etoile_gracieuse
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Charles knows what people in the media say about Lando. About herself. That they are sluts, that they smile too much, that they are too focussed on being pretty and appealing and palatable to ever be able to win championships. And — well. Lando is in a dress, now, that just barely reaches past her wrists if her arms are by her sides, and she is talking to a group of men she doesn’t truly give a shit about who look her up and down, catch their eyes on her ass and tits and lips, and she does not shy away from them. Nor does Charles, when the desire strikes.
The desire to be looked at by men she does not care about is not striking right now. She has something different in mind.
Or: Everyone wants Charles and Lando. They have their fun with it.
Bookmarked by bright-and-burning (etoile_gracieuse)
17 Oct 2025
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"If it makes you feel any better," Oscar startled at his mother's voice, "I've never heard of anyone seriously carrying a grudge over a soulmate bruise."
"I know..." He hesitated, staring at the floor, "It's not that, not really."
"Feeling guilty then?" She guessed.
He let out the breath he'd been holding and met her eyes in the mirror. She was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, a rather fond grin on her face.
"I don't want to hurt them. But I don't want to stop racing either."
She nodded in understanding, "And you can't do both."
(oh look it's another soulmates sharing bruises au. title from the exit by conan gray bc exactly two lines from the song fit the fic)
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Bookmarked by bright-and-burning (etoile_gracieuse)
22 Sep 2025
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“I don’t feel good-- Can you help me?” Oscar asks, telling herself that it’s not really a lie.
“Yeah, yeah, let’s get you out of here,” Lando looks her over, assesses, and then grabs her wrist and drags her off to the quieter hallways by the bathrooms. Oscar tries not to moan at how nice it feels to have Lando’s stupidly big fingers all the way around her wrist. God, she wants her to pin her hands above her head and fuck her stupid with a strap so bad.
“Are you alright? What have you been drinking?” Lando puts the back of her hand against Oscar’s forehead, like a parent feeling for a child’s fever.
“I’ve just had two rum and cokes, I--” Oscar pauses, tries to sell it, “Someone offered me a pill, said it would make me feel good, and I took it,” She tries her best to look innocent as Lando puts the pieces together.
Or, girl!Oscar doses herself with a fuck-or-die drug because she can't just be honest and tell girl!Lando she wants to fuck her.
Bookmarked by bright-and-burning (etoile_gracieuse)
16 Sep 2025
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(1) New Voicemail. Listen?
“Oscahhhhh…” Lando’s imitation of Oscar’s accent lazily called out from the recording.
“Max says. Daniel is the better Australian. I say it’s you. I mean, I love Dan, he’s so fun- so funny, but he’s so old.
No, mate- stop! Bit shite at padel though, he has you there, mate.
And Dan can play the guitar? Can youuu play the guitar, Oscah? Thought not.
Aaaaaand you didn’t answer me when I rang, so I think Dan wins. Sorry, Osc.” DisconnectedOR Lando and Sub!Oscar phone sex. that's it that's the fic
Bookmarked by bright-and-burning (etoile_gracieuse)
12 Sep 2025
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Silverstone had screamed itself hoarse for him, had waved Union Jacks and neon flags bearing his logo until the grandstands looked like a living, breathing sea of his colors. The world loved him today — revered him with a ferocity he once thought could fill every hollow space inside him.
And it meant nothing.
Because every time he blinked, he saw it again — the angry flush creeping up Oscar's normally composed face during the national anthem. The mechanical, joyless way he'd raised his champagne bottle during celebrations, spraying it at no one in particular with all the enthusiasm of someone washing their car. The way his eyes, usually so warm when they found Lando's, had turned flat and distant, like someone had flipped a switch and turned off everything that made him Oscar.
Bookmarked by bright-and-burning (etoile_gracieuse)
01 Sep 2025