Running Your Fingers Through A Fresh Undercut Is Godly And You Just Know Mans Keeps It Neat On The Regular

Fedal x “When We Were Young” by Adele ft The Davis Cup 2024 and The Laver Cup 2022.

i swear i think about them at least once a day

another redraw of the sillies

"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.

Mirror Lines

Pairing: Max Verstappen/Sebastian Vettel

Summary:

Mirrors were a funny thing. Stare into one long enough, and you might as well be looking at a stranger. Someone wearing your face, carrying your accomplishments, but so warped by time and circumstance that you couldn’t recognise them at all.

Everything seems to be going against Max in the lead up to Brazil. Sebastian might be the only one who understands.

***

Rated M/5.2k words

read on ao3

evan buckley | left behind

song: left behind by orla gartland

watch it on youtube

Third, secret option: @raikkoberg

We're eating good tonight

You don’t understand the ways in which this is fucking sending me

Ted Lasso Text Posts: Part #5

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