pixyixu

“It’s okay, love,” he murmurs, and she presses her nose into his thigh in response, scenting him faintly.

Then the door swings open. And Lando looks up, ready to half-smile at Dr. Greene, except.

Except it’s not Dr. Greene.

This doctor is new. Young. Blue scrubs, white coat.

Omega, Lando’s instincts say before his brain catches up.

Omega, his lungs say again, as if they’ve suddenly forgotten how to work.

“Victoria Norris?” the man says, voice smooth and warm.

Vic doesn’t move. Just tightens her grip on Lando’s jeans like she’s trying to become molecularly fused to them.

“Oh,” Lando says, standing. “That’s us. Um. She’s shy.”

“Not a problem,” the doctor replies, with a small smile that is objectively not allowed before 9 a.m. “I’m Dr. Oscar Piastri. I’ll be seeing you today—Dr. Greene has transferred.”

“Right,” Lando says. “Okay. Cool.”

He picks Victoria up. She promptly curls into his chest, tucks her head under his chin like a tiny koala.

Dr. Piastri gestures them down the hallway. He’s composed, not saying anything unnecessary. Doesn’t ask Victoria any questions yet. Just opens the door to the exam room and steps aside.

Lando sits her on the table. She immediately grabs his hand like she thinks someone’s going to try and separate them with force.

And that’s when it hits him—Dr. Piastri’s scent. Not showy, but there.

Steady and unblocked and real, like lavender and clean linen and something warmer underneath, something that sneaks past Lando’s defenses and coils soft in his chest.

It makes his own scent twitch uncomfortably, like it wants to respond without permission. He hadn’t even realized how starved he was for something like that until now.

“You’re not wearing blockers,” Lando blurts, and then immediately contemplates launching himself into the sun.

Dr. Piastri—glances over, unreadable. “I don’t need them.”

“Right. Yeah. Obviously,” Lando says. “Sorry. That was weird. I didn’t mean—I mean, I’m not weird about it.”

Oscar mouth twitches, which Lando decides to count as a win. “Alright.”

“She doesn’t talk much when she’s nervous,” Lando offers, when the silence gets too full. “Or to new people. Or really anyone who hasn’t been properly vetted. But give her a week and she’ll be demanding to know your opinion on triceratops.”

Oscar crouches a little, carefully. Doesn’t speak yet, just lets his scent do the work—slow, safe.

Victoria stares at him from behind her pacifier. Her eyes are big and skeptical.

“That’s alright,” Oscar says. “We can take our time.”

Lando watches him with something that might be awe.

Oscar doesn’t push. Doesn’t coax. Just… lets her be. His scent is like a blanket in winter. Not overwhelming. Just there.

And Lando realizes with a sudden, sharp ache that his instincts are flaring for a reason.

Oscar isn’t just calm—he’s safe. Every quiet Omega cue Lando’s ever known is right there, in his voice, in the way he moves, in the way his scent stays low and steady.

It hits Lando like a freight train, how much he wants to trust this man with everything.

Not just Victoria’s health, but his… actual heart, apparently. Which is stupid. Objectively ridiculous. But it feels a bit like fate anyway.

“She’s here for her yearly?” Oscar asks, glancing at the chart.

“Yeah,” Lando says, a beat late. “Usual stuff. She’s been healthy. Big fan of bananas, if that matters.”

Oscar lifts a single eyebrow, amused. “Good to know.”

Victoria chooses this moment to squeeze Lando’s wrist. He takes that as a cue to stop talking.

There’s a pause while Oscar reads through her file. His scent shifts a little—thoughtful, maybe. It catches in Lando’s throat.

“I’m going to check your heartbeat, alright?” Oscar says, very clearly addressing Victoria, and not her over-anxious father. He holds up the stethoscope for inspection.

She doesn’t say anything. Just sticks out her foot.

Oscar doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t correct her. Just hums. “Fair enough,” he says, and gently takes her ankle like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

The rest of the check-up goes easier than Lando could’ve predicted.

No words from Victoria, but she watches Oscar with curiosity.

Lando leans in a little. “Hey—if you get her to ditch that pacifier, I’ll owe you. I’ve tried. Her last doctor tried. I got called a monster.”

Oscar glances up from the blood pressure cuff, that almost-smile back. “A monster?”

“I mean, not in words. But the vibe was there,” Lando mutters. “You, though—she’s looking at you like you invented gravity, so. Magic Omega powers and all that.”

Oscar hums. His scent shifts again, warm with quiet amusement. “I’ll see what I can do.”

And apparently, he means immediately.

Victoria’s still parked on the exam table, legs swinging like little pendulums, when Oscar turns to the cabinet and retrieves something—small, soft, and unmistakably grey.

He crouches again, calm as ever. “Hey, Victoria,” he says gently, holding it out. “I brought you something.”

It’s a bunny. One of those squishy comfort ones with velvet ears and a stitched-on expression that’s either sleepy or enlightened. There’s a faded ribbon around its neck.

Victoria stares at it like it’s the Mona Lisa.

“If you give your pacifier to your dad today,” Oscar continues, “you can take this home instead. Deal?”

There’s a pause. She doesn’t blink. Just slowly reaches up, removes the pacifier with the solemnity of a monk surrendering a worldly possession, and hands it over to Lando without ceremony.

Then she takes the bunny. Turns it over once, inspecting. And—very seriously—she lifts one tiny hand and points directly at its embroidered front teeth.

“Just like you,” she says.

Oscar freezes.

Lando makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a bark. “Oh my god,” he whispers, delighted and horrified all at once.

Oscar’s ears flush pink. His scent flares.

“It’s the teeth?” he mutters, wounded.

Lando just stares at him. He’s trying very hard not to fall in love on the spot. Unclear if it’s working.

Oscar clears his throat while Vic is already cradling the bunny like it’s her newborn child.

Lando watches the two of them and then watches his own heart do something ill-advised in real time. The instinct is loud. Unhelpful.

“She seems healthy,” Oscar says eventually, recovering just enough to stand and wash his hands. “Maybe a little tired.”

Lando nods. “She’s been clingy lately. Might be a growth spurt.”

“Or,” Oscar says, glancing over his shoulder, “she might be picking up on something.”

Lando blinks. “Like what?”

Oscar shrugs. “Stress. Unrest. If your scent’s been changing, she’ll notice.”

Which—alright. Fair. Lando’s been a little off-kilter lately. New job. New flat. The whole being-in-love-with-your-kid’s-doctor thing just now. He hadn’t thought it would show. But of course it does. He’s always been scent-reactive.

“She likes you,” he says instead of responding. “She doesn’t usually warm up that fast.”

Oscar gives a tiny smile, then leans down to offer Victoria a sticker. She takes it with both hands.

“I like her too,” he replies, and that tugs at something deep in Lando’s chest.

His glands hum, unhelpfully. He’s never been the kind of Alpha to scent anyone outside of a bond. But right now, it’s not even a decision. Just instinct. His scent curls softly into the air, not claiming. Just—present.

Oscar doesn’t push back. But there’s a shift. Subtle. And maybe—maybe—Lando’s not imagining it after all.

“Thanks,” he says, picking Vic up and adjusting her in his arms. “For everything.”

Oscar glances up. His eyes linger just a beat too long. “Anytime.”

For a moment they just look at each other—one of those pauses where everything seems to hold still, where Lando’s heart starts going far too fast for something as simple as small talk.

He clears his throat. “Right,” he says, fumbling. “Guess we’ll be going, then.”

“Wait,” Victoria says before he can take a step. Her voice is very small.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Lando asks, startled.

Victoria hesitates. Then—“His name.”

“Oh. That’s Dr. Piastri,” Lando says.

She shakes her head, serious now. “What’s his name.”

Oscar’s ears go pink.

“It’s Oscar,” he says softly.

Victoria nods, apparently satisfied. She hides her face again. Lando can’t help but laugh, a little dazed.

“Well, Oscar,” he says, testing it, letting it sit in the air between them. “Thanks again. And—uh. If you ever want to talk about dinosaurs sometime, she’s very open to visitors. We’re usually at the park on weekends.”

Oscar bites the inside of his cheek. “I’d like that.”

And Lando, high off of nothing but his own feelings, bold for reasons even he doesn’t understand, adds quickly, “Also, if you ever wanted to—have a coffee or something. With me. Not just her. If that’s not weird. I just meant—”

Oscar blinks. “Oh. I don’t like coffee.”

Lando’s stomach drops clean through the floor. “Right. Yeah. Of course. I mean, obviously. That’s not—yeah. Forget it.” He gestures vaguely with one hand. “You’re my kid’s doctor, I wasn’t— It wasn’t—”

Oscar flushes. Deeply. He scrambles to speak, all composure evaporating. “No, I meant— I really don’t like coffee. Like, the drink. I didn’t mean—” He stops, flustered. “Hot chocolate?”

Lando stares at him.

“Hot chocolate would be nice,” Oscar says shyly.

“I like chocolate,” Victoria announces from Lando’s shoulder, very helpfully.

Oscar laughs, soft and a little helpless.

Lando beams. “Alright,” he says. “Hot chocolate it is.”

Oscar hesitates for just a moment, then reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a pen.

“Here,” he murmurs, scribbling his number on the back of a clinic appointment card. “In case you ever need to reschedule. Or—uh. For hot chocolate logistics.”

Lando takes it like it’s something delicate. His fingers brush Oscar’s, and it feels like a jolt straight down to his spine.

“Right,” he says, ears pink, brain barely functional.

alt version! feel free to use your imagination

alt version! feel free to use your imagination