sugarlemon_123
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Summary
They handed him an Omega with ash still in his hair.
Lando stood barefoot on the marble floor of a city that had swallowed his name, his future, and the scent of the man he was promised to. He said nothing. He didn’t bow. He only stared — jaw tight, eyes brighter than any fire that took his home.
Oscar Piastri was a commander, not a keeper of hearts. The boy was a war spoil, nothing more. He told himself that, again and again, as days passed and silence turned into glances, glances into questions, and questions into something dangerously close to care.
The rules of war are simple: Victors take. The conquered yield.
But Lando has never followed rules.
And Oscar? He's starting to forget them.
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Bookmarked by sugarlemon_123
15 Jun 2026