overengineeredlonging
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- Formula 1 RPF (2)
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Summary
Max Verstappen groggily answers a knock at his motorhome door, fully expecting another early-morning visit from doping control.
What he doesn't expect is Charles Leclerc, standing wide-eyed and flushed a pretty shade of pink.
Max’s irritation quickly turns into confusion—and then outright horror—as he realizes two very important things: Charles isn’t doping control, and Max is just about as naked as the day he was born.
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Austria 2019.
Max is a fucking idiot.
I love the dude, but he seriously needs to learn healthier ways to cope with his crush. Because pulling that kinda move on Charles Leclerc of all people.
And now, because he’s gone and done it, I have to deal with the uncomfortable flight home, with Max constantly avoiding Charles’ glare (if looks could kill he would’ve had been dead within seconds of that stupid race ending), and now Max whining on my couch because Charles unfollowed him.
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“What are you doing?” Charles asked, his voice cracking.
Max blinked at him once before he smirked and said, “Well... I was going to kiss you.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.”
“Why?” Charles repeated, feeling like his legs were going to give out.
“Is that not a good enough reason?” Max asked.
OR: The childhood best friends to lovers fairy-tale-soulmates fic that nobody asked for. Charles has been in love with Max since he was seven years old.
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On the drive back to the hotel Max had turned to him, blue eyes fierce and piercing.
“Promise me you won’t stop being angry. You’re angry because you know what you can do. Use it, control it, let it fuel you. Other people won’t understand but that doesn’t matter, you know what you’re capable of.”
You and me, he’d seemed to say, we’re the same.
Charles wonders now how he ever thought Max wouldn’t understand.
Or: Charles leaves Ferrari, tries to win a championship, and learns some things about belonging. All the while, Max is there.