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nottieln4 · 2 months ago

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landoscar wip spoilers 👀

it's sunday. i'm bored. have some no-context snippets. :)

these are all four completely different fics I've been working on!

most of them are un-edited and some are stuff that even my beta reader hasn't seen yet. 💔 (i'm fine, she's got no tumblr)

i'd be very excited to hear some of y'alls thoughts on these.

hate to be lame

December 2022

Lando closes the article when Andrea and Zak walk into the room, being followed by an unfamiliar mop of brown hair. Oscar Piastri, his new teammate for the 2023 F1 season. There’s not a ton Lando knows about the guy, except for the fact that he won F2, is younger than Lando and is Australian, just like Daniel. Though his former and current teammate couldn’t be any more different, if Lando is to judge from the couple of clips he was able to find of the younger man online.

And then there’s the fact that Oscar’s been following his accounts for longer than Lando’s known of him, judging from the likes and interactions that go back to years before Lando even made it to the big league. It’s kind of adorable, to be honest, and it’s for sure something that Lando’s going to bring up one of these days. Simply to be able to watch the other driver squirm a little.

While Oscar crosses the room to sit down on the other side of the table, Lando locks his phone and puts it down, watching as their bosses take the seats at the front of the room. The article he’d been reading is still circling through the back of his mind. It’s not something that bothers Lando every second of every day, the fact that he’s yet to meet his own soulmate but it’d be a lie to say it doesn’t hurt sometimes.

That he’s alone, in a world built for two.

Non-soulmate relationships have become more common, and a lot more respected in recent years, but at the end of the day, finding one’s soulmate will remain the end goal. Whether or not it will end up in a platonic or romantic bond. Lando can’t imagine not falling for his soulmate though, after all, aren’t they supposed to be perfect for each other? Two halves of the same soul?

His soulmate could be feeling differently about it all, Lando’s well aware. Maybe they’re already in a relationship or simply won’t be interested in dating Lando, cause he’s well - himself. There are examples of happy and healthy non-soulmate relationships on the grid, like Lewis and Seb who got married in autumn of last year.

Lando can’t lie, thinking of his own fairytale romance, he imagines something a lot more like the perfect soulmate bond that Daniel and Max share, even if it makes flying with them unbearable on more occasions than not.

Clearing his throat, Zak redirects the attention of the room to himself, “I’m sure you’re all aware but this is Oscar’s first proper day as a McLaren Racing Formula 1 driver, so let’s all make sure he feels welcome, yeah?” There's an agreeing murmur going through the room and then it’s time for the meeting to begin properly.

All in all, it’s not one of the most exciting debriefs Lando’s ever had, and he’s reaching to get in the simulator rather than listen to Zak and Andrea go on about the same thing another time again. The only thing keeping his interest is when somebody will call on Oscar to share his thoughts. Their rookie will confidently manage his way through his sentences, calm and eloquent, but there’s a telltale, red-flush creeping its way up his neck, still. Lando’s a little peeved to admit he finds it unreasonably adorable.

oscar winning tears

They’re in the car now, Jon driving to the hotel while Lando rests his head against the window, pretending to doze off. Despite the fact that he can’t see himself catching even a second of sleep anytime soon, knowing damn well he’ll replay the race in his head over and over again. At least his trainer is kind enough to let Lando keep on pretending.

When they reach the door to Lando’s room, Jon sends him a tired, but genuine, smile. The pity in his eyes might be more than Lando can take though, and it doesn’t do his heart any favours when the older man’s hand comes down on his shoulder. “Try not to beat yourself up too harshly, okay? You’re human, you’re allowed to make mistakes.”

‘Yeah, I just keep making more than the rest of the grid together’, is shooting through his head but Lando bites his tongue and keeps quiet. Jon doesn’t get paid enough to deal with his shit, and still, he does so on most occasions. Lando will let him sit this one out. “I’ll try,” he mumbles, and tries to send a smile back in the Brit’s direction.

Judging from the grim expression on Jon’s face, it doesn’t quite work.

When the door falls shut behind him, Lando appreciates the silence. He doesn’t turn on anything inside the room, apart from the tiny lamp on the bedside table. His brain’s loud enough anyways. With any more strength left in his bones, he might try to go for another (warmer) shower, or to put on some mind-numbing tv to lull him to sleep.

But Lando just wants to fall into bed and pretend he’ll fall asleep in the next three hours. Even getting in the proper sleep attire proves too much for him, so Lando simply gets rid of all his clothes until he’s left in his boxers and slips underneath the giant, feather duvet. It’s a decision Lando will probably come to regret later, considering how low he keeps the temperature in the room. Maybe it’s another, although small, way of punishing himself for his missteps.

A knock on his door is enough for Lando to flinch, his heartbeat starting a sprint inside his chest. The person at the door had kept it at a polite volume, considering the time of the night, but inside Lando’s quiet room, it had appeared much louder. Even with the voices screaming inside his head.

“Lando? Are you still awake?” Somehow, Oscar is the last person Lando expected to reach out to him right now. And despite how much he wants the younger man close, to bury his face in the soft skin of his neck and forget the gloomy world around him, it’s nothing he deserves. Lando’s too numb, too empty, to call out for Oscar.

After another few tries, the Australian leaves. Eventually, while blankly staring at the ceiling, gravity pulls Lando’s eyelids down, and sleep claims him. His entire, restless night is accompanied by silent tear tracks colouring the white of the pillow a pale green. .

Waking up the next afternoon, it’s not kind either. All his limbs aching, and his eyes swollen from all the crying Lando apparently did in his sleep. He’d figured, even as he was tearing up while falling asleep, that it’d stop at some point during the night. But looking at the way he’d stained his pillows, it’s a pretty clear sign he never really stopped.

The heartache was too overwhelming, maybe. First, the clear confirmation that Oscar couldn’t be any less interested in Lando and then, the disaster-class of his race. If there wouldn’t be a good chance left for them to secure the championship in Abu Dhabi, Lando would have already crawled into another hole never to be seen again.

That’s not an option right now, though, no matter how badly Lando craves hiding underneath his own blanket, back at his home in Monaco and forgetting about the world that exists around him. No, he’s still got a championship to win for his team, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do his hardest to try.

For a moment, he thinks about trying to get a few more minutes of sleep, but it’s quite obvious he’s way too awake to do so. Sighing, he sits up and presses the button for the blinds to slowly go up while he grabs his phone, scrolling through the messages he’s missed while asleep. On the bottom of the screen, Oscar’s singular message stands out. ‘I’m here if you need me.’

It’s utterly sweet, yet the message does nothing but deepen the nausea Lando is feeling. Instead of answering anyone, he puts his phone away again. They’ll head off to the airport soon, and he’d rather take an actual shower and try to tame his curls beforehand.

On the way to the bathroom, he grabs a baggy, washed out jean and a dark grey hoodie, as well as a pair of new boxers and some socks. By the time Lando’s done with his shower, carefully taking care of his curls and scrunching them into form, Lando feels a little more alive. His eyes are still red-rimmed and swollen but it’s nothing a pair of sunglasses won’t hide.

Packing is by far Lando’s least favourite part of traveling, but he’s meticulous about it all the same. He remembers the first time Oscar had peered inside of his suitcase, eyebrows raised high in surprise, “Not going to lie, mate, I expected you to just kind of throw your stuff in there and call it a day.”

Well, turns out Cisca Norris didn’t raise no heathen. Besides, there’s something calming about folding his laundry and arranging it inside the suitcase. It’s a task that makes Lando feel grounded, the high-tension and jet-setting parts of his job really make it hard to keep one’s feet on the ground sometimes. Lando’s quite careful about keeping himself in check, in that regard.

He tries, at least.

Twenty minutes later, he stumbles out of the elevator and into the lobby of their hotel, Jon already waiting there, impatiently. Just as Lando is about to raise his hand in greeting, the older man spots him. His eyebrows draw together as Jon tilts his head, which is almost enough for Lando to stop in his tracks.

Before he can even think about asking his trainer what’s wrong, Jon shakes his head, “Mate, are you sure you meant to pair that green hoodie with those pants? Guess, it’s something.” Confused, Lando’s about it to point out to the other man that he’s clearly wearing a grey hoodie, when it hits him. Looking around the entrance, the big palm plants that just yesterday were a healthy green are nothing but a lifeless grey now.

Even the brochures on the front desk, the one’s Lando clearly remembers being pale green, because he was staring at them bored out of his mind while Jon had been checking him in, just a few days ago - even those are fucking grey too.

What the fuck.

no promises to keep

Oscar climbs the stairs of a building, using the rain pipes and windows to move at a faster pace. It turns into a dead end soon enough and once he’s down on the cobblestone again, he runs headfirst into a group of Shinra soldiers, taking out the gunmen one by one. The buster sword remains heavy in his grip, but it’s welcoming to Oscar, these days. Grounding, especially in high stress situations like these.

2,000 gil, is the mantra that keeps him going while he ducks in between burning structures.

And then, suddenly, the entire world is burning all around him. He’s teleported to five years ago, his home burning in front of his eyes. Nibelheim crashing down on itself, the people either cut down by Masamune or simply victims of the fire and ashes. Oscar’s house - the one with his mother still inside of it - falling down into nothing but a pile of bricks and stones. Aiva’s house, right next to his, is nothing more than an empty casket.

Max Emilian Verstappen, clutching his sword in the middle of the fire. Shinra’s Mighty Lion, the hero of the Wutai War and the first SOLDIER to ever receive a first class ranking. The guy basically everyone at Shinra had been falling their feet over, at least back then when Oscar had first joined the company.

He doubts it’s the same now, considering Oscar had murdered the man five years prior. How, it’s still a fucking mystery to him, considering how greatly outmatched Oscar had felt. The memory is hazy, cloudy in his mind, even now. But seeing Midgar burn around him like this, it’s almost like Oscar can see him.

Max, just a couple feet away from him, smirking as his grip on Masamune tightens. Just as Oscar’s about to pull his own sword from the shoulder holster on his back, the illusion vanishes into the dark of the night. That’s it. Nothing more than my mind playing tricks on me, Oscar breathes a deep sigh before continuing on. There’s no way Max survived, falling down into the Mako Reactor on Mt. Nibel. No way.

Back to being quick on his feet, Oscar stumbles onto 8th street, the theatre coming into his view. The advertisement for LOVELESS, the most popular play in this goodman city, stands tall and proud. Guess there’s nothing bringing that one down.

That’s when Oscar spots him.

It’s a younger guy, Oscar assumes around his age, standing next to a cart with flowers. He’s wearing light, baggy jeans and a baby pink sweater with red flowers stitched onto the fabric. A yellow flower is tucked behind his ear, complimenting the messy curls on top of the florist’s head.

Suddenly, the cart of flowers falls to the side, and the florist starts shielding his face, ducking away. It’s almost like there’s an invisible force reaching for him, or attacking him, as the pretty guy ducks an attack from the dark shadows surrounding him.

What the fuck, Oscar’s eyebrows draw together as he hurries closer, deadset on helping the man. What he doesn’t expect is to be hit with the headache of death, a pounding behind his eyes that makes death seem like mercy. And then, suddenly, Max Emilian Verstappen is there, in all his glory. Short, neatly trimmed hair, all-black outfit similar enough to Oscar’s own but with the right modifications, like the long, dark blue leather coat he’s got around his shoulders. Max is putting a hand on the florist's shoulder, staring right at Oscar. Mako green eyes meet their twin match, the world ablaze around them.

Oscar takes a step back as Max comes closer, “You’re weak. Too weak to save yourself - or anyone else -.” The headache turns into a proper migraine, and Oscar is trying his most to stay upright despite the searing pain.

He opens his eyes once more and then in the next second, the former Shinra general is gone with the wind.

Suddenly, the florist is in front of Oscar, head slightly tilted towards one side as their gazes meet. He’s even more gorgeous up close, his big and bright green-blue eyes look up to Oscar. They’re the most beautiful watercolor mixture, and there’s a healthy pink flush on his tan cheeks. “Hey, mate,” even his fucking voice is nice too, “Are you good?”

It’s fucking embarrassing but Oscar feels his own cheeks up with heat at the attention. Fuck, he’s really got no time for this, he’s still got his former employer up his arse with a search warrant for Oscar and the rest of AVALANCHE after their little stunt. He should be hurrying up if he wants to make it to the bar before Avia kicks his arse into Wutai.

Before he can get far however, there’s the sound of steps behind him and a light touch on his wrist. A much bigger palm than his own around Oscar’s glove, as the florist drags him back around. This time, the guy’s holding out the yellow flower that rested behind his ear earlier. When Oscar doesn’t react, he shoves the flower even closer to his face. “Dude,” the man rolls his eyes, “It’s a gift! For you.”

“A gift for what?” Oscar can’t help but ask, eyeing the ‘gift’ warrily. He’s been scammed on the streets of Midgar before by people like this, they’ll push something in your hand and then claim you’ll have to pay them since you already received something from them. No way he’s going to make the same mistake he made as a 15-year old, green-eyed and innocent, ever again.

“You could also keep it as a memory, I guess, listen dude, I just want to do something nice after you chased those things off,” there’s a proper pout on the other man’s lips now, as he shoves the flower even closer into Oscar’s face. “Just take it, flowers don’t bite.”

“Not sure about you though,” Oscar mutters under his breath but takes the flower, still, securing it behind the holster strap across his chest. “Hey,” there’s a hilarious frown on the guy’s face, “I heard that, you know?!”

Before Oscar can even think of a smart comment, the florist ducks away, his second hand coming around Oscar’s arm too, as they get attacked by those ghosts again. Only this time, Oscar can see them, too. They’re like whisps, a bunch of flying dark ghosts surrounding them, edging closer to them bit by bit. “What the fuck,” Oscar mutters, can this day get any weirder?

At the end, he’s still a trained SOLDIER - a first class - so Oscar frees the buster sword from his back and swings it, getting ready to attack the ghosts. It’s just their luck that a group of Shinra gunmen arrive at the exact same time, yelling at Oscar to drop his weapon. The ghosts are at the soldier’s side in a second, flying around them. Instead of reacting to that, the soldiers keep their attention on Oscar.

“Are those guys fucking blind?” He turns to the florist, who’s eyeing the Shinra soldiers before his gaze switches back to the hooded whisps surrounding them. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you,” is the only thing the curly-haired man replies, before he’s taking off, not looking back once. Oscar can’t do anything else but watch the florist run, the ghosts following him on his path.

He’s gone, just like that. Oscar didn’t even get his name, though he assumes it’s just as pretty.

A stray bullet hits the buster, and Oscar turns back to the problem at hand, namely the fact that he’s outnumbered and has a battle waiting for him. “Just my fucking luck,” he grumbles as he sprints into the fight.

zak VS the horrors of landoscar (working title)

There’s quite a few things Oscar expected for McLaren to have him agree with, when the decision had been made, once the contracts had been signed. On that day Oscar became the first alpha to join the team in the years following Fernando’s departure. After all, McLaren had only one beta (Sainz) and two omegas (Ricciardo and Lando) join the team since then - until now, at least.

What he did not expect was for McLaren CEO Zak Brown to pull him aside after the signing, a suddenly serious expression on his face. “Listen,” he had started, clasping a hand around Oscar’s shoulder, “I know how you young people are, yeah? But I need you to promise me something.” Zak had been more urgent than during their entire time negotiating with McLaren, so Oscar had known that whatever would be coming next, would be important.

“You can not get Lando pregnant, yeah? We need him for the team.”

For a moment, several moments actually, Oscar thought he’d been pranked. That one of the media people would jump out of their hiding spot and the entire room would burst into laughter, Zak’s booming voice echoing from the walls. When that hadn’t happened for another minute, Oscar started to realize the older man was being serious. Dead ass.

“Oh, uh, of course, yeah, I understand,” he awkwardly mumbled his way through his response. Seriously, what made Zak believe Lando would get on with Oscar in the first place? Like his new teammate wasn’t the prettiest, most perfect omega on the entire grid. This is ridiculous, Oscar had thought to himself.

But Zak had been satisfied, nodding as he patted Oscar on his shoulder, “That’s a good lad.”

The interaction, despite how weird it had been, had quickly vanished from his mind afterwards. Maybe it had been a trauma response, trying to rid his brain of the memories of the painful interaction. Almost the entirety of their two first years together as teammates, Oscar hadn’t even thought about the possibility of Zak’s fears becoming reality.

Well, Oscar really should have known better than to doubt Lando Norris' ability to get what he wants - and his own inability to say no to one Lando Norris.

To be honest, Oscar doesn’t get even close to impregnating Lando until that fucking night after Abu Dhabi 2024. Something about how making history together brings people closer, something Oscar had read online in the aftermath of it all, comes to mind.

#f1 rpf #814 #landoscar #my work #notties rambling #I swear I am not dead #or lazy #just busy #have a treat #or not #my wips #wip sunday #I guess

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