22!!!! u always do it so well but I will never get tired of magical realism landoscar!!!
22. magical realism
this is such a self-indulgent ficlet. tell me if this is anything bc i have Ideas for this universe lol. set in 2023/2024 prompt list
Lando’s thing is physical touch, for better or for worse.
Most people don’t make their languages public. It’s a private matter, after all, meant for you and the people close to you. But not for him. No, no, no. Apparently when you develop at the same time as your rookie year in F1, your love language becomes a talking point in post-race debriefs.
It happened once, the whole ‘fainting because his body was aching for physical touch’. He’d miscalculated his buffer time when the session dragged on after multiple yellow and red flags. He was young, sure, but he wasn’t clueless. It was just his luck that the cameras caught him at a bad time.
McLaren came under fire for not taking care of its drivers. It was absolutely horrifying, especially because it wasn’t true at all. Jon and a few from his garage were briefed; they know that a side-hug or a shoulder tap goes a long way. His friends have direct access to his driver’s room. His dad travels as much as he can.
Lando’s teammate is— was —Carlos. His language is physical touch, too, so he knows. He understands. He’s the first to pinch Lando’s sides, to clasp his shoulders, to hug and hold and press their faces close together.
Through the ups and downs of Lando’s rookie year, Carlos was there to ground him. Lando likes to think he did the same for Carlos. He’s not good with words, never has been, and every time he tried to express his gratitude, Carlos laughed and pulled him in for a hug.
The way Lando sees it, of all the love languages, physical touch is the greediest. There’s no substitute for it, no make-do. There simply is or there isn’t.
Dating people with mismatched languages is difficult. That’s Life 101. Cross-compatibility isn’t assured as well. It’s safer, it’s best for everyone involved to keep to their lanes.
But it’s not the law. It’s just the easiest path.
For a time, McLaren had that same thinking. He and Carlos worked well. He could’ve been happy not knowing anything else.
Okay, so that’s unrealistic. Formula One is ever-changing. To find a solid place means you’re one of the greats— like Michael, like Lewis, like the great Charles Leclerc experiment.
Back in 2019, Lando only saw what was in front of him. Rookie year. Endless possibilities. Carlos. The future was far ahead. He lived in the present, he had to, or else he wouldn’t be half as quick.
Then 2021 came. Daniel’s another PT guy, very open and positive about it. He doesn’t see it as a weakness, having to be touched every few hours or so, having your welfare depend on somebody else. Max says it’s because he’s never been unloved, and Max would know. Daniel and Max are one of the few registered Partners on the grid.
Carlos and Lando have thought about it, of course they have, but at the end of the day, it’s added paperwork on something they already do. They sleep in each other’s rooms, in each other’s spaces, breathing and living in unison.
Lando got fucking lucky. Imagine having Carlos as your first teammate. Imagine.
Daniel’s good. Daniel was good. He and Lando were both PT, which was already something they had going for them. The car’s development was all over the place, but Lando and Daniel weren’t. They had the same needs, the same wants. Daniel’s limbs always spilled over Lando’s seat— a certain kind of warmth Lando would describe as burning.
Around that time, Lando grew more comfortable in his life. Grew into being himself. He appreciated being alone more and more even if it meant remaining untouched.
The travels were long, the rest so little in between. Relationships fell through. Lando didn’t mind. He had Daniel.
Then he didn’t.
Oscar comes from a new generation of drivers whose love languages are “confidential”. It's a cool thing, apparently. A social media movement, a cultural phenomenon. Love no matter the language.
That’s why his language wasn’t disclosed to Lando when the contracts were finalized.
“But he knows mine,” Lando pointed out. How’s that fair?
“We can assure you Mr. Piastri’s language won’t interfere with the team’s daily affairs,” the lawyers assured him.
Translation: Oscar doesn’t need Lando.
But Lando needs Oscar, frustrating as that may be.
In a pinch, teammates are your best bet. They’re always nearby, in the same boat as you are, even when you’re not in a boat but on a plane, but not exactly, because your flight’s been cancelled and you’re stuck in another damned airport with your body clock still in another continent.
That was the first time it happened.
Lando was tired, and so was everybody else. The managers were wrangling for flight seats, Lando was wrangling for his consciousness. He knew it was more than the lack of rest, more than another pointless weekend spent as a backmarker. Lando was exhausted.
He curled up on a random bench, vaguely aware Oscar was sitting on the other end. Someone had instructed the team to stick close in case seats opened up.
Lando was—
Doesn’t matter now. What’s more important is what Oscar did.
Lando dozed off at some point. He was woken up by Oscar’s hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.
“Mate, come on,” Oscar said. His head blocked the light, a halo around him.
Lando blinked up at him, quiet.
Oscar laughed. “Sleepyhead, let’s go.”
He pulled Lando up. Lando counted at least four points of contact.
He and Oscar, they weren’t—
Doesn’t matter.
“Are you okay?” Oscar asked. He was a breath closer than he usually was.
Lando nodded and hoped his face didn’t betray anything— the churning, the melting, the grounding —he was feeling.
Oscar tilted his head, confused. Without prompting, he touched Lando’s forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re warm. Are you sick?”
“No,” Lando managed out. “I’m fine. Didn’t sleep well.”
Oscar retreated. “If you say so.”
“I say so.”
This is the part that matters.
Instead of leaving Lando by himself— reeling, thinking, wanting —Oscar held out his hands and touched Lando’s face. Thumbs across his cheeks, fingers on his chin. Small and shaking. Unsure.
“Is this okay?” Oscar asked. There was that soft, slow tilt of his voice.
Lando leaned into his touch, eyes closed. “Yeah, it is.”
He heard Oscar’s smile, a small puff of air.
When Lando opened his eyes, Oscar was still in front of him.
Oscar opens his mouth once, twice, before finally saying, “Next time, just ask me.”
Lando didn’t know he could.
When Jon and Kim called them over, Oscar stepped back and acted no different— as if he hadn’t shifted Lando’s whole perspective a few degrees to the left.
Oscar’s smart, then and now. Lando was learning he was kind as well.
Lando’s parents raised him right. He was grateful, and he’d act like it, too.
Oscar must need something. Don’t they all?
Afterwards, in the plane, Oscar chooses the seat beside Lando for the first time. Lando couldn’t sleep, but he wasn’t tired. All night, he thought, What’s your language? How can I say thank you in a way you’ll understand?
My belated birthday gift to the amazing @ipleadbritney. I’m so glad you are in my life. I love yapping with you, even when one of us should be asleep. Keep shining, legend ♥️
Everything was totally fine. Chill, even! ... Okay, maybe not quite chill, but close enough... Cool? Yeah, this was cool. Totally cool...
The snickering coming from the other side of the couch, however, was definitively less so; Amber felt his already magic-flushed face brighten as he shot his brother what he hoped was a withering glare.
(It wasn't. If anything, he looked rather like a moody kitten. A bright orange, glowing kitten, at that. Aqua couldn't help snorting at the mental image that gave him, and he narrowly avoided an empty bag of crisps being flung his way with his younger, flustered brother's magic.)
"Honestly, What Are You Even Freaking Out About?"
"'m not freakin' out, 'm jus'-"
"But You Are, Though! Stars, It Isn't Like She's Indecent, Or Naked-"
"oh? my god?? shut th' fuck up??" Amber hissed the words as embarrassment continued to flood his mind (and his poor skull), and he went ahead and chucked an empty pop can at his annoying, now softly cackling older brother for good measure. "y're gonna wake 'er up-"
His voice caught in his throat at the feel of you stirring from where you rested against his shoulder and he froze, the vertebrae of his lumbar spine clicking audibly as he straightened. He held his unnecessary breaths and waited, counting down the seconds in his head for when you awoke, when you jolted back in- in what? Disgust? Stars, that would be the worst...
...No, no, the worst was having to sit here and endure Aqua's endless teasing, but... well, he didn't want to wake you up! Not yet, anyway.
"Amber... You Know That You Really Ought To Mention It To Her."
Curse his big brother for being so smart... that, or maybe he really was just that obvious. The thought roiled in his nonexistent gut and he wheezed out a quiet breath, hoping against hopes that you hadn't caught on, that you weren't just... just sticking around and hanging out with him out of pity. As his thoughts continued anxiously down that uncomfortable path, he didn't notice his brother scooching closer until a hand reached over to land on the shoulder you weren't currently using as a pillow.
When he met Aqua's eye lights again, he was surprised to see that their teasing edge was gone, replaced with the brotherly concern he knew, deep down, that Aqua felt. "Look... She's Still Here, Isn't She? She Likes You, You Numbskull-"
"eugh, bro, don't pun at me now-" His whine was cut off as his brother continued, pushing on in a faintly louder, more stern tone.
"-And You're Being An Absolute Fool If You Think That She's Just Sticking Around To Humor You." It was only faintly annoying, from the knowingness in his smile, how Amber knew that his brother knew he'd hit the mark with that call-out, gentle as it was. The hand on his shoulder gave a small, comforting squeeze, and then Aqua stood from the couch and left toward the kitchen.
Leaving Amber alone, with his thoughts... with his feelings... with you, laying against his side with your head on his shoulder as you'd been for a good twenty minutes so far. The movie was good, had him drawn in! He loved mysteries. They were puzzles, but less physical, and this one was about a hacker and a heist and... and, well, he really couldn't remember the last twenty minutes or so, because as soon as he'd felt your weight (warm and comfortable) on his shoulder, it was like his mind had blown a fuse. Every single ounce of dust and every iota of his magic was attuned to you, laying there like he was the most comfortable pillow in the entire world.
... And he knew that wasn't true, because he was a skeleton, for the Angel's sake! All bone! Sure, his hoodie was pretty soft... but, still!
He couldn't help being embarrassed, especially when Aqua started in on the teasing, because... yeah, his older brother was aware of the stupid little crush he had on you. Everyone was, apparently, which he didn't understand, because he hadn't even realized it until very recently! How was everyone else able to see it? He couldn't help but worry, once again, that maybe you noticed... and anxious thoughts of you pitying him began to follow. He tended to do that, to get anxious, nervous, to worry about things like that. You were one of the few who didn't seem to mind it when he did, stayed patient with him, despite how difficult he made it for you to get to know him at first. His older brother was so charismatic, and charming, and sociable, and he... well, he just wasn't. He was shy, and got anxious, and didn't always know what to say, and... and stars, he wished he understood why you were still even willing to hang out with him.
Despite his insistence to keep himself from looking at you the entire time you've been asleep, Amber's skull tipped just enough to peek at you from the corner of his socket, face flushing more warmly. You were... soft, even more so in your sleep, with your expression relaxed and lips barely parted so prettily. Your chest rose and fell slowly with your deep, even breaths, and he found himself synching up his very unnecessary breaths to match.
He had to wonder... did you worry about what he thought, too? When you were around him, did you ever wonder what he thought of you- what he felt? Did you take notice of his every micro-expression, or have things that he did or said that you thought fondly of?
...Did you love? care about him as much as he did you?
His soul gave a strong pulse and he tore his gaze away from your sleeping expression, breath stuttering out of him in a sigh. Whether you did or not, he was so happy- so lucky to have you in his life, and he... he'd never, in a million years, want to ruin that.
But here, alone, he couldn't help the creeping urge to wrap an arm around you, pull you closer, surely you'd be more comfortable if you were laying down, he could do that...
It was a few agonizing moments later that he moved, his arm sliding up behind your back to oh-so-carefully wrap around your shoulders. His chest was still, lacking his normal yet unneeded breaths; then all the air rushed from the lungs he didn't have once you had settled yourself further against him, cheek pressed to his shoulder. It smooshed it a little upward towards your eye, and Amber smiled in spite of his nerves at just how cute you looked.
Maybe... maybe he didn't know what the future held. Maybe he was unsure about the depth of his own feelings yet. That didn't matter right there and then, though.
There, in the safety of home and his best friend soulmate settled comfortably against his side, Amber allowed himself to relax, slowly easing back into the couch cushions with a soft sigh. The movie played on, unwatched, as he began to doze off, the side of his skull resting against the top of your head.
And if Aqua, upon finding the two of you asleep together, snapped a few quick, adorable photos, then... well. That's just a doting older brother's prerogative.
16. "i can't get pregnant by you" "oh so you hate me"
made this one extra long (and fluffy) as apologies for being MIA lately. life!
Out of all of Lando and Oscar's inside jokes, this one's the strangest.
Granted, their sense of humor rarely overlaps in a non-teenage boy way, so when it does, Lando feels like they've unlocked a new plane of existence. Like they're proving the world wrong. See? We are good teammates.
Which is sort of loser behavior if you really think about it. They're three years strong in their partnership, and their contracts are secured. What more do they have to prove?
A lot, apparently. People still question their dynamics. Turbulent, they say. Heading down a warpath.
Lando's asked this question over and over. To his left, Charles is staring at his nails for the past five minutes. To his right, Oscar fiddles with his water bottle. By the slouch of his back, he's only half-listening and hoping people are more interested in Ferrari's development than him.
In front of them, a crowd waits for Lando's answer.
"Do I think we have a productive relationship?" Lando repeats, a little bit squeaky. It's probably a mistranslation. "Well, if we had a child together, they'd be—"
He turns to Oscar, grinning, "—they'd be three years old, right? Old enough for their first kart?"
Oscar's eyes sparkle, and he's already laughing before the crowd catches on.
"I mean," Lando continues, "that's if they want to, 'course. They get to pick their future but we'll make it known they have two very supportive, very quick fathers on their side, no matter what they choose."
Oscar picks up his mic, and Lando tenses up. He's either anticipating a joke or a reprimand. Either way, he feels like he's about to get shot.
"I hope they'll get into RC, too, so we can bond over something," Oscar says, bunny teeth smile and cheeks pink. "I have a, uh, a cheeky feeling Lando will be the fun parent."
Lando kicks him, not meaning for it to hurt. "What'd you mean by that?"
Oscar's folding in half, laughing. Lando almost moves to catch him, but he knows Oscar's fine. His laugh is bright and real. The mics pick it up and, sadly, it's not only for Lando to hear.
"Are you telling me I'm wrong?" Oscar giggles.
"We'd be both fun parents, y'know?"
Lando can picture it already. They'll move into a bigger place, four bedrooms minimum. Room to grow. He'd like at least two children, maybe. He loved having siblings growing up, and Oscar's probably the same.
The journalist who asked the question raises his hand. Lando's painfully reminded he just joked about having a kid with his teammate in front of a crowd.
So. Average Thursday.
"Thank you, Lando," the journalist says. Lando flashes him a smile. "But."
Fuck. Lando can picture it already. The PR meltdown. The meetings. He rehearsed lines. Yeah, I don't know what came over me. Championship psy-whatever?
"As someone raised by two fun parents, I can assure you it's not as fun for the kids. Don't worry. You two are still young. You can figure it out. I recall Oscar saying before that you two are going to grow old together. You have time."
Lando fights the urge to hide his head in his hands. He's red all over, no doubt, burning up. Spluttering, Lando glances at Oscar for help and finds him—
Already looking at Lando. Oscar's speaking to his mic: "Thank you. We'll keep that in mind."
:
Oscar, apparently, very much keeps it in his mind.
He's usually quiet about things like this. Whatever this is. He's got Lando studying the tiniest of details, and Lando's not fond of studying.
The following week, it's Family Day at the MTC. Lando's parents wanted to come, but he had heard Oscar's family was unable to attend so he waived his plus ones off, too. He promised a dinner and a movie night instead.
He's honestly forgotten about the press incident— more preoccupied with the title fight, naturally —until Oscar brings it up.
One of the engineers hands her baby daughter for the picture, says it's good luck for her future.
Oscar bows at Lando. You do the honors.
Lando beams at the baby. She's wearing a papaya-colored dress and swaddled in the softest blanket ever. "Come here, you!"
He's held his fair share of nieces and nephews and distant cousins (and a grid baby or two), so he's about 70% confident in his child-handling abilities. "What's her name?" Lando asks.
"Melody," comes the answer. "Her dad's a musician."
"Whoah, an engineer and a musician? You've got cool parents, little miss Melody."
Melody grins at Lando, attempting to jump in his arms. He hands Oscar his phone so can secure his hold on Melody.
"Step in a little bit here, Osc," Lando says. The photographer counts them down.
Melody makes grabbing motions at Oscar right as the shutter clicks. The crowd coos and laughs.
"Maybe you should try holding her," Lando suggests to Oscar, re-balancing Melody on his side.
Oscar shakes his head. "I'm good. Children don't really like me."
Wrong, Lando thinks immediately. He's seen multiple kids dress up as Oscar, even more and more recently. His mum sent him a photo of a family friend's son repping Oscar— not him —yesterday.
He hadn't noticed whether or not Oscar's awkward around children. What does that say about Lando as a teammate?
"Take two, then," Lando says. "Smile at the camera, Melody."
The second round is better. Melody's a natural. Lando says as much.
"Nice meeting you, little missy." He presses their cheeks together for a brief moment, unable to contain the "cuteness agression" he's feeling. Max said a lot of people feel that way towards him. Lando reckons he's not even half as cute as Melody.
"Dada," Melody gasps, clapping. She's twisting out of Lando's arms and into Oscar. "Dada!"
"Oh my," the engineer says.
Lando gives Melody back to her mum. "That's Oscar, not Dada."
"Dada," she repeats, now pointing at Lando.
Everyone laughs, including Lando.
Except. There's a very distinct sound he's not hearing.
He turns around, spotting Oscar taking a photo with his phone. Oscar peeks, caught. "Sorry."
"What you got there?" Lando walks over.
"Nothing," Oscar says. Obviously a lie. His mouth twitches upward and he has a flush down to his neck, two moles and all.
"If it's a cute a pic, send it to me. Or tag me. It's always a cute pic with me, right?"
Lando doesn't mean to wink, but he does. Oscar's laugh comes out a little more breathless than usual.
:
Oscar tags him in a story on his private Instagram account. Its following is limited to the 120s, and the profile picture is one of Oscar's dogs.
Happy family day, Oscar writes. In the photo, Lando's a happy blur next to Melody.
He reposts it immediately. Wishes Oscar had been bolder, doing it on public.
:
cute pic of me
and melody ofc
suits you 👍
:
Suits him?
:
In the next few weeks, Lando meets seven babies, nine toddlers, and 15 tweens. For most of those interactions, Oscar's right beside him with a look on his face that sends Lando spiraling.
One particular day, they host a crop of young STEM kids, answering their questions while assembling a Lego car. The AC's kicked in high gear, Lando's sweater is too thin, and there's a group of 10 year-olds ready to eat him alive.
Lando smiles.
Selfishly, he beelines for the table and sits next to the quitest kid. He's twistings his shirt under his fingers and avoiding eye contact.
"Seat taken?" Lando asks even though he's already seated. He's got manners.
The kid shakes his head.
"I'm Lando. What's your name?"
It strikes Lando that he hasn't introduced himself in years.
"Nick," the kid replies.
"How old are you, Nick?"
"Nine."
One-word answers. Perfect.
"Let's get to working, okay?"
Nick picks up the nearest Lego pieces and begins, head down. Lando's very much fine with that.
Meanwhile, Oscar's fielding questions left and right. He's also resorted to grouping the kids. He directs a pair of girls on Lando and Nick's corner. Lando invites them to help on his part. Nick seems to like working alone.
One of girls— Marie —takes charge. Jenny follows where Marie points at. They forget Lando is there once they hit a stride.
Across the table, he and Oscar exchange a look. Lando breaks away first.
He checks up on Nick every now and then. As the Lego car starts to form, Lando learns more and more about Nick. Like how he scratches his elbows when he's thinking, how he can't sit still, how he's shorter than the rest of the group (he stood to pick up a piece and both Marie and Jenny are taller), how he loves playing Legos with his sisters.
"Done!" Nick says, showing Lando part of the sidepod.
Lando learns Nick's eyes are of different colors. One seagreen, one chocolate brown.
Marie tells Nick to join them, and they become a perfect trio. Lando's chest is in pain, suddenly. It must be nothing.
Soon enough, the PR staff tells them to wrap up. Nick is too shy for the group picture, so he sticks close to Lando. It reminds him of a certain someone who followed him like a lost duckling just a few years ago.
:
He and Oscar stay beyond their schedule to watch the kids leave. After all, they're only making a group of important sponsors wait around on them.
It's all worth it when Nick waves goodbye at Lando.
Lando melts.
"He's the quiet one next to you, right?" Oscar asks.
Lando hums in agreement, warm and content. "His name is Nick. He's got those— when your eyes are different colors."
"Heterochromia."
"Yeah, that. One's this blue, green color and the other's brown. He was pretty shy when we started but Marie and Jenny— the girls beside me —were super nice to him."
"You think our kids could be like that?"
There's that chest pain again. Lando doesn't bother correcting Oscar, not when he's wistful and quiet in a good way. Oscar's given him the silent treatment more and more this season. Lando can't blame him.
Like how he can't blame him for his mistake right now. It's your kids, of course. Lando's and not theirs.
But Lando plays along. Of course. "Nick's sort of like you already."
"He's got your eye, though, and your hair."
"I hope he'll get your smarts."
"Plenty to inherit from both of us."
Lando bites down a grin. "Whatever you say, Osc."
:
What Oscar does say is this: "I'm looking forward to the couple more years ahead of us, fighting, hopefully, like this. At the top. We're growing old together, building a life, and yeah. That's important, more important than small misunderstandings. We both know it is."
:
Lando blames Max and Nico and their fatherhood statuses, sitting on both sides of him, talking over his head about naptimes and diapers.
"Question for Lando. Do you think you'll start a family before or after retirement? Will you start planning for it if you become champion this year?"
Lando's chasing Oscar. Max is chasing both of them. He only sees his family when they're at the races. He's seen more of Oscar than his last partner, and that ended horribly.
"No family for me in the near or far future," Lando says. "It's just not where I am in my life. But yeah, sure, being able to tell my future kids of this year, this fight... hope it becomes a good bedtime story."
:
Lando should've known that Oscar's multiple "we're gonna grow old together" post-contract extension was a call for help. A symptom. Oscar never does things in halves.
Oscar's iced him out, and it's not just because of a shit race. They've shared plenty shit races before. This one's different.
Even stranger, Oscar's out clubbing. He never is, no matter how much Lando convinces him.
Maybe the strangest, he's mingling. He's sipping his drink and laughing with people who not Lando.
The thing is, Lando's played this game before. He knows this routine like the back of his hand. He practically invented it.
After a shot for courage, he drags Oscar away from the curious hands and pushes open a backdoor, straight into the cold air of the night.
Lando goes for the kill. "Why are you avoiding me?"
Oscar flinches like he'd been hit. "I'm not."
"You are. Have been for a few days. So. What's this about?"
Oscar deflates immediately. He doesn't run hot anyway, which means whatever's on his mind is something he thinks he shouldn't be worried about. A pinch of embrassment.
Lando crosses his arms, shivering. "Well? Spit it out."
"I— there's nothing to tell."
"I thought you said this— us —is more important than misunderstandings. Are we really gonna spend the rest of our lives together like this?"
Oscar deflates. Lando pinches himself to stop from reaching out to him.
"Lando— it's. It's stupid."
"So what?"
"I'm not even sure why I'm feeling this."
Lando shrugs. "That's normal. I'm here to listen either way."
Oscar exhales, "Can you promise you won't be weirded out?"
"Try me. Because like it or not, you're stuck with me for, like, until 2030 and we're not gonna go down before we even go up. Can you just—"
"It's about family!" Oscar cuts in. "About starting a family. Us. Me and you."
Confession time: that's not how Lando thought this conversation would lead into.
"I— what?"
Oscar sniffs from his feelings or the cold. "I saw your interview. You said you didn't want to start a family."
Uh.
Huh.
Lando doesn't know what possesses him to blurt out, "I can't get pregnant by you."
"Oh, so you hate me. Told you this was weird."
Except it's not.
"I think it's the season," Oscar rattles on. "It's long and tiring. I'm sorry for... for projecting some stuff on you. I need to reset, recalibrate. I'm sorry if I made you—"
Lando can hear the rest of it. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. "You didn't! You totally didn't, Osc."
"I didn't?"
Lando speaks through the chest pain his mum would be glad he's having. "I mean. What I meant to say before— You didn't let me finish."
"I'm letting you now."
"Yeah, yeah. So. Uh. Families. If you're asking if I'm gonna start a family with you, like a proper family. Two kids minimum, a bigger place. If you're asking. I'm saying yes."
Oscar's breath hitches.
"But," Lando says, "are you? Asking?"
"Yes, I am."
"Are you also asking to be my— to date me? To be with me?"
"Of course."
"It wasn't fucking obvious, Osc!"
This time, Lando lets himself move closer to Oscar, arms wrapping around Oscar's chest. He rests his head on Oscar's broad shoulders. Oscar's heart is like a rabbit.
"Yes on both questions," Lando murmurs, "and, uh, I was thinking adoption. Because. You know."
Oscar curls into Lando. "I do. Sorry if I—"
"No more apologies. Just kiss me, Osc."
Oscar does. He holds Lando's face with both hands and kisses him until their lungs ache. Lando pulls aways and says against Oscar's grin, "But. We could still try."
"What?"
"The pregnancy thing. Think you can put a baby inside me, Mr. Piastri?"
a reimagining of a scene from a wip that has died in my folders! prompt list
Here's something Lando learned the last year: Oscar looks at people fondly. A lot. It doesn't take much for him to stare at you with those God-given, chocolate-brown eyes like you're his world and then some.
Knowing it doesn't make it any easier.
“Mate,” Charles laughs, stumbling into Lando's airspace. The man's fucking as red as his race suit. “Is he always like this?”
"Who?" Lando feigns. "Like what?"
Charles downs another drink. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then scans the room. "Oscar, of course!"
Lando follows his gaze for show. He's hyper-aware where Oscar is, where his teammate has been for the past 15 minutes, chatting with Charles and his group of French-speaking, model-looking friends. They have the same pretty shine Lando only thought existed in his wet dreams. Charles fits right in.
Oscar doesn't. Oscar's wearing a crumpled white shirt and his hair sticks out in a way that screams I just woke up, which he likely did. He doesn't speak French, nor fashion, nor any other topic they might throw his way.
If there's a Venn diagram of Oscar and Charles' friends, the middle would be empty. Maybe it only has Charles' dimpled face on it.
(God. He's speaking like Jon.)
Yet, despite this completely accurate and faultless analysis, Oscar's the center of this little universe. He's doing the shrug-and-smirk combo, probably paired with I mean, well, I guess so.
Oscar's now listening intently to someone who could be Charles' cousin by his cheekbones.
"Oh," Lando sighs. "What about Oscar?"
As if hearing his name, Oscar nods at Lando's general direction. He taps the person he's talking to on the shoulders, saying something in their ear, and makes his way to Lando and Charles.
"Haven't seen you in a bit," Oscar tells Lando when he reaches their booth. They clink glasses.
Lando can't help but notice the flush of Oscar's skin. Is he drunk? Doesn't seem to be. He arrived a little after Lando, dragged out by his mechanics. "Same to you."
Oscar laughs. Where's the joke?
"We were just talking about you," Charles giggles. He bumps into Oscar. The place is crowded, after all. Or is it.
Oscar tilts his head and shifts his entire focus to Lando. “About what?”
Even Charles, who attracts cameras and eyes everywhere he goes, buckles underneath this damn gaze.
But Charles doesn't spend nearly four days a week nonstop with Oscar, doesn't get the chance to see how he is when he thinks he's alone.
Lando lifts his chin. Oscar's eyes are on him. "Down, boy. Charles isn't used to it.”
"To what?" Oscar asks, taking a sip of his drink, not breaking eye contact with Lando.
Charles saves Lando from explaining. He swings an arm over Oscar's shoulders and says, "You've charmed my friends, Oscar! They like you."
Oscar blinks at Charles, amused. "Uh, I like them too, I guess."
"Perfect! Who do you like best?"
Lando can see the moment it clicks into place for Oscar— a quirk in his brows, a tongue swiping his bunny teeth. He slightly pulls away from Charles, laughing. Always laughing. "I have plans."
Charles laughs, too. "Shame for them. Next time?"
Shrug. Smirk. "Sure."
Not a yes, definitely not a no.
Charles returns to his friends, breaking the news with a skip in his steps. Oscar motions for Lando to make room on the couch. It's a tight fit.
The music changes into something slower but still as loud. The crowd on the floor sways, some people shuffle closer, skin-to-skin.
Lando blurts out, "Why'd you turn them down?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"You seemed like you were having a good time." Fuck. That's basically admitting he was watching Oscar.
"I was having a time. Don't know what was particularly good about it."
"The way you— how you—" Lando really should stop talking now.
Oscar waits for him to continue, his smile softening.
Lando looks away. He lost again.
"Is this about what you were saying earlier?"
What was he even saying about earlier? He's thought a thousand things since. Lando grunts.
Oscar's quiet for a second before asking, "Why did you think I was having a good time with Charles' friends?"
From the edge of his vision, Lando can see Oscar's open expression, his patience and understanding etched somewhere between all his freckles.
"Because you were," Lando starts, waving a hand around Oscar, "you were being like that. You were looking at them like that."
Not missing a beat, Oscar says, "You think I act like this to everyone else?"
What even is this? "Uh, yes?"
"Well, I don't."
"Why not?"
"Do you want me to act like this to everyone else?"
Their legs are touching. Oscar's finger is playing with the edges of Lando's shirt. Oscar's sweet scent is flooding Lando's senses.
Lando doesn't respond.
Oscar leans back. The distance made is small but enough. "Find me when you're ready to go back."
Lando watches him go. All he's done tonight is watch Oscar.
That's why he doesn't miss when Oscar looks back. Then, as if an afterthought, he says, "You're my plans tonight. If I didn't already make that clear."
Would u ever write fratboy lando and nerd oscar? The new lando pics in a backwards SnapBack is making me insane and oscar being a quite menace is more than likely
fratboy!lando × nerd!oscar
and also the pitt au??ish
Oscar didn't mean pass out.
Nobody means to pass out. But it's finals week and Stella's exams are notorious and Oscar is nowhere near ready to meet his maker. He likes his earthly existence, thank you very much.
Lily says he should take better care of himself. Oscar loves Lily but knows any advice from her is moot. Lily is from a rare breed of engineering students who have a healthy work-life balance. She sleeps six hours minimum every night.
That's why she's not there when Oscar collapses on the ground, head-first. Dramatic, he knows. He also wasn't conscious at the time so most of his commentary is secondhand from kind passerbys who helped him.
"Do you have any questions for me?" the doctor asks. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?
"You look too young to be a doctor," Oscar says. It's not a question.
"I'm 30 years old," he answers. "I assure you, I am a doctor."
"Okay."
"And you, Mr. Piastri, need to stay awake for me, okay? Is there anyone I can call for you?"
Lily's asleep. Logan's "away".
"Emergency contact," Oscar says. His voice sounds weird.
"Got that. I'll be back with you shortly, Mr. Piastri. Dr. Russell here will cover for me in the meantime."
The young doctor is replaced by another young doctor. Oscar wouldn't be surprised if he had seen them in campus back at freshman year.
God. Freshman year. He'd been in the hospital during finals week, too.
Russell runs through a series of familiar questions. Oscar's been through this before. He feels fine already, really.
"We need get your head checked," Russell says.
"Sounds serious."
"It is, Mr. Piastri."
He didn't mean to say that outloud. He didn't mean to collapse. He didn't—
"Oscar! What the fuck?"
Oscar attempts to twist his head to the direction of the voice. There's ringing everywhere. It's unnecessary, anyway, because Lando steps closer, filling up Oscar's vision.
"What the fuck?" Lando repeats. He's holding Oscar's outstretched hand, the one that's not connected to wires.
"What the fuck, Osc?" Lando repeats for a third time, much softer now.
"Mr. Norris," Russell sighs, "I can't believe I'm saying this but please go back to bothering your brothers and not—"
"You're the one who called me here."
"Too loud," Oscar says.
Lando turns around. "I'm sorry, babe. I'm sorry. What— what happened to you? They said you fainted and— was Lily with you? Fred?"
Fred. He's probably worried sick. Oscar remembered Fred texting him he'll pull an all-nighter baking cookies and revising.
Oscar tries to shake his head. Everything he tries with his head hurts.
"You shouldn't move too much, Mr. Piastri."
"Are you his doctor?"
Lando sounds like he's about to fight somebody.
"Albon is, actually."
"I trust Albon more."
"Of course you do."
Lando and the doctor seem like they know each other.
"Mr. Norris is infamous here."
Did he say that outloud?
"Yeah, you did, Osc."
Oh shit.
"Yes, shit, honey." Lando touches his forehead. "You're a bit up there, Osc. You can rest now. I'm here. I'm here."
Oscar can't help but smile. "From a party?"
Lando flushes red. "Yeah."
He has that usual glow— curls stuck to his skin, backwards hat on, three buttons loose on his shirt, glitter across his chest, silver chain glinting. He smells vaguely of alcohol and people and Ralph Lauren.
Lando hates being in hospitals. There's a different, inescapable alcohol scent.
"M'sorry," Oscar mutters. "Know you hate it."
"Don't apologize, Osc. I was already here."
If Oscar could sit up in alarm, he would. "Why're you here, Lan?"
"Mr. Norris came in with half of his fraternity after a drunken stunt gone wrong. Again."
"Again?" Oscar squeezes Lando's hand.
"How are you— Lando?"
"Dr. Albon!"
"What are you doing here?"
"Emergency contact," Russell says the exact time Lando says, "Boyfriend."
"I'm Oscar's boyfriend and emergency contact," Lando clarifies.
Oscar's heart skips a beat. Russell and Albon, the two young doctors, rush to his side. Oscar waves them off. "I'm fine. I swear."
He and Lando aren't exactly public. They're not exactly secret, too. Private is the nice word for it, but they have no choice but to be private. This is probably the first time Lando's called Oscar his boyfriend outside their close circles and family. Sometimes, that's enough. Lando's mum loves Oscar (a direct quote from her) and Oscar's sisters hang out with Lando's sisters. Fewtrell's cool with Oscar and vice versa. The important people are okay, so Oscar should be, too.
"We have Mr. Piastri lined up for a scan to check his head. His blood tests are all normal. The same can't be said for your friends, Lando." Albon and Russell sigh the exact same way. "I can't go on a month without seeing one of you here."
"I heard the nurses have a running bet on us."
"They always do. Now, Dr. Russell and I have to check on the brotherhood over there. You'll be okay with him here, Mr. Piastri?"
Oscar shrugs. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
Russell closes the curtains when he and Albon leave. Finally, he and Lando are alone, even if they can still hear the buzz of the hospital on the other side.
"Hey, what happened to you?" Lando asks.
"What happened to you?"
"I was the getaway driver, and the driver to the hospital. You know I'm fast behind the wheel."
Oscar would rolls his eyes if he could. "I'm not surprised."
"Well, I am. You studied too hard, didn't you? Logan said you would."
Speaking of Logan... "Is he with you? He hasn't answered my calls."
"Uh, yes?"
Oscar doesn't know if the headache is coming from his fall or the general plights of being Logan's friend. "Figured."
They lapse into silence. Lando doesn't do bedside manners. He joked a few too many times about catching "sympathy fevers" so he could cuddle with Oscar while he's sick. Oscar was horrified to hear that.
"I'm sorry I got your McLaren hoodie dirty," Oscar says.
"I've got plenty."
This one still smells like Lando post-shower. It's one of Oscar's favorites.
The curtains part open slightly, someone peeking in. "Thought you'd be here."
Oscar squints. "Max?"
"Wish we met again in better circumstances, Oscar."
Fewtrell is Lando's best mate. He's also the first to know of them, having caught Oscar sneaking out of Lando's room.
Lando bumps shoulders with him. "How'd you know I was here?"
"You stood up in a flurry with no explanation and dashed out of the room. That could only mean one thing."
The thing— being Oscar —coughs. It's awkward to hear other people talk about him when he's right there.
Max tells Oscar, "Anything we can do for you, mate? Lawson's still at campus so if he needs to pick up your friends, I'll call him."
"You don't have to do that," Oscar says.
"I'm not. Lawson will. Plus, you're Lando's partner and that means a lot."
It does, doesn't it?
"Max—" Lando says in that way of his when he's about to cry. Max knows that, too, because he groans and Oscar laughs, ignoring the pain in his head.
"They like seeing you happy, Bob."
Oscar's staring at Lando, at his dimples and the brightness of his smile.
tattoo artist!lando × pastry chef!oscar, fluff and crack
Carlos said Lando used his skin like a sketch book, which made sense because he's a tattoo artist.
"Not even a sketch book," Max corrects. He's snippy at Lando, having come off of a three-hour session where they disagreed on the linework for a boquet of lilies Max was dedicating to his family. Lando wouldn't usually fight his clients' wishes so fervently, if only this particular client wasn't also one of his closest friends. Before Max met Lando, Max just tattooed whatever he felt like— often to bad results he'd let Lando fix across the years.
"What'd you mean?" Lando asks, checking his schedule for tomorrow. Carlos has the day off with his father in town.
"It's like a notepad," Max explains. He's drinking a Red Bull. Again. He says it's a necessity for parenthood. Lando wouldn't know. "You think with your tattoos."
Carlos snaps his fingers at that, agreeing.
"What's wrong with that? It's my skin," Lando says. "It's my job. It's my passion."
Max glares at him. "You screamed at Daniel for getting tattoos impulsively."
"Because his tattoos were shit. I do my own, and they're not shit."
Carlos pokes Lando's arm. "What Max is saying is you have habit of getting random tattoos. Impulsively. I leave you alone for 30 seconds and you're getting a new one."
"It's practice. Why's it a bad thing, anyway?"
"It's not bad," Carlos says, shrugging. "I think it's amusing."
"It's revealing," Max says.
Lando shrieks, "Revealing? How the fuck?"
Max tilts his head. "You tattoo whatever you're thinking about. Whoever you're thinking about."
That stops Lando in his tracks. He looks down a cluster of pastry-related tattoos on his forearm, the oldest one being three months old and the newest is from two weeks ago.
Max laughs, smug. "This is the Piastri person, yes?"
Piastri refers to Oscar, one of four Piastries Lando tattooed on a row. They got matching tattoos for their mum, apparently.
Also apparently, Oscar's a pastry chef, apparently, not that Lando stalked him or anything. Oscar's Instagram is sparse (he followed Lando after the session, says he likes the "art") ,but he posts regular stories about his cafe or about his running schedule. He once shared a photo of his and his sisters' matching tattoos and tagged Lando, of course. Lando reposted it. Of course.
Lando fights his blush. "So what?"
Carlos rolls his eyes. "You know he likes you, right?"
"What?" Lando almost drops his phone on his feet. He so totally doesn't have notifications on for Oscar.
"You two should stop circling each other. He's not a tattoo person, and I think he's running out of excuses to drop by here."
"And most importantly," Max says, "you'll run out of skin, Lando."
Sometimes, Lando questions his choice of friends.
"Why not ask him?" Max is blunt as ever.
"He hasn't visited lately," Carlos says, scratching his chin. "Did you already pull a move, Lando? Did you scare him away?"
"Pull a move? That makes me sound hopeless!"
"You are. So. Where is he?"
Two weeks ago, Oscar brought some aftercare tattoo bundles. He said he was visiting his family back in Melbourne, that maybe one or three of his sisters already got another tattoo, and he thought it'd be nice to give them the kits.
Lando didn't say wouldn't it be easier to buy them in Melbourne? Instead, he asked, "When will you be back?"
Good things Carlos and Daniel were suddenly nowhere to be found then, or else they would've witnessed Oscar's shy smile when he answered, "In two weeks. I was hoping we could get dinner once I return?"
"Like a date?"
Oscar nodded. "Exactly like a date."
"I'm free now," Lando blurted out. "Well, not really, I'm— we can have lunch now, if you want."
Oscar's whole face lit up. Lando didn't think he could get any cuter, bunny teeth smile and all.
Then Oscar's shoulders drooped. "I gotta head back to the cafe. But, uh, here's my number, and we follow each other already on Instagram... we can set up something before I leave?"
Lando almost fainted there. "Yeah, let's."
So now, whenever he finds himself thinking about Oscar, he doesn't reach for the tattoo machine anymore. They're getting used to daily calls, near-hourly texts, and sure, Lando's more often than not fighting the urge to put Oscar's initials on his—
Okay, okay. Carlos and Max might have a point. He really should get a new sketch book.
