar thinks, adjusting the way he's sitting. His knees are pressed together on the short sofa, Lando's pressing insistently against his. Oscar's shorts ride up, just a bit, and he thinks he sees the man lock onto the sliver of skin above his knee, pale and hairy. Lando smiles, also adjusting his posture. He looks relaxed, more open. He tugs at the hem of his hoodie, raising his hips. The man behind the camera smirks at that, licking his lips. Something hot curls through Oscar's gut, not sure how to feel about it. "Name's Lando," he says, confident. "This here's Oscar." One of Lando's big, calloused palm opens toward Oscar, gesturing at him. "And how do you know each other, Lando and Oscar?" Oscar's skin prickles, stomach twisting at the way the man says their names, like he's testing it out; seeing how it tastes in his mouth. Oscar doesn't like that. He doesn't like the way the man is staring at them. At Lando. He's looking at him like he wants to eat him. Oscar would know, that's how he looks at—. "We're best mates and he's my roommate."

preview for my gay4pay 481 fic.

[oztri]

Freckles on your Knees (Following a Whim)

landoscar | mature | 18.9k

Lando likes to think he can read Oscar pretty well. He's seen the discourse about whether or not his teammate has emotions—"What a load of horseshit, of course he does!" he'd wanted to scream. He wears them on his sleeve, just like Lando, but only if you know where to look. Oscar shows his emotions in his eyebrows. It's in the set of his jaw, the twitch of an eye, the scrunch of his nose. It's all so small and minute, so imperceptible, that you just might miss it if you aren't paying attention. Three years is a long time to be paying attention, though, and Lando likes to look at Oscar. Or, the one where Lando falls in love with Oscar over the course of the 2025 season.

READ HERE! [ao3 locked] ©oztri

[oztri]

I'm Not a Boyfriend (I'm a Lap Dog)

landoscar | explicit | 9.9k

Oscar is a good boy. He listens well. Lando always tells him so. It makes it easy to fall into this role—the one where he doesn't have to think about anything. He can just let Lando feed him pain pills and scratch behind his ear and call him his sweet, little dog.

READ HERE! [ao3 locked] ©oztri

[oztri]

landoscar and the word bunny for the 5 sentences or paragraphs if you want to yap :D

this is for everyone who has interacted w my post abt lan!puppy mounting bunny!osc... also this isn't very good i am so sorry but i'm probably gonna elaborate on this at some point!!

cw: hybrids, lan!puppy, bunny!osc, somnophilia, knotting implied, oscar piastri has a pussy, free use

"Lan...do?" The name slips out quietly, Oscar's voice heavy with sleep. It hasn't quite yet lost its rasp. Lando's ears pick it up immediately, though. His eyes snap open and Oscar sucks in a sharp breath at the sight. Lando's pupils are dilated, black eating away at the pretty mess of sea glass. Lando groans, fucking into Oscar harder. It rocks the whole bed and makes Oscar's entire body tremble. Lando nearly howls from the feeling of how tight Oscar gets. "Bunny-" Lando manages. "Bunny, 'm sorry. Sorry, I just... I needed this. Needed you." Oscar's hands ball into fists as a new sensation washes over him. A cry wrenches itself from Oscar's throat as he twists, body locking up before he's even coherent. Wetness spills between his thighs, muscles quivering on every attempted breath in. He's coming on Lando's cock without even a second to think about it. Lando yips at the tight squeeze of Oscar's cunt around him. A hand paws at Oscar's hip, digging blunt nails into the soft skin before he's holding Oscar down with the other, palm flat against Oscar's sternum. "'M sorry, Osc. Sorry - fuck!" Oscar lays on his back, thighs spread wide over Lando's own. He can't do much more than lay there and take it. His poor brain hadn't even hardly caught up before he was leaking onto the sheets; safe to say he doesn't have the power to get away even if he wanted to. "Sorry - bunny, 'm sorry." Through bleary eyes, he looks up to see Lando hunched over him, tongue hanging out of his mouth and dripping drool onto his cheek. There's an ache between his thighs and a weight in his belly that he hasn't felt for days and Oscar isn't quite ready to give it up.

5 sentence (paragraph) game!

[oztri]

I Love You, Miss Robot [Programmed Just to Please]

PART OF 814 KINKTOBER - DAY 26: SEX ROBOT

landoscar | explicit | 13.9k

Deep in the recesses of Lando's brain, he knows and is fully aware that Oscar is simply a complicated number of ones and zeros, coded to create the perfect virtual partner. It should scare him—terrify him, really. That's what most of those sci-fi movies he'd grown up watching were about. He thinks of Ex Machina for a second and shudders, remembering the way the robot just left him there. But as Lando straddles Oscar's thighs, he isn't thinking about that. He isn't thinking about the possibility of a hostile android takeover. No, Lando is too busy thinking about how fucking pretty his new toy is going to look painted in his come.

READ HERE! [ao3 locked] ©oztri

[oztri]

please try to see things from my perspective. - pianortrell 👹

oopsie, i hope this was everything u wanted and more... wasn't supposed to be this long but y'know... word count ran away from me a/n: angst w happy ending, hurt/comfort, established nortrell, osc being nortrell's stray cat third, post-sex, mentions of switch4switch landoscar, mentions of subdropping, prompt dialogue is never explicitly stated but oscar thinks it prompt game! send me some dialogue and one of the specified ships, and i'll do my best to make it happen!

It's quiet after, in the way it always is.

Lando is busy curling into Max's side, kissing at the damp skin of Max's jaw. Oscar has to pull his eyes away when Max turns to whisper sweet-nothings into Lando's hair.

He can hear a soft, "good. You were so good. Proud of you", and it makes him ache.

If you asked Oscar how this whole… thing started, he doesn't think he'd be able to tell you. There had always been some sort of tension. Between the rushed handjobs behind motorhomes during Max and Oscar's F3 days, and the way Lando was constantly trying to eye-fuck Oscar, something was always bound to happen. He just… doesn't remember when it became this.

Oscar slides himself out of their bed. Their. Max and Lando's. Just big enough for two. There was no room for three. The thought makes him want to vomit.

On shaky legs, Oscar starts to rummage around, searching for his discarded clothes. The air of the bedroom is hot and sticky. Oscar wishes they'd opened a window or something, but Lando hates when his skin prickles and he's shivering in the middle of sex.

Oscar hates that he knows that about him. He hates that he knows that Lando's back usually aches after they get done and that Max likes to be spooned. He hates that he knows where they keep the chocolate stash for particularly intense scenes and he hates the way his stomach pits and swoops and the way it feels like he's seconds from throwing up. He hates—

"Osc?"

Oscar's head snaps up from where he's bent over, underwear in hand. He finds Lando's eyes, fluffy brows pinched tight as he watches Oscar. "What are you doing?"

He sounds small, if a bit vulnerable. He got like that sometimes, when the session put him in a place he wasn't prepared to go to. He knew what that felt like. Sometimes, Max and Lando both would gang up on him, make him come until he was sobbing and degrade him. Humiliate him until he was gasping on each breath. Then, they'd put him back together and he'd carry himself home, shower until his skin was raw, and crawl into bed.

He hated feeling like that. He hated the thought of Lando feeling like that.

Oscar hated a lot of things about this arrangement.

Most of all, he hated how looking at Max and Lando, together, without him, made his chest ache something awful.

"I—" he starts, unsure. Oscar stands up straight, but his shoulders hunch in when Max turns to look at him, too. He feels too scrutinized. Too seen. "I was just grabbing my things… Was gonna head out…"

Lando looks like Oscar had slapped him, curling soft and small into Max's chest. Oscar curls his hand into a fist, digging his nails into his palm.

"Oh," Lando whispers. Oh. Oscar feels like the biggest piece of shit ever. "Okay."

Max looks between them, able to sense that something isn't quite being said.

"Oscar, pal," he starts, adjusting the way he's got his arm around Lando. They fall into one another so easily, it makes him feel sick with want. Oscar has to look away from them again. He slips his briefs up his legs, skin tacky with dried sweat and a bit of lube between his cheeks. He doesn't care, he just wants to stop feeling so… exposed.

"Oscar, look at me."

Oscar's always been a weak man.

He finds Max's eyes, shining with something he wants to say but isn't sure how to ask for it.

"You know you can stay, right?" Max asks the question as if Oscar were a cornered animal, cautious and unassuming. For a brief moment, Oscar supposes he is like that. He feels ready to bolt. He was going to bolt up until Lando had called his name.

His eyes find the place where Max's free hand is rubbing up and down Lando's bare arm. The movement is almost mesmerizing and he's almost one-hundred-percent sure it would knock him out.

You know you can stay, right? And, oh. Isn't that just Oscar's problem? He doesn't know that he can stay. Hasn't known since this whole thing began.

At first, when they were done, Lando and Max would look at him, thank him with a smile, and ask, "you can let yourself out, right?" It had stung then, just as it does now.

Except, now, Oscar isn't being politely kicked out. He can feel it every time he lingers in their bed for just a bit too long. Lando has octopus arms, wanting to be plastered to someone's side—says he needs it—and has no problem clinging to Oscar when Max has gone to the bathroom to grab a wet rag. He'd be an absolute liar if he said he didn't relish in it.

Sometimes, when things went too far and Oscar had been thrown so off-kilter he couldn't find his feet, he liked to bury his face in Lando's chest and let Max slide in behind him. He liked feeling cared for in a way he was too afraid to let himself.

Oscar kept those feelings locked in a box, though. Pushed it far, far into the back of his mind and piled it with other things. Important things. Things he was allowed to want.

Max shifts again, making Lando whine. It brings Oscar back to reality, just a bit.

"Uh, yeah…" He scratches his neck, cringing at the way his hair is sweaty and sticking to his skin. He needs a haircut. Oscar needs a lot of things. "Yeah, I know…"

"So, why're you not staying?"

Lando says it like Oscar had personally offended him. Oscar tries to keep his face neutral.

"I really should go…"

It earns him a strangled noise, Lando wriggling out of Max's arms to crawl down the bed. He's still naked, but Max had wiped him down with a warm washcloth. It doesn't keep his skin from glowing, pearly and pretty under the warm lamplight. Oscar tries not to stare when he finds his t-shirt.

He needs to leave. He has to go. He has no place here. Their bed has no more room for him. He has no place—.

Lando's hand wraps around Oscar's wrist, warm and wide and heavy. Oscar sucks in a sharp breath, shoulders hunched as he stares at their hands. "Osc," Lando mutters, trying to find the taller boy's eyes. "We're asking you to stay."

"Why?"

He doesn't mean for it to come out that way—harsh. Cold. Lando looks pained once more and Oscar really needs to leave before he does something else to ruin this.

"What d'you mean why? We're asking you to stay, isn't that enough?" Lando's voice trembles, just the slightest, as he answers. Max starts to move, sitting behind Lando. He wraps an arm around his chest, keeping him from falling face first onto the floor.

Oscar doesn't understand. They aren't getting it. They aren't seeing it from his point of view.

Max frowns, hand splayed across Lando's chest. "We want you to stay, mate." There's a soft furrow between his eyebrows and Oscar wants nothing more than to smooth it out, kiss him there, whisper for him not to worry.

Now, Oscar really doesn't understand. He swallows, jaw twinging with the ache of it. He'd had Lando shoved in his throat for nearly thirty minutes while Max teased him. Oscar closes his eyes, trying to scrub the thought from his brain.

He rubs his hands over his face, pushing the heels of his palms against his eyes. He misses the rough callouses of Lando's fingers almost immediately.

"I don't—" he starts, then stops, taking in a sharp breath. He tries to gather his thoughts, searching for the right things to say. He doesn't think there are any right things to say. "We aren't… We don't do that."

The words hang for a second, heavy and thick. Oscar feels like he's trying to swallow down chalk.

Then, "we don't. But, we could."

Max looks so earnest when he says, glancing between Oscar and Lando. Oscar watches the way the hand on Lando's chest tightens, the skin under his fingers turns a bit pink.

Oscar feels like throwing up. It feels like too much. Everything feels too big for his body.

"Oscar, we want to. We want to do this. With you."

The chalky feeling starts to lessen when Lando shuffles forward again, enough to rest one foot on the ground. Enough to grab both of Oscar's hands this time. Oscar takes a deep breath, letting his eyes trail over both of them.

"But, there's no room…" It's his turn to speak softly, chin tucked to his chest. He fiddles with the t-shirt in his hand, unsure, but wanting. He wants them both so badly. "On the bed…"

"So we'll get a new one."

"Yeah, a bigger one. To fit all of us."

Max slips off the bed to stand in front of Oscar, trying to find his eyes as he looks at the floor.

"Look at me, baby. Look at us."

Oscar feels the warmth in his belly at the sweet name. It makes it easy to look at them again. He wants to melt with the way Lando is looking at him, like he could say a thousand things with his eyes that his mouth can't.

It clicks for Oscar, then.

"Are you sure?"

Lando coos, sliding one of his hands up into Oscar's hair. He cups his neck, bringing him closer.

"Why d'you think we've been taking so long with the aftercare lately, ya muppet?"

Oscar's cheeks pinken, suddenly shy. He whines, something pathetic. Max laughs, something sweet and so, so fond. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Max lets his knuckles across those pink cheeks, tender. "Didn't want to scare you… You might think you're hard to read, but we can see when you're trying to run. We noticed every time."

"But, at the beginning… You didn't—"

Lando interrupts him with a sigh, rolling his eyes. "Oscah, mate, there's currently cum dripping out of my arse and you wanna talk semantics? Just get in the fricken' bed…" Oscar feels sheepish, but he feels softened. All of his prickly edges felt like they'd been snicked off.

"Didn't know you knew that word, Lando," Oscar teases, letting his hand slip a bit to tangle his fingers with Lando's. It gets a chuckle out of Max and makes Lando tug on his hair. Oscar can't stop his face from splitting wide and warm, smile too big to contain.

"You fricken' muppet… Give me about an hour… Puttin' that mouth back to good use."

Oscar giggles when Lando pulls his hands away and turns around, muttering under his breath about Oscar "being an ungrateful, little brat", and how he's "gonna show him."

Max cups Oscar's cheek now, and the smile shrinks, but it doesn't lose any of its brightness. Max's hands aren't nearly as big as Lando's, but they're just as comforting. Just as loved.

"Want me to crack the window?" he asks, quiet. Oscar's eyes shine with something he thinks might look like love when Max asks. His own fingers wrap delicately around Max's wrist, head turning to kiss his palm.

Then his wrist.

His shoulder.

Then, eventually, Oscar holds Max's cheek in his hand and kisses him.

"I'd love that…"