I have a cold again for the 2nd time in like 3 weeks 🤧 I'm just sick of the runny nose that I want to chop mine off. But two works in 24 hours what 😮
Lando was about to cut off his nose. Then burn it. Maybe throw the ashes far and wide into the Thames. Anything to get it off his face and end his misery.
Lando, which he won't admit, is the key ambassador for the man flu. He wore it loud, definitely not proud, and everyone knew before they saw him that he was suffering a 'valiant demise from a deathly influx of snot'.
Oscar, to his credit, took it in stride. Lando could be an ass when he was sick, but at least he returned some of the effort if the shoe was on the other foot.
Oscar fought the urge to slam his head against the kitchen cupboard when he heard the over-dramatic moan from the bedroom. Lando couldn't survive the two minutes it took Oscar to make him tea without complaining. He'd already heard three near-death speeches, and the casual spoken thought of who would say his eulogy.
Oscar briefly thought that if Lando complained less, maybe he'd get better faster, but he wouldn't dare voice the thoughts for fear of a snotty tissue thrown in his general vicinity.
Instead, he just dumped the tea bag in the bin, splashed the milk in, and walked carefully back to the bedroom. Lando looked up from his cocoon of blankets, pillows, and sweat before he plonked his head back down with a long-suffering sigh.
"I'm dying."
Oscar rolled his eyes, setting the tea on the bedside.
"You are not dying. Have you taken more tablets?"
Lando turned his head to give the dirtiest glare he could, which was surprisingly harsh for a 'dying' man.
"Tablets only draw out the inevitable. I am dying Oscar. I am way too young to die from viral rhinitis."
Oscar snorted. "Stop googling medical terms to sound like it's an actual issue."
"It is an issue, Osc! I think I need to call an emergency meeting with my lawyer to scrap you in the will for that."
"I'm in your will?"
Lando paused, scrunching his eyes in thought.
"I dunno, I can't remember. Dying has harsh implications on the memory."
Oscar laughed. "Right, well maybe I should leave the dying man with an episode of Prison Break and a new box of tissues, so then maybe he can nap."
Lando dramatically narrowed his eyes. "You're leaving me here to die alone? Where's your humanity, Osc?"
"It left when you threw that dirty tissue at me!" Oscar complained exasperatedly. "If you survive until tea, I'll get spring rolls. And I won't tell Jon."
Lando lit up like a Christmas tree. "Deal! Grab the laptop, hurry."
Oscar snorted, moving to find the laptop under a pile of discarded laundry. He pulled up an episode and set it in a comfortable spot for Lando to watch without moving much.
"There. Try not to die before the intro finishes."
Lando gasped dramatically. "You cannot victimise a patient!"
"I didn't sign up to be your doctor."
"You did when you asked me on a date!"
Oscar's pained smile turned somewhat goofy. "Anything else, your highness?"
Lando pondered the question, bringing his index finger up to run thoughtfully across his chin.
"Fluff the pillows?"
Oscar stared at him, blinking slowly. "You have two perfectly functioning hands."
"But, Osc! They won't be for long. How could you deal with the thought that the last thing was you denied me of fluffy pillows."
Oscar rolled his eyes affectionately before walking out the door. The complaints of Lando followed him down the hall, and when the particular scene that never failed to make him mad appeared, Oscar could definitely say he wasn't dying.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
𓏲ּ𝄢 I have a taglist! If you would be added and you haven’t already responded on previous posts, H E R E
𓏲ּ𝄢Asks will be addressed in the let’s chat section/post which will also be linked!
𓏲ּ𝄢 MDNI Divider credit: @cafekitsune
𓏲ּ𝄢 Theme made on Canva.
𓏲ּ𝄢 𝖲𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 01 02 03 04 (coming soon)
(𝚊𝚘3 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔)
This is where the one/two shots will be!
This is where you can check out all my Coming Soon posters and summary/teasers:
𓏲ּ𝄢 Still
𓏲ּ𝄢 Sugar
𓏲ּ𝄢 Same Space
𓏲ּ𝄢 Sex Therapy
𓏲ּ𝄢 I Do
𓏲ּ𝄢 Check Yo Self
𓏲ּ𝄢 Come See Me
𓏲ּ𝄢 Every Kind of Way
This section will house any prompts I receive in my asks or any prompts I do based off of Smoke x Annie, etc. fic prompts posts floating around on here.
This is where any drabbles will be! They may or may not lead to becoming longer or complete fics!
My asks are open!
𓏲ּ𝄢 Please feel free to ask my opinion on anything Annie, Smoke, Smoke x Annie, and Sinners (and other characters)!
𓏲ּ𝄢I am accepting prompt requests…as I am in writing mode for my coming soon fics I cannot promise I will get to it immediately but I WILL get to it.
𓏲ּ𝄢Let’s keep it cute! Please be respectful!
𓏲ּ𝄢I also love chatting in my comments as well so please feel free if something I post resonates with you!
the things you find when cleaning out your google docs to move to ellipsus...
anyway, enjoy this random find that probably came out of 5 minutes of random mind sentence prompt 🙂↕️
The first thing Oscar met when he walked into the hotel room was a massive, floppy teddy bear.
The cream of its fur, with the white mouth, and orange nose discarded carelessly in the corner. The red bow was a nice touch, but when Oscar looked closer, it was caked with dust and dirt in spots. Its beady eyes, with how it was dumped against the corner of the wall, stared lifelessly at Oscar’s shoes.
Oscar was never too fond of any plush creature bigger than his face. And that. Thing. Was bigger than Oscar’s entire torso, and rivalled his whole body if he scrunched up in a ball.
Oscar knew the only way it would’ve got in the room was through Lando, and he struggled to see how his teammate could’ve even carried that… thing. It would’ve been bigger than him. Then again, it would’ve explained the out-of-context post on Lando’s Instagram earlier that day.
Oscar continued to stare at it for a few moments longer before he heard shuffling coming from the bathroom. Lando walked into the room, steam curling out of the bathroom behind him. A large hoodie hung off his shoulders - Oscar presumed Lando had raided his case again - and trackpants. Lando followed Oscar’s eyeline to the teddy, and a large grin broke across his face.
“I present Bruce Junior! You missed parental rights by losing miserably in the tiny car race.”
Lando sounded somewhat pleased with his achievement, even though Oscar knew deep down that the bear would be promptly rid of by the next morning. Lando wouldn’t be able to travel with it anyway, but he also wasn’t the type to trail around with anything bigger than a wheatbag.
Oscar just nodded slowly.
“Right… I don’t think I’m too sad about that really.”
Lando just shrugged, his wet curls bobbing on top of his head at the movement.
“He’s great at wrestling.”
Oscar turned to Lando, one eyebrow slowly climbing up.
“You wrestled your supposed son?”
It seemed Lando didn’t think that one through. A small, sheepish grin appeared, the same one Lando always used when he was in trouble for breaking something at the MTC.
“Well… he does have extra padding?”
Oscar just snorted, rolling his eyes in amusement before walking towards the bed and flopping onto it. He’d had barely a second before a deadweight was propelled on top of him.
“Oof, Lando!”
Turning his head, he was met with tufts of white fur and one of the ridiculously shapeless paws of Bruce Junior. Lando was giggling from beside of the bed, a triumphant look on his face.
Oscar tried to kick the bear off him, a look of mild annoyance on his face at its inability to budge.
“I’m sure this thing has bones.”
Lando just laughed, diving on the bed beside him, stealing one of Oscar’s pillows and clutching it lazily. He just stared as Oscar struggled to get the bear off him.
“I’m glad you’re getting along…” Lando mulled, a smug grin slowly climbing on his face. “Since you’re on uncle duties tonight.”
Lando vaulted himself off the bed and ran across toward the opposite end of the hotel room.
“What! The hell I am!” Oscar struggled violently against the bear before managing to stand up, grab a paw, and attempt to run after Lando.
After a few stumbles and several near faceplants, Oscar had managed to pin Lando to the floor, the bear stuffed between them, threatening to cut off both their oxygen supplies.
this little piece of pleasure is inspired a lot by State of Origin (up the blues! 🥳) and @kaymar814's States of Attraction (find here, highly recommend!).
I've fallen in love writing Lestapiastri because of my series 🫶🏼 hoping to release the first chapter soonish
Max was grumbling again.
His shoelaces were making it a mission to stay untied, ignoring how many times he'd double-knotted them. The bunny ears had played enough with the tree and criss-crossed it enough to catch a whole burrow. They never ended up beautiful and bold because somehow the ears had escaped through a hole that didn't exist.
He was ready to throw the boots across the locker room when the bench jolted with the impact of a body dumping itself unceremoniously onto the wooden slats.
"Good morning."
Max grumbled even more.
"It is absolutely not."
Oscar shrugged, pulling the tape from his bag to start on his wrists.
"The sun's out, better than the rain."
"I don't care." Max huffed, tugging harshly at the boot lace to start on try five hundred of tying them.
"We only have an hour of gym today."
Max swore under his breath. "Still don't care."
"The canteen had an edible new recipe of muffin."
Max inhaled harshly. "It tasted like they used salt instead of sugar."
Oscar stared at the tape starting to snake around his right wrist.
"Yeah… at least it resembled a muffin."
They both fell into silence, Max's frustration at the simple task of tying his shoelaces filling it. It didn't mean much; Oscar was more than used to the grouchy lock beside him.
Once his right wrist was completely covered in the tape, he looked back towards Max.
"Do you need me to teach you how to tie your laces again?"
Max shot him a warning look. "I'm not a child. It just keeps coming undone."
"Mhm."
"I think it's defective. Throwing a mutiny."
Oscar looked at the ragged laces, evidently been through a few tough training sessions and games. Max also wasn't the type to overly care for his boots. Yet, the laces weren't damaged that much.
"Uh-huh. Not the wearers fault or anything?"
Max stopped trying with the damned lace, throwing it down to stand and stare down at Oscar. He crossed his arms against his toned chest.
"I'll have you know, smartass, that-"
The door to the locker room slammed on its hinges, hitting the plaster wall behind it and shuddering from the impact.
Charles appeared beside them in a few seconds, carrying two smoothies, a Gatorade, and a muffin.
"I come bearing gifts!"
Oscar dived for the muffin and Gatorade, shoving half of the baked good in his mouth before the other two had a chance to react. Max looked at him, disgusted, while Charles looked offended.
"That was mine- anyway, here," he palmed off the other smoothie to Max.
Max took it, sipping at it before looking back at Charles.
"So… what about 'thanks Charles, your thoughtfulness is really touching!'"
Oscar snorted, muffin crumbs spraying onto his shorts.
"You only willingly get us stuff if you've done something wrong. What's the catch?"
Charles looked wounded. "What catch?"
Oscar raised an eyebrow, and Max scoffed.
"There is always a catch."
Charles pouted, opening his mouth to refute the statement before dropping his eyes to the ground.
"I may need someone to help convince Coach that it was not my fault that six balls landed in the tree yesterday…"
Max stared at him.
"Annnddd, there you go ladies and gentlemen." Oscar shoved the last part of the muffin in his mouth.
Charles whined. "It wasn't my fault!"
"How much of it was?"
Charles chewed his bottom lip. "Uh. About… sixty percent?"
Max raised his eyebrows.
"Okay! Maybe like eighty percent, but I was teaching banana kicks. The trees were just inconveniently placed!"
Oscar snorted. "Our halfback everybody."
Both Max and Oscar clapped half-heartedly.
Charles pouted again. "Stop it! You have such little confidence in me."
Max rolled his eyes, turning to walk back to his locker before half tripping on his untied shoelaces.
"Oh, for the sake of all!" Max cut out the words threatening to finish the sentence.
Oscar snorted, moving to grab the tape for the next wrist.
"You've been trying to tie that still?" Charles asked, perplexed.
"It is not my fault the bunny is having a tantrum."
Charles crouched, grabbing Max's boot and tying the lace quickly.
"Mhm."
Max glared at his boots. "Traitorous son of a-"
"Let's go!" Charles clapped, slurping his smoothie and walking out the locker room.
Glossary:
Lock (Max): The player that wears no. 13, essentially a third forward. They're usually one of the top tacklers in a team, controlling the midfield. They focus on size for tackling and passing skills of the back rowers.
Half-back (Charles): The player that wears no. 7, and is the main playmaker and tactical player of a team. They direct attack, structure, and make decisions on field. They are usually the primary kicker (long kicks, short attack kicks) and plan field position. They act as a link between the forwards and backs.
Banana kick: An attacking kick that curls in like a banana.
Five times Oscar’s eyebrows severely confused Lando, and the one time they made sense
1. Trivia
Oscar was doing that thing with his eyebrows again. The one where Lando couldn’t tell if he’d just royally stuffed up the answer to a nerdy question, or the one where he was shocked Lando got it right.
It was driving Lando a little crazy if he was to admit it out loud. Why couldn’t he differ the eyebrow raises just a little bit? Super high if Lando was correct. Scrunched if Lando was well off the mark. Maybe wiggles if almost. Not the same damn height for every expression.
Lando stared hard at Oscar’s eyebrows. Maybe if he concentrated, they’d tell him what he was meant to say. Maybe it would move that one centimetre higher so that Lando could go ‘aha! So it is Abraham Lincoln!’
He’d honestly never put so much faith in eyebrows to tell him who the first US President was.
Lando thought he knew Oscar’s eyebrows. He’d stared at them, well, Oscar’s face, for the past few years of being teammates. He would nail this trivia question. The eyebrows would tell him.
“Lando? Your time is ticking.” The media team prompted. Lando slumped further in the seat.
“Oscuhhhh.” He complained, earning only a small giggle from his teammate.
Yeah, he wouldn’t get anything further from Oscar’s eyebrows, other than he wouldn’t be able to ignore the one stubborn strand that refused to follow the same direction as the others.
So when he proclaimed his answer, with half-baked confidence that it was correct, only to have the media team try to stifle their laughs, Lando was offended. Even more offended when he turned to look at Oscar and found a raised eyebrow. The same one he’d been analysing like a pervert a few seconds prior.
“You can’t keep doing that, expecting that I know what it means!”
Oscar just laughed, shaking his head. “Means you’re an idiot.”
Lando pouted. He would learn what they meant one day.
2. Heat
Lando dumped the plate of ill-presented noodles on the table in front of Oscar. Lando, in a past moment of intelligence, had decided it was time for both of them to try the black packaged instant noodles.
Lando watched as Oscar looked up from his phone, set it beside him, and stared at the bowl. He plonked himself in the chair opposite his teammate, a wicked grin slowly spreading across his face.
“Whoever loses rock, paper, scissors has to take the first mouthful.”
Oscar groaned, already accepting his terrible ability in rock, paper, scissoring. Both threw their object when Lando yelled shoot, his rock decisively beating Oscar’s scissors.
Oscar sighed, moving to pick up the fork and staring regrettably at the bowl of red, worm-looking noodles in front of him. He swirled the fork, gathering a clump and bringing it towards his mouth.
Lando looked at him expectantly, watching as the noodles went slowly into Oscar’s mouth and disappeared down his throat. Oscar stared at Lando for a few seconds, face absolutely blank, before red bloomed across his cheeks and his eyebrows rose.
Lando leaned forward expectantly, waiting for Oscar to do something to indicate the level of hotness. He had to ignore how Oscar’s cheeks were bright red because that didn’t mean much with him.
“Well!?” Oscar’s eyebrows didn’t move, still perched in that exact spot they always found.
Lando slightly panicked, stared at only the small, almost unperceptible twitches of Oscar’s eyebrow. He couldn’t tell if this would be the end of Oscar, a silent but agonising death from noodles, or if he actually enjoyed the savage red worms.
Lando couldn’t take it anymore, grabbing his own fork and shoving a mouthful of the noodles in his mouth. He immediately choked on the spice, spluttering on the rest of his bowl. He coughed, the entirety of his mouth burning. He was sure smoke would be pouring out of his ears, nose, mouth, and eyes, like a volcano ready to explode.
Oscar looked up, watching Lando struggling before letting out a loud laugh, choking himself on the kicking heat in his mouth.
“Grab the milk!” Lando grabbed at his throat, pointing dramatically at the fridge.
Oscar stumbled to the fridge, took out the bottle and didn’t bother trying to find a glass. Flicking off the lid, he poured the liquid down his throat, sighing as the heat started to subside. The bottle was crudely pulled from his hand by a desperate Lando, before he chugged the milk.
“Never again!” Lando swore, hugging the bottle to his chest.
“I told you it was bad.” Oscar snorted.
“You told me shit! I can’t read this,” he gestured to Oscar’s forehead before trudging back towards the table with the milk bottle.
3. Battles
Lando, for their few hours off, had challenged Oscar to a sim battle. He’d tried to convince the engineers that it’d help for the upcoming weekend, but he didn’t know how convincing he was. They just shrugged and walked off, leaving the two up to their own devices.
Oscar had sat back in his seat, watching as Lando fiddled around with his settings. He’d let out a quiet sigh, stretching his leg briefly before fiddling absent-mindedly with the steering wheel.
When Lando had finally deemed himself ready for the match, he’d looked over to see if Oscar was ready. Except, he’d turned to find Oscar’s eyebrows raised. They hadn’t even started, and Oscar looked smug. Smug. Lando didn’t even know what Oscar had to be smug about. It’s not like he was currently staring at the screen, seeing OP81 plastered in the top three spots. No, because if both he and Lando looked at the screen, it would be Lando being smug.
“What?” Lando asked, completely deadpan.
Oscar glanced over, his face scrunching a little.
“What?”
“Why are you smug already?”
Oscar laughed, confused. “I’m not?”
“You clearly are! Your eyebrows are smug!”
Oscar snorted lightly, still looking genuinely lost. “What have I got to be smug about? We haven’t even started.”
Lando huffed, turning to start the race. Oscar shrugged lightly before turning away from Lando and gripping the wheel.
Five laps in, and Lando had somehow spun, and Oscar was ridiculously too far ahead. When Lando had glanced over, the same eyebrow raise was settled back on Oscar’s face.
“Stop! Stop projecting your smugness!”
Oscar quickly glanced over.
“I’m not smug! I’m too concentrated on not binning this corner.”
“Your eyebrows are doing the thing!”
Oscar sighed. “I am not smug, I’m concerned about your suspension.”
Lando stilled, because oh. Oh.
They were concerned eyebrows?
“But they don’t look any different to the smug ones!”
“Have you seen my smug eyebrows?” Oscar challenged.
Lando huffed indignantly. “Yes! The goggle soccer thing.”
Oscar shrugged. “Okay, fair, but that was a good reason to be smug. You’ve seen me with a soccer ball before.”
Lando huffed again. Those eyebrows were exactly the same if he remembered correctly. How did one eyebrow raise have about fifty emotions attached to it?
4. Karaoke
Lando had cursed the entire media and marketing team for the media content for the weekend GP. He’d thought when they’d been forced to finish the song lyrics for the Austin GP years ago, that’d be the end of singing. How wrong he’d been.
When they approached the idea of karaoke, Lando and Oscar had tried to stage an uprising. Both were five seconds away from running opposite directions and hiding to escape the horrific idea.
Yet the team had wrangled them up and sat them on a couch, thankfully this time without the hats, feather boas, and odd objects scattered around them. Lando and Oscar had just exchanged long-suffering looks before trying to muster up some form of a smile for the camera.
It started like most of the media did, with Lando trying to wrangle up enthusiasm and trying to shove it onto Oscar. It had started relatively easily, with classics like Hotel California, Sweet Caroline, or even The Nights.
Lando had managed to get in, but by the second song, Oscar had managed to turn it around and surprise everyone in the room totally. Lando had been belting his lungs out to a Justin Bieber song when he heard Oscar’s lower voice join in. He’d swivelled his head around so fast he was sure he heard a snap coming from some muscle. His voice dwindled out completely, leaving just Oscar to carry the song’s ending.
Oscar turned to look at him, his eyebrow raising slightly. Lando just stared at him, electing to say nothing and make Oscar stop.
“Okay, good, we have lovely harmonies, next!” Lando managed to choke out. Oscar just nodded solemnly before moving to tap the play button.
During the next few songs, every time Lando so much as moved, the same eyebrow reacted. A small, uncomfortable shift: eyebrow up. A pause to catch his breath that was longer than five seconds: eyebrow up. A random pause for Lando to contemplate his life decisions: both eyebrows up.
Lando was spiralling, and by the end of it, he’d sung about twelve percent of the lyrics, and spent the other eighty-eight trying to figure out if Oscar was judging him, hating it as much as he did, or if he was always that talented at singing.
Since when did Lando feel so threatened by an eyebrow raise?
5. Lego
Lando never particularly minded Lego. He didn’t always have the patience to build an entire set by himself. Or really just one bag. But he still could appreciate it from afar. Riding in the life-size ones at Miami and the podium car at Vegas were extremely fun.
Yet, he knew Oscar loved Lego, so he thought building it as a media activity wouldn’t be too bad. He could always start pestering Oscar if it got too boring anyway.
What he didn’t expect was the level of competition that would ignite between them as soon as the media team said, ‘best MCL40 wins’. It quickly became all-out war.
The issue, however, was that Lando never took up Lego Technic building. Staring at the pieces in front of him, Lando felt the prickly feeling of being utterly lost swirl in his stomach. Looking over at Oscar, the feeling intensified. Oscar was completely invested in building his replica, and Lando already knew it would look similar to the real set.
Lando groaned dramatically, slumping in his chair.
“I can’t even build a Lego set with instructions, how do I build one without?” He pouted, Oscar only briefly looking up.
After a few more seconds of moping, Lando began to try to piece together a remotely recognisable front wing. He wouldn’t admit the level of struggle it took to find pieces that worked well enough to take the curved shape, and then fit onto the nose of the car.
At one point, Oscar looked up from his, in Lando’s opinion, though he’d never admit it out loud, award-winning replica to stare at Lando’s… very much not award-winning front wing. Oscar didn’t say anything, just silently raised an eyebrow and watched as Lando sorted through miscellaneous pieces to try to build the nose of the car.
Lando looked up once he noticed Oscar was staring at him. The first thing he clocked was the raise of the eyebrow, and the way Oscar wasn’t even continuing his car. Lando immediately felt defensive, looking down at his mess of a car.
“Stop judging, Osc!”
Oscar shook his head. “I’m not judging, I’m just trying to understand the thought process.”
Lando scowled. “There is no thought process. Clearly. Take your judgement elsewhere. Creative liberalism is not made to be mocked.”
Oscar laughed lightly. “I’m not judging! I’m trying to understand why your front wing is curved inwards and not outwards.”
Oh.
Lando looked down at the front wing. He could understand how Oscar thought it looked more like a smiley face than a curved-in wing. Honestly, it looked more like a Twistie than a wing.
Lando looked back up at Oscar, his eyebrow still raised, but a look of amusement in his eyes, and a small twitch of his lips. Lando narrowed his eyes slightly. “Rigghhtt… now what do you call that expression?”
"You're an idiot."
Lando needed to start a dictionary of Oscarisms and eyebrows. He couldn’t understand his teammates' eyebrows and expressions at all, especially as they didn’t change angle, direction, or height at all between differing expressions.
1. Overthoughts
Lando sat on the bench at the back of the garage, mindlessly swinging his legs and staring down at the phone in his palms. He considered skipping the song playing through his headphones, his finger hovering about the next button. Movement out of the corner of his eye had him turning to look towards Oscar’s side.
Oscar had been missing most of the day, which Lando had found a bit odd. Oscar was usually always around in the garage, trying to get the maximum out of the car and himself before a weekend. Yet, Lando hadn’t seen him at all.
Until now, that was.
Oscar stood tensely near the back of his side, turned to stare at the back of his car. His shoulders stood stiff, his fingers fidgeting slightly by his side. His engineers stayed clear of him, working around the car.
Lando quirked an eyebrow, watching as Oscar seemingly zoned out, his face turning slightly in Lando’s direction. He could see the pinched expression on Oscar’s face, the way his jaw was set, and his eyes bored holes aimlessly wherever he stared. Lando noticed the raised eyebrows, twitching slightly.
Lando pushed himself off the bench, walking slowly towards Oscar.
“Hey, Osc?”
Oscar’s eyes flew to Lando, trying to school his face into a blank expression. His eyebrows dropped, and his lips smoothed out from where they had been pulled tight.
“Yeah?”
“Are you… okay? You haven’t been around all day.”
Oscar tried to push the tension away from his shoulders, Lando could tell. He shrugged.
"Yeah."
Lando fought every urge to roll his eyes. He knew that if Oscar was wound tighter than a spring, something was clearly wrong.
"Uh-huh."
Oscar glanced at him, an eyebrow raised.
"What?"
"There! They're doing that thing again?"
"Whose doing what thing?" Oscar frowned.
"Your eyebrows. It's ticking - you're frustrated, annoyed, and a tad stressed." Lando nodded once, proud of his analytical deductions. "Please let me hide before you throw something, I'm already suffering from that ball to the jugular."
Oscar tried to fight the small lopsided smile that ticked at the edges of his lips. It didn't last long, the edges dropping again. Lando nudged his shoulder as Oscar dropped his eyes to the floor.
"I think I messed up." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It was nothing big!" He hastily added.
"Just… one of those dumb little things you overthink but everyone else has probably forgotten, you know? It's just… frustrating."
"If you haven't forgotten about it, it obviously means something to you."
Oscar ran a hand down his face. "But it's stupid!"
Lando just nodded slowly, fiddling with his fingers.
"Yeah, well, welcome to being a Formula 1 Driver. Great to have you join us." Lando mock saluted, a stupid grin crossing his face.
Oscar just huffed, the smile crossing his face and holding.
"There we go!"
Oscar raised his eyebrows in question.
"Better."
"Oh, for goodness sake." Oscar rolled his eyes, walking off with a half-hearted birdie in Lando's direction. Lando still heard the small laugh as he exited the garage and considered it a win.
And huh.
Maybe Lando did understand Oscar's eyebrows after all. Or at least when it mattered.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
You thought you'd never find love like how your father loved your mum. Max Verstappen proves you wrong.
Uno Champion - Oscar Piastri ft. George Russell, Lando Norris, Alex Albon
Oscar thought he hated Uno. Maybe it's just George and his cheating nature.
Grid Secret Santa - 2025 Grid, focus on Max Verstappen
Max invites the grid over for Secret Santa... and finds out just how incompetent half of them are when it comes to wrapping.
Parrot Problems - Lando Norris
Honestly Lando didn’t ever imagine finding himself arguing with a nursery’s parrot over his shoes.
Ruins and Elbows - Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen
Charles didn’t mean to summon anything; he just had terrible luck with elbows and ancient ruins.
86 Cherries - Kimi Antonelli, Ollie Bearman
'When I worked in a fast food chain, a customer put '86 cherries' as a pretentious way to say no cherries, but the store was run by a bunch of teenagers who were working their first job, and were like "why the **** would they want 86 cherries" and started piling cherries into the milkshake.'
Only Oscar I Need - Oscar Piastri
You may not have won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress, but you've already won the Oscar you want.
Drunken Drabble - Landoscar x Reader
Lando and Oscar appear on your doorstep drunk and clingy.
Museum Artefact - George, Lando, Alex
Lando liked dinosaurs.... until he was chased by one.
Teddy Troubles - Landoscar
Lando wins the Tiny Cars Teddy Bear... Oscar can't wait until its gone.
Only Look, Not Hold - Oscar x Charles
Oscar trusted Lando with his daughter, and obliviously trusted Charles the same. But the flags were red the whole way through.
5v1: Eyebrow Edition - Landoscar
Lando always finds Oscar's eyebrows infuriatingly consistent.... consistent at confusing him and causing self-doubt. Until it matters.
as always, up for feedback and would love to know your thoughts ♡
Lando had always found dinosaurs interesting. The different species spanning the Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous periods, with their spikes, fins, or whacky body parts. He’d often thought about how cool it would be to be something like a megalodon – massive, an apex predator, and a sick row of teeth.
That, however, was all before he was being chased by one.
The guttural roar, crashing of furniture, and the shaking ground beneath him made any idea of just how cool they really were grow wings and fly straight out of his brain.
“George! Help!” He screamed, skidding on the slippery polished wooden floors of the museum. The brief thought crossed his mind that the scene would look like one straight out of Jurassic Park. The dramatic skid to a halt before booking it down another corridor to try and avoid the dead ends.
The museum was like an eternal labyrinth – he’d round one corner to enter another long corridor, with oils of stuffy dead men and women staring their noses down at him. Lando was sure they were related to George, and he would’ve stopped to check if he didn’t have a creature that was a billion times bigger than him and should be extinct breathing down his neck.
He didn’t know why the whatever-the-hell-it-was-but-definitely-was-classfied-a-carnivore dinosaur had begun to chase him. After all, both Alex and George were far taller than him, and Lando was sure he wasn’t that fat. The summer break had put a little bit of padding around his ribs, but not enough for a dinosaur to choose him. He was not about to be a kebab.
A hand shot out of the opening to the Space Rocks exhibit, pulling Lando into the darkened room and straight under a bench tucked away in the corner.
Lando exhaled hard, his chin propping on Alex’s shoulder.
“What a fitting exhibit. Do you reckon we could recreate the extinction of the giant ass lizards?” Lando joked.
Alex just snorted, tucking his long limbs up into his chest, his neck already getting a crimp despite it being only a few seconds squashed under the bench.
“Ugh, move your head, your curls are threatening to clean out my nostrils.”
Lando’s head shot away from Alex’s shoulder, a look of pure disgust overtaking his features.
“That’s foul mate. Where’s George?”
“I dunno, probably reading the dinosaur it’s frickin’ rights from the Treaty of Versailles.”
Lando raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it meant to be the Geneva Convention?”
Alex shrugged. “Do I look like google?” He deadpanned, peering out from under the bench to look towards the entrance of the exhibit.
“Why is it suddenly so quiet? How does a billion-year-old, thousand-foot, dinosaur suddenly become a ninja?” Alex shuffled forward slightly on his butt, staring out into the empty, dark exhibit.
“Can dinosaurs see in the dark?” Lando whispered, suddenly rather conscious of the sound.
Both stilled, staring at each other before glancing at the door. The thuds grew closer before pausing right in front of the door. Lando gulped, watching as the large snout of the dinosaur peeked into the exhibit and sniffed loudly.
“You know…” Lando whispered into Alex’s ear, “how you owed me that favour for picking up your dry cleaning the other day-”
“Lando how does a favour for dry cleaning equate to giving my life for you?” Alex hissed, squatting him lightly on the forehead. “Where the hell is George?”
“If we escape this, he’s on dishwasher duty for a month.” Lando scowled.
“Make that three.” Alex huffed, slowly pulling himself up to peer into the trash bin next to them. It was empty except for an empty plastic water bottle.
“What’s that gonna do? Give it a concussion?” Lando sniggered. Alex turned slightly, using the bottle to whack him on the head. “Oww!” Lando hissed, clutching his head.
The head of the dinosaur pushed further into the room, the lights of the displays bouncing off its teeth. Lando gripped Alex’s arm, hard enough to leave nail indents.
“Don’t breathe-”
“I’m not!”
“You literally are-”
“Not!” Alex whispered harshly. His eyes were blown wide, face paling as the dinosaur tilted its head in their direction.
Its beady eyes narrowed, moving further into the room. It lowered itself into a hunting stance, taking a large step closer.
“So, it is a therapod!”
Lando jumped a foot in the air, whipping his head around, causing him to over balance and smack his head on the underside of the bench with a dull thunk.
“OWW-” Alex’s hand slapped over his mouth to stop the attempted scream. He turned towards the voice, to find George. He looked way too comfortable for about to become a dinosaur’s lunch.
“Where did you come from!?” Alex whisper-yelled before hastily retracting his hand from Lando’s mouth. “You did not just lick my hand!”
Lando looked smug before glaring daggers at George.
“I was trying to find something useful to help us in this precarious situation.” George stated calmly, flicking a non-existent fleck of dust off his chinos.
“As I was saying, it’s a therapod,” he pulled out a paper brochure, “it’s characterised by its hollow bones and three toes and claws on each limb-”
“George!” Alex hissed, grabbing George by the belt and yanking him behind the trashcan. “Does your encyclopaedia of a brain also know how to survive a thoropud?”
“Theropod,” George corrected diligently. “They have relatively poor eyesight-”
Alex and Lando exchanged glances.
“And?” Lando let his grasp on Alex’s arm lighten slightly.
“Stop interrupting me and you’ll know!” George replied indignantly.
The dinosaur’s head snapped towards them; it’s head tilting to point exactly at the trashcan. Lando and Alex froze.
“Okay, continue.” Alex whispered, his face turning even paler.
“So, they rely on movement detection when hunting.”
The dinosaur moved closer towards them, everything feeling slow motion as panic overtook Alex and Lando. Lando didn’t know if George even had a panic bone.
“WHY WOULDN’T YOU START WITH THAT!” Lando screamed quietly in George’s ear.
He snatched the bottle that was clutched in Alex’s hand and threw it against the other side of the exhibit. It bounced against one of the displays, clattering loudly against the floor, the hollow tok echoing in the room.
The dinosaur’s attention snapped, spinning to narrow in on the noise in the back corner. It charged towards the noise, its vision impaired by the darkness and the slippery floor causing it to crash loudly into the display.
Alex and George turned to look at Lando, both exhaling shakily.
“I knew that bottle would be useful!” Alex boasted.
“Yeah yeah,” Lando rolled his eyes, “reduce, reuse, run and all that.”
He hoisted himself up, and started running out the exhibit door, George and Alex hot on his heels.
“George is definitely on dishwasher duty for three months.”
“Frick’n six,” Lando shot back.
George raised an eyebrow, turning to them crossly. “How is that equivalent to my involvement?”
Another loud crash made them pick up the speed.
“Make it a year!” Alex panted, turning down another corridor marked as exit.
“Agreed.”
“What!” George spat, offended.
As they burst through the exit, and almost tumbled down the front steps, all three tried to inhale a breath of relief.
“Next time,” Lando inhaled heavily, “we’re going to an art gallery.”
one-shot two of the Lestappiastri rugby series! Find it on my ao3.
"Left! No, Max, the other left!"
"I am!"
"Non, THE OTHER LEFT! Espèce d'abruti!*"
Charles was screaming at this point, threatening to almost throw the ball directly at Max's face.
"Don't yell at me in French, I can't defend myself!"
Oscar sat on the sidelines, hand-balling the ball to himself, watching the mess in front of him with amusement. Their other teammates weren't having the same level of composure. Liam was lounging on the glass, tears of laughter trickling down his cheeks, while Ollie and Gabi were both failing to get through their own drills.
Oscar couldn't tell if Max was red from exhaustion or frustration. Charles was relentless with drills.
"Okay." Charles marched over to Max, snatched the ball out of his hands, and marched right back to where he started under the posts.
"We will get this right. Figure out your compass or whatever!" He snapped at Max.
Oscar could tell Charles was royally pissed at this point. He didn't think Max could do anything to redeem himself. Yet, Max, being his typical self, just rolled his eyes and moved back to the starting position.
When Charles was sure Max was ready to try the drill again, he started running towards the opposite try line. He volleyed the ball off to Max, who caught it cleanly, and started booking it down the field.
"Left!"
Oscar watched in amused shock as, again, Max stepped right.
"YOU ABSOLUTE-" Charles stopped dead in the middle of the field. He inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Max knew he'd stuffed up as soon as Charles stopped following him and tried to compensate by veering left. Instead, he veered much further left than both Charles and Oscar planned.
"Too far!" Charles yelled after him.
Max veered back to the right, ending up somewhere in the ideal range but not how Charles had planned it.
Charles swore in colourful French before bringing his hands to his hips. Oscar could feel the self-restraint from the side of the field, watching as Charles tried not to blow up.
"Get your directions sorted!" He yelled as Max jogged back.
"I am trying!" Max groaned. "I've ran this drill so much my legs are attracted to the right in-lines."
"They're about to be attracted to the soil six-feet under," Charles muttered under his breath before moving off towards where Oscar sat.
Oscar handed him an energy drink once he reached the sideline, plonking himself on the ground.
"I've aged twenty years, I don't think I can do this anymore."
Oscar just snorted, patting Charles on the stomach.
Max waltzed over, catching the last sentence.
"You're being dramatic… it's building character and resilience."
"It's building a migraine in my frontal lobe," Charles complained.
Oscar grinned, grabbing his water bottle to drink from deeply. One of the trainers, who had just appeared from inside, walked over to them. He raised an eyebrow at Charles starfished on the grass, Oscar sitting cross-legged, and Max staring off at the field.
"Break time is it?"
Charles just groaned, and Oscar grinned.
"Charles is having a minor existential crisis."
"A major one!" Charles corrected.
"Max here," Charles threw a hand towards where Max stood, "keeps going the wrong way."
Max huffed. "I go a way."
"Yeah, the wrong frickin' one!"
"It's a subjective issue."
Charles squawked in indignation. "It is objectively not!"
The trainer just laughed, looking towards Oscar. "Not gonna help?"
Oscar waved it off. "Nah, I'll let Max sort his two right feet out."
Max sighed heavily. "I give up!"
He started to walk off towards the other drills before the trainer grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back.
"Let's try this again. Oscar, you act as the half-back."
Oscar looked at Charles, an eyebrow raised, before hauling himself off the grass. Charles broke into a giant smile.
"Oh, hallelujah! Make him learn his left and rights!"
Max grumbled, while Oscar just clapped him on the back.
"If you yell at me in French, I'm done."
Oscar snorted. "I don't speak French, other than to order a drink or ask where the bathroom is."
Charles looked unimpressed, and Oscar decided to move on quickly, pulling Max towards the try line.
"Right, let's show Charles how to do it."
Charles made a noise that sounded like he was choking back a sob.
Within two minutes, both of them were weaving in and out of imaginary defenders, hitting the drills with incredibly precise passes, chips, and attack. Charles hadn't taken the sidelining to heart, rather trying to scream pointers at the two of them.
If they were going to do it better than he and Max were previously, he may as well point out where they were going wrong to prove that they weren't perfect. It would allow him to humble their smug selves later.
