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Lando Norris is the Bureau of Burials’ least responsible grim reaper — a caffeine-fueled catastrophe with too much wit and not enough supervision. Stuck doing paperwork instead of collecting souls (thanks, Carlos), he dreams of real fieldwork… until he finally decides to sneak out and reap one on his own.
Except, minor hiccup — the “dying man” he's supposed to reap at Jimmyz’s might just be the love of his life. The dying man, who's human, and dying.
It’s fine. What's the worst that could happen? Hah.
Just your average love story between a reaper and a himbo, featuring about six very angry celestial supervisors.Bookmarked by sp00kyl1vvy023 (Liv_milss)
10 Jun 2026
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Lando doesn’t talk about all of his powers. Oscar doesn’t talk about much at all.
It should’ve just been a normal roommate arrangement, but then mugs start moving, shadows don’t behave, and Oscar keeps laughing at things Lando can’t see.
Somewhere along the way, Lando was starting to wonder whether Oscar was completely sane.
Bookmarked by sp00kyl1vvy023 (Liv_milss)
10 Jun 2026
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Lando’s got a good job, a great wardrobe, and a shared office space with the most soul-sucking man alive. He’s not intimidated by Oscar Piastri — who has the emotional range of a filing cabinet and the charisma of a stapler, if the stapler could ruin your career with one look. He’s not.
But now that the CEO is retiring, Lando has to charm an entire C-suite to vote for him instead of Oscar to become the new head of the company.
Lando has allies. Oscar has secrets. There’s coffee-stained tension, shared glances that mean nothing (obviously), and a game of corporate chess that feels a little too personal.
It’s fine. Everything is fine. Unless Oscar is already ten steps ahead. Which he probably is. Bastard.
Bookmarked by sp00kyl1vvy023 (Liv_milss)
10 Jun 2026
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Lando’s been using phantom touch on his soulmate for ages—small things, harmless things, just enough to keep himself entertained. A tap here, a brush there. Nothing serious.
Until one painfully boring debrief, he decides to tickle them.
Across the room, Oscar Piastri chokes, jerks, and falls clean out of his chair.Lando suddenly isn’t bored anymore.
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Bookmarked by sp00kyl1vvy023 (Liv_milss)
10 Jun 2026
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“Jesus Christ,” Lando whispered. “I just told Max Verstappen to fuck off. On camera. In a wedding skirt. To protect my—” He froze, gesturing helplessly at the Aussie still watching him with infuriating calm. “—my husband.”
Oscar raised a single eyebrow. He looked about as hungover as Lando felt, but there was a wry tilt to his mouth.
“Well,” he said flatly. “At least you were committed.”
Alternatively:
Lando Norris went to Vegas to celebrate taking the lead in the WDC. He left with a hangover, a husband, and a skirt.
It's not a PR nightmare if you never sober up.- Language:
- English
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- 14/14
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Bookmarked by sp00kyl1vvy023 (Liv_milss)
10 Jun 2026