sassy-starlight

[sassy-starlight]

same horny energy for me

[sassy-starlight]

Charles stood by the window, staring at the fading city lights, the echo of Pierre’s words replaying in his mind like a haunting chord.

*"You and Max… you’ve always fought for the same things, Charles. First place in karting. The same seats. The same glory. Now? You’re fighting for the same omega."*

Pierre hadn’t meant it cruelly. Just honest, in that sharp way he always was when Charles needed clarity and hated hearing it.

At the time, Charles had just shaken his head, scoffing quietly. *"It’s not a competition, Pierre. Not this time."*

But wasn’t it?

Because when he saw Lando cry in his arms, when he felt that small omega cling to him like a lifeline, he *had* wanted to win. He’d wanted to be the one who made Lando feel safe. The one who didn’t break him. The one who didn’t leave.

But now… now Max was here too. Max, with that complicated fire in his chest and guilt in his eyes. And Lando stood between them—no longer breaking, just *tired*. Honest.

Charles sighed.

It wasn’t about winning anymore. Not about who got Lando.

It was about *deserving* him.

And whether either of them truly did.

He turned from the window, just in time to see Max hesitantly sitting across from Lando, their hands inching closer on the couch, but not quite touching.

Charles stayed silent, watching. Then stepped forward to join them. If there was ever a way through this—through them—it would have to be together. Not rivals.

Not anymore.

[sassy-starlight]

Blueprint of You

Lando Norris/Max Verstappen - rated: M - semi-AU - 2.4k

Summary - In this silly little AU, Max never became a driver. Instead he's a reclusive genius engineer who builds F1 sims for Red Bull Racing, and who accidentally (and against his will) forms a connection with the loudest McLaren driver on earth.

Warnings - POV switch?

Author's Note - Got bored at the office and wrote this. Was supposed to be a silly one shot, but I think it might have grown feelings. Might come back to this later, when people aren't waiting on me to post a new chapter to another story?! Don't have a good header picture for this, so have one of my favorite Max ones of late.

Lando POV

Lando was pretty sure this counted as breaking and entering. Like, 87% sure.

Okay, maybe more like 94%.

But at least he was using active credentials. Sure, they weren't his, but who would know, really?

He had no idea how Oscar had gotten access to Red Bull's testing facility, and he hadn't dared ask. He'd just taken the access pass, ignored Oscar's warning about not touching anything that looked like it might break, and hurried off before his teammate could change his mind.

And now, he was three swipe gates deep into enemy territory, staring at a double door with an unassuming plaque next to it that read 'Sim Lab'.

It didn't look like an ultra-advanced, reportedly billion dollar simulation lab from the outside, except maybe for the extra lock that blinked red next to the door.

He looked down at the access pass in his hand.

'Seriously who gave Oscar these credentials? Would they even work on this? Maybe they booby-trapped the Simulator room. The moment it registers Oscar, a bomb detonates. Maybe this is where I die.'

He swiped Oscar's access pass through the lock.

The door opened with an ominous hiss.

'Great. That's not suspicious at all.'

He stared into darkness, and swallowed hard. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped in through the door.

It closed behind him immediately, the hiss making him jump. Then a row of lights blinked on, embedded into the ceiling, revealing a platform in the middle of the circular space. And there, on the platform, sat on it like a throne, was the main sim rig.

It was matte black, sleek, commanding attention. It was nothing like McLaren's simulators. Hell, it wasn't like any simulator Lando had ever seen in his life.

This was it. This was the MV-sim.

The simulator that made headlines for being so accurate and immersive that it had made junior drivers pass out from the G-forces applied. Even more senior drivers had been reported to have come out with neck pain, back aches, and one RBR F1 driver had mentioned in an interview once that he'd thrown up mid-simulation and had been banned from using the sim again for six months after that.

Lando stepped up to the platform, reaching out and running his hand almost reverently over the high backed sim.

This was the sim that the famously elusive Max Verstappen had built. The man was supposedly like Red Bull Racing's in-house phantom genius. Some child prodigy turned engineering mastermind that, if you believed the rumors, not even his own team had seen more than a handful of times.

Lando had heard the stories. Everyone had.

He'd just never expected to be this close to the fabled sim rig, ever.

He swallowed and reached for the harness straps.

"Okay," he whispered to himself, "we do just one quick lap. Just to see what it feels like. Just one."

The sim rig hummed to life, screens starting up, lights blinking to signal settings to be adjusted for the right fit.

Lando sat down in it and held his breath, staring wide eyed at the steering wheel. It lit up, like it was trying to invite him to try it.

Yeah, he was definitely going to get arrested tonight.

'Worth it tho. Look at this. Fuck, even the seat feels perfect, like it was fitted for me personally. How is that even possible? Okay. Okay, one lap. Let's do Silvo. If it rains, will it spray water in my face? Do I need my helmet for this?'

He grinned like a little boy in a candy store as he reached for the steering wheel.

Which promptly lost all the blinking lights. The screens went dark too, as the sim rig powered down.

"What the-"

"You are not supposed to be here."

Lando whipped his head around, heart slamming against his ribcage as he stared at the man who'd come out of nowhere.

'The door didn't hiss!' Lando thought somewhat hysterically. 'Where the hell did he come from? Did he teleport in?!'

"Can't sneak up on people like that, mate. You'll give someone a heart attack," he tried, hoping that if he just acted like he belonged there, maybe the stranger would go away.

There was a silence that stretched on for a moment as the newcomer stared at Lando, frowning and tilting his head slightly like he was trying to solve some difficult math equation.

"You're not Oscar," the stranger finally said, still frowning.

So he knew which credentials had been used. Maybe he was security, Lando thought, although he would be the weirdest looking security ever.

The man was dressed in skinny jeans that were criminally tight, yet paired with an oversized hoodie, and his feet were clad in socks, no shoes. He had a backwards cap on, with a headset hooked over the top of it, now pushed to the side to allow one ear to peek out.

Lando clambered out of the sim. "Says who?"

The frown on the stranger deepened. "Oscar is one eighty or thereabout, his hair is mostly straight, not curly, he's pale, not tanned, and his accent is different from yours. You're not Oscar."

Lando grinned. "Yea, you got me, I'm not Oscar."

Deciding maybe he could charm his way through this, he walked a few steps closer, smiling as he held out his hand. "I'm Lando. Lando Norris. Oscar's teammate at McLaren."

His outstretched hand was eyed dubiously, then ignored in favor of looking back up into his face, as the other man repeated: "you're not supposed to be here."

"So you keep saying, but I'm really not hurting anyone, am I? So maybe you could just… let it slide?" He tried for his most charming smile, the one that dimpled his face in all the right places.

It had gotten him his way since childhood.

"You touched the sim. You're not supposed to touch the sim." It didn't exactly sound like the man was very impressed with Lando's smile.

'He looks uncomfortable. Nice eyes though. Nice lips, too. I mean… Jesus, okay. Focus. I'm about to get into some real trouble, come on brain, think of something useful.'

"Maybe I am though, how would you know?"

There was another pause as the stranger seemed to process the question. 'Like a robot,' Lando thought, 'he acts like a friggin' robot.'

"Because it is almost eight. I am supposed to install the patch at 8:15, so there is time for a rollback if necessary, and the sim will be fully operational again for the next practice session which is scheduled for 7:30 tomorrow morning. Also, you are not Oscar, but you used his credentials so you probably don't have your own, and I don't remember any files with your data coming across my desk to prep the sim, Lando. And I always remember."

Lando's eyes widened. Patching the sim? Data to prep it? Did that mean…

"Max?" His voice had gone a little squeaky. "Max Verstappen? You're… you're Max? The Max?"

Max POV

Max stared at the intruder, Lando, with mounting confusion.

His schedule was precise: patch installation at 8:15, testing by 8:45, documentation at 9:30, and back to his apartment by 10:02.

This unexpected variable threatened to throw everything off course.

Yet instead of immediately ejecting the unauthorized presence from his lab, Max found himself frozen, analyzing the stranger's expression.

The smile was... different. Not the tight, professional grimaces people usually offered when they needed something from him. This was wide, genuine, with crinkled eyes that suggested actual pleasure at discovering Max's identity.

"Yes. I'm Max," he agreed, though not enthusiastically.

His fingers twitched at his sides. He should call security. He should protect the sim. He should follow protocol.

But the other man - Lando - looked at him with something that wasn't fear or calculation. It was... excitement? Interest?

Something complicated was happening in Max's chest, throwing him off kilter, like new software causing an unexpected glitch on the mainframe.

"I need to patch the sim," he said, because it was true and also because he needed to say something to stop himself from staring at the way Lando's smile created asymmetrical dimples.

Why wasn't he following procedure? Why was he still standing here?

Lando, somehow, just smiled more. "Right, yeah, of course! Do your patchy thing. Don't mind me," he said, taking a casual step to the side and waving his hand loftily at the sim. Like they were coworkers chatting in the break room, not Red Bull employee and McLaren intruder staring each other down in the sim lab.

Max stared. "You shouldn't be here."

“Yeah, I’m getting that vibe,” Lando said cheerfully. “Still, worth it! This sim is unreal. You built it all yourself?”

“Yes.”

Lando let out a low whistle. “Shit. No wonder people call you a legend.”

“I don’t…” Max frowned. “That’s hyperbolic.”

"Is it?" Lando stepped closer, and Max wondered vaguely if the man was aware he was dangerously close to breaching the appropriate professional distance of 1.27 meters.

“I’ve heard all the rumors, you know. Red Bull’s secret weapon. Genius hermit who only emerges when there’s a firmware emergency.”

“I don’t emerge,” Max said, oddly horrified.

“You’re wearing socks and a hoodie,” Lando said. “You absolutely emerged. Silently. From somewhere. Scared the heck out of me, to be honest.”

Max looked down at said socks like they had betrayed him. “I live here. I can wear what I want," he said stiffly.

"Sure, but you- wait, what? You live here?"

Max looked up, frowning again. "Yes?"

He wasn't sure why that suddenly felt like the wrong answer, when it was the truth. He also didn't know why he felt like he should qualify his answer. But he did.

"It's so I can be close to my office, and my equipment. And it saves me travel time, so my schedule can be more efficient."

Lando was now blinking at him like an owl, and Max wasn't sure what to say about that, so he said nothing.

After an awkward moment of silence, he instead pulled his phone from his back pocket and checked the time. 8:09. He needed to get ready.

"I need to-"

"But do you have like, a bed?"

Max inhaled hard through his nose, trying to keep calm. He hated when people talked over him.

"Of course." He wasn't sure why this mattered, but he knew it was usually easier to just answer questions that didn't require lengthy explanations that would take up his time unnecessarily.

"With sheets?"

"Yes."

"And pillows?"

Max blinked. Why did this matter? Why was he answering these questions instead of tossing this intruder out? "One pillow. Yes."

"Where is it?"

Max watched as Lando looked around, as if the man expected a hidden bed somewhere in the simulator lab. He raised an eyebrow, and, weirdly, felt his lips twitch into a smile.

"Not here." And then, for reasons unknown to him, he added: "I have an apartment on the other side of the facility."

"Ooooh," Lando said, like this was some incredible revelation to him. Max twitched. The minutes were ticking down, and he hated when his schedule messed up.

"I bet it's like the Batcave. Dark, full of tech, and when someone touches the sim, an alarm goes off and you poof! from your apartment and zap! into existence in the sim lab." Lando was grinning in a way that was highly disconcerting to Max, who wondered if it was possible to be charmed against his will by someone actively violating security protocol.

It felt unfair. Unsettling. Schedule destroying.

"It's not- I'm- I don't poof!" Max exhaled on a hard sigh. "Or zap! I have work to do. You can't be here. Go away."

Lando blinked, as if he only now realized he was, in fact, trespassing still. Then he held up his hands in some form of exaggerated surrender.

"Right, right, sorry. I'll get out of your hair." He stepped back, running a hand through his own messy curls. "It's just not every day you meet the actual brain behind the machine, you know?"

Max watched him retreat toward the door, tracking the man's movements.

At the threshold, Lando paused and turned back. "For what it's worth, your work is brilliant. Like, not just technically. You made the sim feel right when I sat down in it. That's not just engineering, that's art."

Max opened his mouth to say something, but found he had no idea what the appropriate response here was. Instead, he silently watched as Lando disappeared out the door, the hiss as it closed signaling the restoration of order to Max's environment.

He should feel relief at that, he knew. Instead, he felt an odd emptiness creeping in around the edges.

Huffing in annoyance, he checked his phone again. 8:17. He was already running late. He powered up the sim again, and reached for its keyboard, fingers moving over it automatically.

Tap, tap, tap.

He should have escorted the man out. Who knew what kind of havoc he was wreaking elsewhere in the facility.

Tap, tap, tap.

No one had ever called his work art before. They'd called it efficient. Profitable. Revolutionary even. But never art.

Tap. Tap.

His normally seamless workflow stuttered infuriatingly.

He scowled at the screen, at the lines of code waiting for him to finish the job. He opened a new screen and pulled up his inbox, tapping the keys to draft a new e-mail.

To: Red Bull Racing Internal Security Subject: Security breach sim lab 03A Today at approximately 7:57pm I encountered an individual in sim lab 03A, who had entered without appropriate clearance. The individual identified himself as Lando Norris of McLaren. Credentials used: Oscar Piastri of the same. (Credentials should have been deactivated in accordance with security protocol 5.7.3?) Individual ejected. No damage reported.

His cursor blinked, waiting for more input.

Max stared at it. For some insane reason, he could hear Lando's voice inside his mind.

'No wonder they call you a legend.'

'For what it's worth, your work is brilliant.'

'That's not just engineering, that's art.'

Slowly, deliberately, he hit backspace. Line by line, the report disappeared.

No alert sent. No incident logged.

He closed the window and went back to his code. But for the rest of the patching process, his rhythm was slightly off.

Like a new, unexpected variable had been introduced to his code. And Max hadn't removed it.

[sassy-starlight]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63272776/chapters/162076456

My charlando fic is finished

[sassy-starlight]

Max stood in the dark hallway, staring at nothing, the stillness pressing in around him like a heavy fog.

Lando would hate him.

He knew it.

Not for the rescue. Not for the kindness. But for the truth.

For the deal he’d made. For the line he crossed.

His hand tightened into a fist against the wall.

Devon had racked up debts with Max for years—illegal bets, dirty money, desperate promises backed by nothing but ego and family name. Max had waited. Patient. Calculated. Not just for revenge, but for justice. For the years Devon spent walking over others like they were steps to a throne.

Max didn’t want his brother’s empire.

He wanted to ruin it.

And he had.

Devon had nothing left. No leverage. No favors. No wealth. Just desperation.

So when Max came knocking with the final demand—the one thing Devon still had of value—he knew exactly what would happen.

Devon didn’t even hesitate. He signed the papers.

He sold Lando.

Sold him.

Not just to settle his debt. Not just to survive another day. But to save himself, like the coward Max always knew he was.

And Max—cold, furious, burning—took the deal.

That was the part that made his stomach twist now, standing there while Lando slept peacefully in the next room.

Because Lando didn’t know.

Didn’t know he was bought. That Max now legally held the bond meant to protect him. That, on paper, Lando didn’t belong to Devan anymore.

He belonged to Max.

He had never wanted to own him. Never wanted to treat Lando like a possession.

But Max knew his brother. He knew Devon would throw Lando to the wolves just to save his own skin. And Max couldn’t let that happen. So he forced the outcome. Forced control.

And now?

Now he was the monster in Lando’s story. The silent alpha waiting for the moment Lando would wake up, learn the truth, and see him not as a savior—but as a man who took what wasn’t his.

A man who won—but didn’t feel like a victor.

Because the moment Lando knew the truth?

Max would lose him.

And for the first time in years… Max hated the taste of victory.

[sassy-starlight]

He raises his arm, the crowd cheering, the cameras catching every angle. It’s supposed to be about the win—or at least the show of it. The celebration, the team, the fans. Charles knows how to play to the lens by now, how to smile just enough, hold the posture just right.

But in the corner of his eye, he feels it. Not the cameras. Not Max, who’s somewhere behind him, probably in conversation with Fernando or laughing at something Carlos said. Not even the red suit clinging to his own skin under the sun.

It’s the weight of a look. Specific. Familiar.

Charles doesn’t turn his head, not fully. But he knows. He knows Lando’s watching.

From up on the platform, orange kit half-lost in the shadows, Lando leans slightly forward. It’s not overt. Nothing ever is with him—not when it counts. His face is arranged into something casual, something too easy. A twitch of a smile, a quirk at the edge of his mouth like he’s in on a joke no one else can hear.

Charles feels it burn through him.

He knows that look. He’s seen it in quieter places, between too-long glances in hospitality, and the kind of silences that hang heavy between laughter. It’s amusement, yes, but it’s soft. And worse—kind.

He shouldn't be looking back. Not when Max might glance over. Not when the world already believes in something red and blue and burning.

But Charles lets himself have it, just for a second. A barely-there tilt of the head. Just enough to let Lando know he sees him. That he’s seen him all along.

And Lando?

Lando looks like he’s been waiting for that all day.

my Lestappen/Charlando fic broke my brain. Because why would I’ll look at a pic where I should be seeing Max and Charles being all Lestappen-coded… and all I can see is Lando looking at Charles dare I say with amusement — if I squint just right, there’s something soft underneath… something suspiciously like affection. 😩

I’m supposed to be a Lestappie… what is happening to me 😭

[sassy-starlight]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65619604/chapters/168954508

A charlando/Norstappen fic I'm writing about but haven't decided yet who's endgame

[sassy-starlight]

boyfriends driven to mania by their team

[sassy-starlight]

My small version of this one. Hope you don't mind

It had started out innocent enough. Just a chill morning in Monaco, one of those rare weekends with no pressure, no engines roaring, just the sound of waves outside Charles’ apartment and the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen. Lando had stayed over—because he always seemed to find his way there these days, whether it was for movie nights or just to escape the relentless bustle of the paddock.

Charles hadn’t even noticed at first. He came out of the shower, towel still around his neck, hair damp and messy, and there Lando was—curled up on the couch, legs tucked under himself, fingers tapping idly at his phone. Wearing Charles’ hoodie.

His hoodie.

The dark blue one with his name printed down the sleeve in sleek lettering, his racing number stitched over the chest in crisp, bold white. It hung loose on Lando, sleeves too long, hem riding up a bit when he stretched. And Lando just looked right in it, like it belonged to him all along.

Charles felt it then. That warm, stubborn twist low in his chest. He wasn’t possessive. Not usually. But something about seeing Lando like that, so casual, so unaware of what it did to him, sparked a quiet, unmistakable urge to pull him in closer and not let go.

Lando glanced up, caught Charles staring, and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Charles just shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing.”

But Lando didn’t take the hoodie off, not even when they went out for a walk later. And Charles didn’t mention it. Just walked a little closer than usual, brushing fingers with his every now and then, a silent kind of claim humming under his skin.

Not his. Not yet. But maybe… maybe getting there.

Charlando anon heree <33

For the fake fic title: You look so fucking good in my hoodie (with Charlando ofc if that’s possible <3)

Charles wasn't a possessive person by nature. He was too laid back for that. He never once felt the need to show off that any of his partners were his, but then he met Lando. And something about Lando made Charles want to keep him for himself. So really, seeing Lando in his hoodie with his name and number imprinted on the fabric and feeling a little curl of satisfaction, really shouldn't have been surprising.

[sassy-starlight]

My inspirated version, I hope you don't mind.

It started becoming a running joke in the paddock—not mean-spirited, just something sweet and quietly passed around between team personnel and fellow drivers. Everyone knew, even if the two of them didn’t. George would elbow Carlos during interviews when Lando and Charles exchanged one of those bright, warm glances across the media pen. Even Max cracked a grin one time when Lando nearly tripped over a cable because Charles called his name mid-sentence.

They were all little moments. Charles showing up with Lando’s favorite iced coffee before a race, pretending it was for “team unity.” Lando making a playlist titled “songs Charles would hate” and playing it loud in the garage, only for Charles to come over and start dancing to it ironically—and then unironically.

Sometimes it was just silence between them, comfortable and soft, like the world outside the motorhome didn’t matter. Lando would sit cross-legged on the couch, head leaned back and eyes half closed, while Charles sat beside him reading something in French, occasionally translating a line just to hear Lando laugh.

It wasn’t grand gestures, but something smaller and steadier—like how Charles always waited for Lando at the end of a race, even when they finished far apart. Or how Lando always saved the last gummy bear for Charles, claiming it was tradition. They didn’t need to say anything. The way they looked at each other said everything.

The rest of the world was just waiting for them to catch up.

It wasn’t planned, not really. It started with a casual dinner—some pasta that Charles insisted on making himself (“No, no, Lando, trust me, it tastes better this way”) and a bottle of wine they both barely touched because they got too caught up in a Mario Kart rematch that spiraled into loud laughter and playful shoving on the living room floor.

By the time midnight rolled around, rain had started tapping against the windows and Lando had yawned so dramatically Charles just rolled his eyes and threw a pillow at him.

“Stay over,” Charles said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Lando blinked. “You sure?”

Charles just shrugged, already heading to grab a spare blanket. “You’ll fall asleep on the sofa anyway. Might as well do it properly.”

So Lando did. He borrowed an oversized t-shirt that smelled like Charles’ cologne and used a toothbrush still in its plastic wrap from a hotel in Japan. They brushed their teeth side by side, bumping shoulders, grinning through the foam like they were kids at summer camp.

They didn’t say much when they settled in—Lando curled up on the couch, Charles flopped into the armchair nearby with a blanket draped over his legs and his phone abandoned on the coffee table.

The lights dimmed. The rain got heavier. And in that quiet, comfortable space, Lando softly said, “This is nice.”

Charles didn’t open his eyes, just murmured back, “Yeah… it is.”

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Lando woke up cold and stiff. And Charles—half asleep, eyes barely open—lifted the edge of his blanket in invitation.

Neither of them said anything when Lando crawled in beside him.

In the morning, Charles found Lando still tangled up in his arms, face squished into his chest, the faintest smile playing on his lips.

He didn’t have the heart to wake him.

🐝 send me a fake fic title, and I’ll make up a summary for it!

Giggles, Glances, and Goofs

It was clear to anyone with eyes that something was going on between Lando and Charles. It was so obvious with the way they kept sneaking glances at each other, trying to hide smiles and blushes with ducking their heads and pulling down the rims of their team caps, but it was there. It was there in the way that Lando laughed, high pitched and ridiculous sounding, and in the way Charles went out of his way to make Lando laugh with silly jokes or overreacting to things he was being told. Everyone could see what was happening, except for Lando and Charles who seemed oblivious to the way they looked at each other as if the other hung the moon and stars.

[sassy-starlight]

Charles chuckled low in his throat, shifting Lando so he was seated between his legs on the couch. “Such a demanding brat I have,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Lando’s head. “You’re lucky I like spoiling you.”

Lando let out a satisfied hum as Charles pushed his shirt up, warm palms splaying across his back before pressing down with firm, practiced strokes. “Mmm… yeah, lucky,” he mumbled, already melting under the attention.

“You’re all knotted up,” Charles said, thumbs digging gently into the base of Lando’s neck. “How long have you been walking around like this without telling me?”

Lando gave a lazy shrug. “Dunno… since qualifying, maybe?”

Charles exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

He pinched Lando’s hip lightly. “I tolerate it. Barely.”

Lando snorted and leaned further into the touch, voice soft. “Keep going… you’re so good at this.”

Charles smirked as he worked his way down Lando’s spine. “I know. That’s why you beg for my hands and my mouth, mon cœur.”

“Shut up and massage,” Lando muttered.

“As you wish, little brat.”

"Omg that's a good massage Charlie since when could you give good massages"

Charles grinned smugly, still kneading his thumbs into the tense muscles at the base of Lando’s spine. “Since always, chéri,” he said, voice low and teasing. “You think I just look pretty in a race suit?”

Lando let out a pleased groan, slumping further between Charles’s thighs like butter left out too long. “Ughhh, no—seriously, this is unfair. I might actually marry you for this.”

Charles laughed, the sound warm against Lando’s ear. “Just now considering it? I cook, I drive, I make you scream, and I give five-star massages. You should’ve proposed months ago.”

Lando grinned into the couch cushions. “I didn’t know I was dating a full-service person.”

“You are,” Charles said, leaning down to kiss between Lando’s shoulder blades. “And don’t forget it.”

“You better not stop either.”

“Oh, I’m not stopping. We haven’t even gotten to your lower back yet.” He pressed a firm, deliberate stroke just above Lando’s hips.

Lando moaned. “God, I take it back. I am marrying you.”

Charles smirked against his skin. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

Charles liked to think he was a rational person. Calm. Mature. Not the kind to growl over a phone notification.

But the moment Lando’s eyes flicked away mid-massage—mid-moan, no less—because of a text from Carlos, something inside him coiled hot and tight.

“What?” Charles asked, voice deceptively neutral, hands pausing just above the dip of Lando’s back.

“Huh?” Lando blinked, thumb still tapping his screen. “Oh—Carlos sent some dumb meme. Something about Max rage-texting the group again.”

Charles narrowed his eyes. “It couldn’t wait until after I finished massaging you?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, twisting slightly to look at him. “Jealous much?”

Charles scoffed, though it sounded a little too sharp. “Of Carlos? Please.”

Lando smirked, catching the way Charles’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. “You’re literally scowling.”

“I’m not scowling.”

“You are. You’re doing the thing where your eyebrow twitches and your mouth gets all—”

“I’m not possessive,” Charles interrupted, but he couldn’t stop the way his fingers dug a little deeper into Lando’s skin. “I just think your attention should be on the person pampering you. Not on memes from a Red Bull reject.”

Lando burst out laughing. “Oh my god. You’re so jealous.”

“I am not.”

“You’re practically vibrating with rage.”

Charles huffed and pushed Lando back down with a palm to the lower back. “Fine. No more Carlos during massages. That’s the new rule.”

Lando snorted into the pillow. “Possessive freak.”

Charles leaned down, voice a low growl in Lando’s ear. “Your freak.”

And Lando didn’t disagree

[sassy-starlight]

Charles likes to believe he’s not possessive. He tells himself he’s reasonable, grounded, the calm and balanced alpha who respects boundaries and doesn't give into those old-school instincts. He says it with pride — especially to the media, to friends, even to Lando himself.

But the truth? The truth shows up in moments he doesn't plan for.

Like when someone else gets too close to Lando on the paddock and Lando flashes that omega grin — the one only Charles should get.

Or when Lando’s scent flares sweet and open after a good race, and Charles has to physically restrain himself from wrapping an arm around his waist right there in front of the cameras.

Or worse — when someone like Oscar makes Lando laugh in that way, and Charles’s jaw tightens automatically.

He pretends it’s not possessiveness. Just protective instincts. Normal alpha behavior.

But when Lando so much as shifts toward someone else during heat week, Charles can barely stand it.

“Not possessive, huh?” Lando teases when Charles manhandles him into his lap yet again, scenting him shamelessly like he’s putting up neon ‘MINE’ signs.

Charles just huffs, burying his nose into Lando’s neck.

“Not possessive,” he mutters against his gland. “Just very… invested.”

Lando snorts. “Yeah. Okay, Alpha.”

And Charles doesn’t even argue.

[sassy-starlight]

🐝 send me a fake fic title, and I’ll make up a summary for it!

Giggles, Glances, and Goofs

It was clear to anyone with eyes that something was going on between Lando and Charles. It was so obvious with the way they kept sneaking glances at each other, trying to hide smiles and blushes with ducking their heads and pulling down the rims of their team caps, but it was there. It was there in the way that Lando laughed, high pitched and ridiculous sounding, and in the way Charles went out of his way to make Lando laugh with silly jokes or overreacting to things he was being told. Everyone could see what was happening, except for Lando and Charles who seemed oblivious to the way they looked at each other as if the other hung the moon and stars.

[sassy-starlight]

further apart (the closer that we are)

⤿ lando norris/max verstappen

⤿ mafia/illegal fighting au

⤿ rated m | graphic descriptions of violence

⤿ some tags: hurt no comfort, angst, enemies to lovers, bittersweet ending.

⤿ archive locked

⤿ summary:

When Lando Norris gets sent to a “business”mission in Monaco, he's constantly shadowed by one Max Verstappen. That really screws his business goals.

──

⤿ a/n: hi! so, new norstappen fic! yay! this has been in my brain for months now, and i've spent such a long time working through the context and the families and the plot to the point where i feel like this is my passion project. the updates will be slow, because this one requires a lot of planning and plotting, but i was just so excited to have finished the prologue that i've decided to post it now! also, this is in no way glorifying and/or promoting mobs and mafias. also also, my fics are now archive locked, because 5/8 of the ones i posted previously were scraped. fuck you ai.

[sassy-starlight]

One he had spent shuddering and moaning between two strong, hot bodies. Soaking up the attention of the alpha couple, crying as Max bit into his shoulder. So close yet so far from his scent gland while his hands tight on his hips helped him ride Charles. The Monégasque alpha rumbled and growled proudly, hands leaving prints on his thighs and knot splitting him open, leaving Lando breathless as he rode him. Little broken moans and purrs falling from his lips as the two alphas manoeuvred him slowly, making sure Charles hit him deeper and deeper each time. Sending Lando spiralling into his heat until he was crying on his cock, frustrated as he reached for Max’s, wanting it inside him but the alphas shushing him.

A hand stroking his stomach softly, tracing the bugle that developed after two days of fucking. Of Lando begging to be bred over and over on the alpha’s cocks and them complying. One of them was always buried in him, teeth in the back of his neck and rumbling against his back or chest as the other fed him sweet fruits and juices. Praising him.

Max's low voice rumbled in Lando's ear, soft and commanding, "You're doing so well for us, little omega. Look at you, taking everything we give you." His hand rested possessively on Lando's hip, his thumb stroking over a faint bruise he'd left earlier, evidence of the countless times they'd claimed him.

Charles leaned down, his lips brushing over Lando's temple, his breath warm and steady as he whispered, "Perfect. Our perfect omega." His fingers trailed over Lando's sweat-slicked skin, tracing the curve of his waist before settling on his stomach, where the faint bulge of their combined efforts rested. Pride flickered in his eyes as he met Max's gaze over Lando's trembling form.

Lando whimpered, his body shuddering with overstimulation, yet he arched against them, silently asking for more. His thighs burned from the constant strain, but he couldn't stop himself from pressing back, desperate for the pleasure only they could give him. His hands fisted in the sheets beneath him, his nails digging into the fabric as another wave of heat rolled over him.

"You want more, don't you, omega?" Max's tone was teasing, though his eyes darkened with hunger. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over Lando's scent gland but not marking it, not yet. "But you can barely keep up, hmm? Such a needy little thing."

"Please," Lando managed, his voice hoarse from crying out their names all night. "Please, I can take it. I want—" His words broke off into a sob as Charles shifted behind him, his cock dragging against sensitive walls.

"You'll take what we give you," Charles murmured, his voice firm yet tender. His hand slid up to cradle Lando's jaw, tilting his face upward to meet his eyes. "And you'll love every second of it, won't you?"

Lando nodded frantically, his lips parting to let out another broken moan as Max's fingers brushed over his swollen entrance, teasing where Charles had just pulled out. "Good boy," Max praised, leaning down to kiss him softly, a stark contrast to the intensity of their touches.

The alphas shared a look, a silent agreement passing between them. Max shifted closer, positioning himself behind Lando while Charles moved to cradle Lando's trembling frame against his chest. The Monégasque alpha stroked his hair gently, his other hand still resting protectively on Lando's stomach.

"We're not done with you yet," Max promised, his voice dripping with promise as he lined himself up. "Not until every inch of you is ours."

Lando shivered at Max's words, his breath hitching as he felt the blunt pressure of Max's cock teasing his entrance. His body instinctively arched, craving the stretch and fullness he knew was coming. Charles chuckled softly, his lips brushing against Lando's temple as he whispered, "Look at you, so eager. You were made for this, weren't you? To be between us, to be ours."

"Y-Yes," Lando stammered, his voice breaking on a moan as Max pushed forward, his thick length sinking into him inch by inch. The stretch was overwhelming, a perfect mix of pain and pleasure that had him keening, his fingers clawing at Charles's chest. "Please, Alpha... please."

"Shh, omega," Charles cooed, his hand stroking Lando's cheek tenderly. "Let us take care of you. Just feel us. Let us fill you up." He shifted Lando slightly, making sure the omega was comfortable in his lap, his arms wrapped securely around him.

Max groaned as he bottomed out, his cock pressing insistently against Lando's entrance but not pushing in just yet. He leaned forward, his lips brushing over the mark Charles had left on the back of Lando's neck, his voice a low growl. "You're so perfect, little omega. So tight, so warm. You take us so well."

Lando whimpered, his body trembling as Max began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one sending jolts of pleasure through him. Charles's hands roamed his body, grounding him, soothing him even as Max pushed him higher and higher. The Monégasque alpha kissed his forehead, murmuring soft praises, his deep voice like a balm to Lando's overstimulated senses.

"You feel that?" Max asked, his voice rough with restraint as he rolled his hips, his cock pressing teasingly against Lando's entrance with every thrust. "You were made to take us, little one. Made to carry our scent, to carry our pups."

Lando's breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as the words sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through him. "Please," he begged, his voice a desperate whimper. "I need it. Need you both."

"Not yet," Max said, his tone firm but laced with affection. "We’ll give you what you want, but you have to be patient, baby."

Charles hummed in agreement, his hands smoothing over Lando's quivering thighs. "We'll take care of you, mon ange. Just let go. Let us have you."

And Lando did. He surrendered completely, his body melting into theirs, his cries of pleasure filling the room as they worked him through his heat, their touches possessive yet tender. By the time Max finally knotted him, Lando was a trembling, boneless mess, his body completely spent but his heart full as he felt the love and care in every movement, every word.

"You’re ours," Charles whispered against his hair, his arms tightening around Lando as Max nuzzled the back of his neck. "Forever

[sassy-starlight]

God, the media would have a field day.

Charles can already picture it — grainy zoomed-in photos from some nosy tabloid bastard, Lando wrapped around him like a second skin, collar visible, hickeys blooming like sinful little flowers up his neck. Headlines screaming in every direction:

“FERRARI’S FINEST CAUGHT IN COMPROMISING POSITION.”

“ALPHA LECLERC AND OMEGA NORRIS SPARK OMEGAVERSE OUTRAGE.”

“F1’S SCANDAL COUPLE: INSIDE THE PIT LANE ROMANCE ROCKING MARANELLO.”

He almost laughs, right there between Lando’s legs, but swallows it down in favor of another long, indulgent lick over his lover’s slick folds. The image is too damn good, though — Lando, dripping in red racewear, scent glands flushed, post-qualifying glow on his cheeks, and Charles with his gloves still on, fingers curling possessively around his waist as they disappear somewhere they really shouldn’t be mid-paddock.

“God,” Charles mutters against his cunt, voice muffled and soaked in reverence. “Can you imagine it, amour? Us, right there in the Ferrari motorhome. You bent over my locker, still wearing your suit, and me—so desperate I don’t even bother unzipping. Just push in and pray no one hears.”

Lando whines, legs shaking around Charles’s shoulders. “They’d lose their minds. PR would combust.”

Charles chuckles darkly. “PR can suck my cock.”

“You’re such a menace.”

“And you love it.”

He slips his fingers back inside with practiced ease, and Lando gasps, his whole body jolting like he’s been plugged into a live circuit. The way he clenches around Charles’s fingers, desperate and soaked and wrung out from his last orgasm, sends a fresh wave of possessive satisfaction through Charles’s veins. This is his. His omega. His teammate. His biggest threat on track and his favorite toy in bed.

“Know what I’d say if they caught us?” Charles asks, licking lazily at Lando’s inner thigh, teeth grazing soft skin.

Lando, barely coherent, blinks blearily down at him. “What?”

“I’d say—” Charles presses a kiss to Lando’s hip, smug and shameless. “—'At least now you know why I keep finishing ahead of him.’”

“Fuck you!” Lando half-laughs, half-sobs, clearly scandalized and aroused in equal measure.

Charles grins, wicked and unrepentant. “Already are, baby.”

And then he flips them, effortlessly shifting Lando until he’s on his front, ass up, wrists still tied and cheek pressed into the sheets. Lando groans, hips arching instinctively, back flexing in the most mouth-watering way.

“Look at you,” Charles murmurs, kneeling behind him. “Ferrari’s first omega driver. Such a badass on track. And here you are, so fucking pretty and pliant. Ready for me.”

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly, savoring the way Lando stretches around him. The omega mewls, head tossed back, eyes fluttering as Charles bottoms out.

And then, soft, reverent, right in Lando’s ear: “My omega.”

The knot will come later. The scent-marking, the lazy aftercare where Charles lets Lando babble about strategy and tires while he pets his hair. But right now? Right now is just for them.

Let the press talk. Let the fans gossip.

Because Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris are more than just teammates.

They’re a goddamn force of nature.

And Ferrari’s never seen anything like them.

[sassy-starlight]

Writing Prompt List

"You don't have to hide your tears from me." Charlando

-💖

Charles felt a bit pathetic. He should be sleeping. He should be curled up in Lando's arms, listing to soft snores and enjoying the weight of having his boyfriend in his arms. He should be wrapped up and warm right now, not sitting on the edge of the hotel bathroom muffling his cries in a towel. There was nothing stopping him from waking Lando except his own pride. He knew for a fact that Lando would never judge him. Lando would simply hold him. He'd press kisses to his tear stained cheeks, rub large hands up and down his arms. Lando would let Charles cry it all out, waiting for him to tell Lando what was wrong. He'd never assume or pressure him and yet Charles was here. Here being sitting in the dark and let all of his frustration that he had been repressing finally break free because he could no longer stop it. Every little thing that he had tried to hide, every crack and broken part of himself that he burried, felt raw. His skin felt too tight as if someone streched it over his bones. It left him feeling brittle, like one wrong move would have him shattering all over the floor. Maybe that was why he was hiding in the bathroom instead of lying in bed. Charles kept his head burried against the towl. He kept his eyes screwed shut, and focused on the sound of his muffled breathing. Maybe that was why he didn't hear the sheets rustling or the foots against the floor until Lando was calling his name softly, hand warm against the back of his neck. "You don't have to hide your tears from me, baby", Lando whispered, squeezing the back of his neck softly in a comforting gesture, "Let it out. Let it all out. It's okay. That's it, get it all out, Charlie" There was no judgement in his voice, just unwavering love and support as Charles cried until there was nothing left. Only then did he raise his head to squint at Lando in the dark of the bathroom. "Sorry, I-", Charles tried to speak but Lando squeezed his neck again. "It's okay. You needed that, and I've got you, yeah?" All Charles could do was nod and let himself fall from the edge of the bath into Lando's arms because it was true. No matter what, Lando had him, and that was more than enough.