I'm currently working on a long-ish fic (looking at about 20k words, TBC) and I'm actually so excited for it
It's gonna be Lestappen told through the eyes of Lando Norris (who has an unrequited crush on Max)
Here's some snippets!
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Lando was fine really, just being Max’s friend. He could get free flights from him, play games, talk racing, go out for padel and go clubbing together. It was quite clear for all to see that Lando enjoyed spending time with Max. He had even been trying to convince him to come play golf as well, using Carlos as a barrier to make it less obvious, and he was sure that the begging was slowly working. Max is a good guy, after all. Lando especially loved when he could get into deeper topics with Max. People always assumed he was shallow. A party boy, frivolous, arrogant and ostentatious, but never Max. Max always listened to him, and always treated him seriously whenever he spoke. He made Lando feel like his words carried weight, that he was important and precious. But if only Max were just a friend. It made his head spin sometimes, how easily and freely Max could flip the switch, flirt with Lando like no tomorrow, and then laugh it off. It always left Lando affected, blush colouring his cheeks and mind whirling like a schoolgirl with a crush. Well, he did have a crush. Unfortunately, he was also Yappatron 3000, whilst having a crush on the friendliest driver on the grid.
---
He envied Charles, in some ways.
He had exactly what Lando himself wanted. Charles' name had never stopped being placed next to Max’s, even across categories. Throughout their karting days, they always signed up for the same championships, always fighting for the same piece of tarmac. Even when the F1 news broke, the whispers around lower formula tracks spoke of Charles’ anger that his long-time rival would be catapulted straight into their collective dreams, a record-breaker once more, the youngest ever to do it. The “insiders” told everyone they could find about how Charles had been even angrier that people were putting Max down just because of his age. Alex had pulled him aside one day to whisper about how Max gave his seat in F3 to Charles, heavily recommending the Monegasque to the Dutch team.
Indignance had simmered low in his belly when he had heard that. Was Lando never considered? Was he not talented enough for Max to recommend instead?
Later, post-qualifying in Las Vegas 2023, when Carlos had complained about how Max was so sappy and obvious about his affection towards Charles, and just how sheerly embarrassing it was, the same indignation arose. He rewatched the press conference so many times that it was seared into the back of his eyelids, the way Charles had blushed, the way Max spoke, voice fond and so matter-of-fact that it seemed to chastise people for their stupidity and foolishness, for not already knowing this worldly truth. The words played on-loop in the back of his head, a never-ending spiel.
“I always thought if I would make it to F1, Charles would also make it,” Reverent. Inevitable. Predestined. Oh, how he prayed that Max would say the same for him.
“It’s not a surprise that we’re sitting here together, I think.” He could almost imagine it attached to his name instead of Charles’.
---
Give me maybe another 2-3 weeks to finish it! I write slowly unfortunately.... I would say I'm about 50% done?
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
New Work!
I've spent a good 2 months working on this, and I'm still in the process of writing it...
title inspired by the only reason by 5sos!
Summary:
Lando craved, craved, to be able to haul the mechanical beast of roaring engine and warm metal to the top, to the front of the grid, where Max is. Where Max always was. He wanted nothing more than to dance with the Red Bull leading the charge, a flurry of Papaya and Navy to mesmerise and enchant. The gleam of the Navy beast was a siren’s call to Lando, a call to action, the motivation for striving and thriving, to work with the engineers to improve the car, all for the sake of racing him.
Yet still, he watched as Max propped Charles up as if he were one of the ever-loving Tifosi, holding Il Predestinato up high in the light of sunshine and rainbows even as it all came crashing down; even as Ferrari ruined their first chance of winning since Vettel failed what feels like a lifetime ago, and Alonso before him. Ferrari never learns, he thought. So why does Max care so much? Why does Max go out of his way to defend Charles’ name in front of the media when he himself faces such relentless scrutiny? It was ironic, Lando thinks.
OR
Lando loves Max and gets driven insane comparing himself to Charles.
There will likely be 3-4 chapters! Posting over the next few weeks :)
Hm how about some norstappen fluff? Idk any prompts tho😅 so surprise me?
Sure!! Norstappen is a really cute ship so I loved writing it ❤️❤️ Hope you like it! This was also kind of an excuse to wax poetic about Max LMAO UH IT KINDA TRAILED OFF A BIT IN THE MIDDLE THO SO PLS FORGIVE ME
Lando wasn't really someone who enjoyed waking up at the break of dawn, instead preferring to spend as much time asleep in his warm bed as possible. Yet today, he found himself awake at the ungodly time of 5:30am, hours before his or Max's alarms would ring at 8am. He didn't know why he woke, but he knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. So, he turned to face his boyfriend, who had been spooning him from behind in their sleep.
Max, who was quite obviously still asleep, was as gorgeous as ever, and his slow, steady breaths which escaped his lips in little, soft snores made Lando ever more fond of the Dutchman. He once again wondered how such a beautiful man had agreed to be his.
Lifting his fingers to trace Max's lips, he marvelled at just how soft they were, despite their chapped appearance, smiling as he recalled how it felt to kiss them. How Max had been so gentle, almost hesitant, the first time they kissed. How it started off as a simple touch, which evolved to become exploratory, all the while maintaining a sort of cautious consideration, as if he were afraid Lando would break if he were to exert more force.
Lando giggled when thinking about the fact that he was the one to deepen the kiss, the one who nibbled on the plushness of Max's bottom lip, until he opened his mouth, and tangled their tongues together, in a silent message that it's alright, I won't break, please love me as much as you want. It was only then, that Max succumbed, and became more passionate in kissing Lando. However, it still took a few more weeks for Max to completely shake his hesitancy of being a little more forceful. Lando didn't mind though, it just proved to him how much Max genuinely cared for him.
Lando's fingers followed the line of Max's jaw up to his defined cheekbones, where his beautiful long eyelashes fanned out and seemed to gently caress his sharp edges, making him look a desert mirage. Lando wished he was awake right now, so he could see the bright blues of his boyfriend, how impossibly clear, how deep they go, how they shone with unadulterated love and fondness whenever they gazed upon him, making his breath catch every time.
He remembers a time when it wasn't like that, in their early karting days, when they were simply rivals, that hard edge he held, the wall he placed to separate himself from everyone and everything trying to impact his focus. He remembers not being fazed by the façade, approaching him with a wave and a smile upon his lips, and it was probably the best decision of his life, when he got to know the sweetest boy under that tough exterior.
He remembers the first genuine laugh he got out of Max, how he first marvelled at the tinkling, full-bodied laughter which was music to his ears. He remembers the crinkle by his eyes and how they became mere slits as he laughed so much he might have teared up a little. Perhaps to others, that was not something to be marvelled at, but to him, Max in that moment, was the most gorgeous being in the world, incomparable to even the Seven Great Wonders.
Since that day, so long ago, Lando had strived to make Max laugh as much as he could, just to see his beauty again, his unsullied joy. It was merely a bonus that every time he managed to recreate the wonder that is Max Verstappen's laughter, a sense of pride and achievement and love spread through his entire body like a drug. He supposed that the feeling would probably be how it feels to win a grand prix.
Thinking of winning a grand prix, Lando smiled a little more. Max was his world champion. He gently lifted his hand to stroke his fingers through Max's hair, feeling the soft strands easily slip through. Regardless of the heartbreak that he lost his maiden win in Russia that same season, he was genuinely elated for his boyfriend, who won the championship. He remembers the soft hair he's stroking now tickling his neck as he hugged him tightly after Abu Dhabi, as Max whispered into his shoulder, muffled but still heard,"I couldn't have done this without you, mijn liefde, I love you so much". He could do nothing in that moment but just hold him a little tighter, a little closer, almost kissing him right there, in front of the world.
He hoped the Instagram caption had made up for it. "I got you, don't cry". What he didn't say was "I will always support you, I will always be here for you, even if the world were to turn its back on you, I will still be on your side, because I love you." The rest of the world didn't need to know what they have.
Sometimes, he wished he could simply scream to the world that Max Emilian Verstappen was his and his only, that he was the one that Lando Norris wanted to marry and live with for the rest of their human lives, but he knew he couldn't. The world was still so full of hate, and their teams were scared of the fallout it would create when they came out, and the PR disaster it would create for both of them.
He sighed thinking about it. Wasn't it a good chance to speak up about these issues then? To have representation on the grid to show the world that there's nothing wrong with being gay, that it's time for change. Why would they have to hide something so beautiful between the two of them? Because that was simply how Lando saw their relationship. Beautiful, proud, everything he could have ever wanted. Max was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he wanted the world to know, he didn't wish to hide them. He resolved that sooner rather than later, he would tell the world about them. After discussing with Max, of course.
Turning his attention back to the man laying in front of him, he realised the sun was starting to rise. Through the blinds, the first golden rays of light fell across his cheek, casting shadows that further highlighted his beauty. Lando realised, he could spend all day just looking at his boyfriend and admiring his beauty. From Lando's point of view, the light seemed to form a halo behind Max's head, and for the nth time in just a mere hour, Lando smiled in fondness, as how apt was that? Max was surely an angel, and the light rays agreed.
Not for the first time, he wondered what it would feel like to live this life for the rest of his days. To wake up to quiet mornings where everything was still, and it felt like nothing existed outside of them, and their home that they've created. In the future, would they still be living in Monaco? Would they move to a quieter place where they could just be with each other, without all the noise of the city? To have a house nestled away on top of a hill, with everything they'd ever need to create their own little home...
And what about children? There was never a doubt in Lando's mind that they would one day have children, seeing as Lando himself loved hanging out with kids, and he's seen Max with children more than enough times to know he would make an excellent dad. What would their kids' names be? How would they grow up? Would they also love racing, like their dads? He couldn't help but envision a happily-ever-after, fantasising about the day they can finally just be themselves and live the rest of their lives how they want without fear. He saw them taking midnight swims together, after the kids were asleep, to get some private time together. He saw picnics by a lake, on a warm sunny day, kids playing and laughing, rolling about in the grass. He saw laughter, and warmth, and love, and he... He wanted it so badly. Would they come?
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud "Meow" and as he rolled over, the air was knocked out of his lungs as Jimmy jumped onto his chest. Lando chuckled, and gave the cat a scritch behind the ear.
"Good morning, sweetheart... You gotta be quiet, okay? Daddy's still sleeping." Lando whispered to the cat, putting his finger up to his lips to mime being silent. Jimmy simply meowed in response.
"Where's your sister, huh?"
"She's here," a voice, raspy from sleep answered.
Lando turned to look at Max, who had awoken, cradling Sassy to his chest, giving her a chin rub. Sassy had jumped on Max much like how Jimmy had jumped on Lando, waking him up, Lando realised.
Max looked up at Lando, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"Good morning, beautiful."
And that was when Lando knew, yeah. The future he foresaw would come, one day. It would, as long as they continued to orbit each other as they are.
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nsfw warning: sorta drunk sex, public sex ✦ wc: 1.5k ✦ see: nsfw collection
----
Not enough.
“Hey, you plan on getting shitfaced before the party starts?”
Not. Enough.
You’re still holding back, still too conscious. Still in the realm of sobriety.
You down two shots of tequila, making a face as the burn settles in your throat. Cheers and claps erupt all around you, and the adrenaline kicks in.
The crowd is a mix of friends from high school and some familiar faces from the volleyball team Nametsu used to manage.
Is he watching?
Despite the buzz building in your head, you try and seek out a distinct pair of eyes. The daunting ones that made you look away whenever you’re caught staring. But there’s a certain gravity to them that pulled you back in, and you wanted so badly to be pulled in without restraint.
That’s what alcohol is for, you think.
“Alright everyone! Birthday countdown!”
Everyone shifts their attention to Nametsu who’s sitting on the bar counter, a sloshed grin on her face as she aims the confetti bomb towards the ceiling.
The countdown starts with ten, then nine.. eight! seven!
You see him counting too, sitting on the long table like he owns the whole place, hyping up the crowd with mirth.
..when his eyes meet yours.
three! two! one!
And he winks.
pop!
“HAPPY BIRTHDAAAY, NAMETSUUU!”
“Crowd surf! Crowd surf!”
“Shut up, Futakuchi!”
The entire room is obscured in glitter and metallic colors raining from the ceiling, painting the bar with a surreal festivity. Cheers and whistles breathe life to the scene.
Your field of vision is shrouded in color, and you’re not sure if it’s from the confetti.
----
Alcohol practically ran through your veins with how much you've consumed, your intention of getting close to Futakuchi long forgotten and replaced with dancing ‘til your feet give out. And at one point, give out they did.
From the spot you had rightfully — drunkenly — claimed as yours, a round booth in a poorly-lit corner of the bar, you muse blankly at the strobe lights, almost seizure-inducing but hypnotic when accompanied by music.
“Been waiting long?”
Slumped on the couch, only your head turns to the voice. Futakuchi has his head tilted, wearing that smug expression. He’s nursing a bottle in one hand, two shot glasses in the other.
It just might be your inebriety, but you find yourself chuckling at his sudden presence. “Long enough, Futaku—”
“Just Kenji.”
“Kenji..” You like the way his name rolls on your tongue.
“Mm, y/n right?” You nod, and your dreamy eyes are glued to his face as he slips into the booth, and settles beside you.
It’s the first time you see him up close and get the chance to admire his features.
Yup, just as pretty as he is from afar.
The man had been making rounds, coercing every person—friend and acquaintance—into taking a shot. It took him forever to reach you that you’d forgotten all about him.
He pours both of you a shot until the glasses are more than half filled.
“Just saving the best for last.. Cheers?”
Facing each other, you clink glasses, the impact spilling some on your clothes. He watches you empty your glass, eyes filled with an intensity that you don’t seem to notice.
The burning sensation you anticipate in your throat doesn’t come. Or maybe it does, but something more intense begins to burn when an arm snakes around your waist.
“How long did I keep you waiting?”
You shudder at his warm breath on your skin and the way his fingers are lingering on your thigh.
“Only the entire night,” you say, feeling the liquid courage kick in, “Will you make up for it?”
“I plan to.”
His lips are on yours before you realize it, soft and hot against you. Your head is spinning, whether from the alcohol or the kiss, you’re not sure, but you comb your fingers through his soft tresses, grabbing fistfuls to convince yourself this is actually happening.
His touch glides up from your thigh up to your backside, groping and feeling your shapely ass through your skin-tight dress.
One long steamy kiss later, you’re unlatching from him, the strained look on your face making him worry that he might have crossed the line too early. But the thought is quick to dispel itself when you grab his hand and guide him under your dress and onto the dampness between your legs.
A breathy chuckle escapes him, and then he’s touching you and rubbing his fingers against your warmth. “Impatient much?”
“I’ve been nothing but patient the entire night.”
You lean forward, and your tongue is tracing the seam of his lips, coaxing it to open for you.
“Right, my bad,” he breathes over your mouth. His fingers are rubbing you through your panties, moving in circles and feeling you get wetter, stickier after each passing second. The overwhelming pleasure makes you break away from the kiss and breathe shakily into his ear.
He cranes his neck to peek at your flushed face, at the whimpering mess you’ve become, and finds himself getting more aroused.
His touch abandons your core, eliciting a soft whine from you. But the next thing you know, he’s lifting you onto his lap so that you’re straddling him, knees folding on either side.
The change in position is disorienting, and the lack of control over your body isn’t helping. But as soon as you feel a rock hard pressure between your legs, your hips begin moving on their own, grinding needily against it and making Futakuchi curse under his breath.
He leans in, sucking on your neck while fingering the stringy straps of your dress, tugging them down languidly. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses down your throat, travelling dangerously low the more he tries to undress you.
“Kenji, someone might..”
Before you could even turn around, a jacket was already coming up behind you and cloaking your entire backside.
“No one will see, don’t worry,” he whispers.
Not really assured by his own words, he peeks over your shoulder. Whether it’s due to poor lighting or everyone’s hammered state, he deems it safe to continue.
You smile before crashing your lips onto his, tongue lapping out to taste him. “Then...can I..”
“What is it, baby?”
He gets his answer when your hands glide down his firm torso and onto the buckle of his belt. Grinning as he realizes where this is headed, he hooks his fingers on the hem of your dress and tugs at it.
“You wanna fuck me right here?”
His hot breath sends a shiver all the way to your core, turning your fingers to jelly while you fumble on his belt. Futakuchi laughs softly at your little struggle and relieves you of it, undoing his pants to free his throbbing member.
Not a second goes to waste when you align your moist cunt atop him, breathing heavily at the contact while you slowly descend all the way to the bottom until he’s fully inside you. He digs his fingers into your hips, his dark lidded eyes seeking yours out.
You start moving, riding up and down his shaft and moaning his name in a soft chant. It becomes harder for you to sense if someone’s approaching, but it’s even harder to give a fuck when your minds are swimming in alcohol and the sweet promise of release.
Both of you share a desperate kiss, biting and licking and moaning in between. “Shit, keep going, y/n..”
With the jacket concealing your backside, Futakuchi slips your dress further off you and drinks in the sight of your bare breasts. He thrust his hips in time with yours, the zapping heat in your core becoming unbearable and making you desperate for release.
The cacophony of club music and raw singing is drowned out by the hammering of your heart and Futakuchi’s boyish moans, enough to bring you on the edge of sanity.
“Kenji.. I’m gonna..” You feel your toes curl and your cunt squeeze tight around him, drawing out a string of curses from the boy.
“Fuck yeah baby, cum on my cock, please..”
The tension between your legs subsides as you find your release and collapse into his chest, panting heavily. He doesn’t release you from his hold, dragging out the high by continuing to thrust inside you in a languorous pace until he comes to a stop. For a while, you savor the sound of each other’s breathing, and Futakuchi continues to bask in the comfort of your walls.
He’s alerted by a slight movement from the corner of his eye, and sees Moniwa stop in his tracks, horror and distress written all over his face as he stares at the two figures in the compromising position.
Futakuchi flicks his wrist in a shooing motion, and the former captain willingly turns on his heel to leave.
“Someone saw?” you ask.
“Nah,” he deadpans, pulling your straps back up onto your shoulders, “Say, wanna ditch? Kinda craving some fast food right now.”
You giggle and plant a soft kiss on the boy’s cheek before climbing off him.
“What’s your escape plan?”
——
a/n: liked this work? leave a note or send in your thoughts thru my ask box!
summary: he lowered his arm from your head then pulled you flush against him. “dude must have shit eyesight, probably doesn’t eat carrots.”
rating: t
wc: 1181
a/n: my first kuroo fic! was in the middle of writing two stories when this idea came up and just knew i wouldn't get to focus on those other two until i get this one out of my system :( lol happy reading!
also available on ao3!
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Cigarette drooping from your lips, you folded the strip of paper and handed it to the boy, not missing the way his fingers brushed over yours, all too intentional.
“Swee—t. You’ll answer, won’t you?”
“Count on it.”
Second night at training camp. Some supplies for dinner had needed restocking so you volunteered to run down the convenience store. Unbeknownst to others, bearing the private agenda of grabbing a much needed smoke.
At the smoking area beside the establishment, you asked a rugged-looking guy if he could blaze your stick, to which he consented, followed by pleasantries that were one-sided for the most part.
So now you were staring him down as he grinned at the strip as if it were a token of victory.
“Call you sometime, kay? See ya, sweetcheeks.”
You took a long drag from your stick as you watched him turn on his heel and walk away.
Bet he doesn’t even remember my name.
A whistle resonated from behind you, the thought of another pick-up session filling you with dread.
“Damn hotshot, hit the brakes.”
You recognized that playful tone anywhere, and it dispelled your worries instantly.
You swiveled to find the two volleyball captains coming to a halt before you. Kuroo garnished his toothy, signature smirk, while Bokuto had his arms crossed, an atypic scowl on his face. Somehow you figured it was linked to the earlier exchange.
“Why’re you guys here?”
They were sent out to buy bottles of osake, of course for the coaches’ consumption. With their plain gym clothes and ripened physique, they looked legal enough for the task.
Kuroo had opened his mouth to answer when Bokuto chimed in.
“Ah-ah, nope. I’m asking the questions,” the white-haired captain asserted, hands on his hips, “Why are you here?”
You seesawed the butt between your fingers and raised a brow, as if the answer should be obvious.
Bokuto huffed. “And that guy?”
“Random person, dunno, he asked for my number.”
“And you gave it?!”
“Yeah, he’s cute,” you chirped.
The ace grumbled before turning around and trudging towards the convenience store entrance. “Kuroo! You stay with (y/n) and make sure she doesn’t make googly eyes with any more strangers!”
“Copy, chief,” Kuroo replied before turning to you, “You heard him. That’s enough sweeping boys off their feet for one night.”
“Mmm, I’ll try.”
“You know.. Forty bucks tells me you gave the guy a fake number.” He propped his elbow atop you like you were some mislaid armrest.
“Awww Tetsu, you know me so well,” you cooed, placing a dramatic hand to your chest.
“So why wasn’t Sir Cute-celot worthy of getting your real number?”
“He called me a nine. Can you believe that?”
“A ni—! Girl, you’re a twelve!”
“Thank you!”
Your interactions with Nekoma’s captain were limited to training camps, but that didn’t hinder you two from becoming each other’s biggest ass-kisser, bootlicker, you name it. Sometimes the flattery almost bordered on flirtation.
He lowered his arm from your head then pulled you flush against him. “Dude must have shit eyesight, probably doesn’t eat carrots.”
“That’s such a you thing to say,” you scoffed, peeling yourself from him and creating some distance between your bodies. “The smell might cling to you.”
He cocked his head to the side, not quite processing your words until you inhaled from your stick, shrouds of white streaming from your slightly parted lips and dancing a serpentine dance in midair. The streetlights cast dull shadows on your face, giving you an almost ghostly image, one that Kuroo burned into his memory.
He was suddenly reminded of the times your smoking habit was brought up by Bokuto and Akaashi in between conversations. It worried them more than you knew, and it worried Kuroo more than he expected. He was just some student from another school, but despite the risk of overstepping his boundaries, he decided to broach the subject.
“Not that it’s my business but your boys are worried ‘bout you, (y/n).”
“Ah, worried about this,” you said, toying with the stick lightly, “No need to pussyfoot around.”
It sounded as if you anticipated the topic; he couldn’t blame you if you did. “Just sayin’. You’re their manager, but more than that, you’re family to them and they worry for you.”
You only nodded, an affectation of acknowledging his words, though he couldn’t tell if you were taking him seriously.
Silence fell upon the two of you for a while.
“Did you know that nanoparticles in carbonblack trigger—“
“You really gotta ruin the moment with your nerd talk?” You were aiming for a disgruntled tone, but the laughter that bubbled up inside you prevailed. It was one of the things Kuroo wished your smoking wouldn’t ruin.
Your laughter finally let up. “I’ll quit if you tell me to.”
Now this was unexpected, and despite his quick mind and gift of repartee, Kuroo found himself choosing his words carefully. “Obviously I’d rather you quit but.. I’m in no position to impose what you can and can’t do, am I?”
“Well, I’m giving you permission to impose.” You puffed out a cloud and looked him directly in the eye, expression unreadable.
If Kuroo was surprised, he only showed it by pocketing his hands. “Sure, maybe when my opinion matters enough.”
“When it matters enough..” you echoed, looking like you were mulling over a possibility.
You pulled out a strip of paper and a pen for the second time that night and scribbled something down, cig dangling from your lips. You then handed him the sheet, observing the way his brow arched at the written digits.
“Ho.. what’s this?” You both understood it was more of a why question.
“Just in case you feel like mattering enough.”
You flashed him a grin before stubbing out the cig on the sole of your shoe and walked to the nearest trash can to dispose of it.
The automatic doors of the convenience store rang and slid open, bringing Bokuto into view with a handful of plastic bags clanging against each other.
“Ayeee, who’s ready to blame it on the aaa— ”
“That’s not for us, birdbrain,” you cut him off, relieving him of some of the bags.
Kuroo did the same. “You’re in a better mood. D’ya grow a wing or sumthing?”
The three of you set off back to the training camp venue.
“I used the spare change to buy a hotdog,” Bokuto chortled, “Don’t tell coach, (y/n).”
“No promises.” You checked the bag’s contents, a small pink packet catching your eye. You dug it out to get a better look. Breath mints.
“Ah that! That’s for you! Hope you like strawberry, didn’t think you’d like those plain ones.”
You stared at Bokuto, mouth agape.
You’re family to them.
Kuroo watched as your lips curved into a thoughtful smile, his own mirroring yours. He buried his free hand into his pocket and picked at the strip of paper containing the digits.
He bet a million bucks it was the real thing.
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Nearing the training camp venue..
“Weren’t you supposed to buy supplies?”
“Crap.”
.
