Trust The Process, Maybe

Charles, when he gets a new teammate: so... do you play chess?

i'm so tired of the yaoi-ification of mlm ships where people feel the need to make one of them (usually the fandom-assigned bottom) into a teeny tiny waifish twink and the other into a huge musclebound super aggro guy (usually the fandom-assigned top) i know this is like a thing many people have been saying for years but i just feel like it has never actually gotten better in fandom spaces. the fatphobia of it, the gender essentialism, the homophobia, it's all so fucking annoying it makes me want to scream

fem! lestappen today they’re sooo silly

My contribution to the fandom today. Insp. by this post.

"Your rut's in a month, right?"

Max opens his cupboard, pulling out three Red Bull shirts and dumping it in is bag, "Yeah, around three weeks, I think."

An arm snakes around his waist, Max rests his back against Charles' chest as the other kisses up his scent gland, "Baby, please carry something other than RB kit."

"Sure," He tugs at an Alpha Tauri, letting it slide off and into the bag.

There's a groan against his neck, Max laughs, Charles is so easy to rile up.

The hand tightens on his waist as Charles sighs, "I want to mate you so bad, Max, it'd be so easy to. I can do it now, you can bite me back."

His stomach swoops, it'd be so easy. He'd be Charles' just like that. Charles will be his.

"If it triggers either of our ruts, we'll miss your home race." He turns around, pulling Charles closer by his waist. His eyes are closed but his face is peaceful, Max cups his cheeks, "and you wanted to mate at home."

"Stupid me."

Max rolls his eyes, pulling the Monegasque's head down to rest on his shoulders, "Yeah, you are."

A smile presses against his shoulder, Max kisses his hairs.

_

The paddock noise feels like something pressing at a live wire exposed in his body.

Every smell carries a scent, every touch is scorching at his skin. They were warned it's sensitive after mating, your senses mingle into one- you feel for two people. Max doesn't even like feeling for himself.

"Maxy!"

His eyes dart towards the source, tension draining as Daniel makes his way to the space between wrapped tyres and the wall.

"Congratulations, fucker!" His body is covering Max's, hands messing the strands placed to perfection. Max feels like home.

"No one knows yet."

Daniel's grin widdens, his eyes zeroing in at the mark. Max feels the heat rising in his cheek. Charles broke skin there, it's red and purple with the blood pooling beneath the surface, he loves it.

He whistles at Max, hesitating a second before putting his arms across his shoulders.

"I can tell. You look like a spooked deer."

Max feels the crimson darken, he pushes the hand off him.

"I am fine, of course."

Daniel purses his lips, "Of course."

A beat.

"I have extra nose blockers?"

Max takes one of the ghastly looking blockers with Pierre's face on it (Secret Santa gift, he hopes.) and dares Daniel to speak anything of it. He is fine, of course.

Maybe with a food poisoning (They should have never cooked themselves) and a sore throat (That, he doesn't regret) and too much sweating (The June of Barcelona is hot.) and he can feel everything Charles does and all Charles feels in Ferrari is pain. It's okay, they told him it'd be like this.

is max verstappen aware that kimi antonelli has adopted him as grid dad

and some brawn gp stuffs!

YO LADS WE WON FUCKING WON

LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOO

They should kill me one last time.