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“I of course can’t let everyone know that I was actually stressed about the title fight and that it led to my heat hitting two weeks early!” Max exclaimed, sitting on their bed and cuddling one of Charles’ hoodies and not Charles himself because he was too busy packing for this stupid gala. “That’s so embarrassing!”
Or: Max faked the flu. He was actually in heat. Charles had to sit through the FIA gala, 6000km away from his mate.
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Max and Charles make a weekend bet: whoever breaks first does all the housework for a week.
Charles is confident he can take anything Max dishes out. He is wrong.
Max takes his time proving it, and Charles learns that losing has never tasted so sweet—especially when it means he has to make breakfast every morning, even if he burns the toast every single time.
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Max’s waist is small, thin enough that Danny can fit both large hands nicely around it like he would a girl and yet Max is boxy. His hips are jagged where they should be smooth and Daniel feels his hands find a natural place to slot against, his thumbs pressing gently into Max. It makes him groan, a little breathy sound that gives Daniel the opportunity to slide his tongue into Max’s mouth and the heat seems to only intensify when he does. Max is soft, pliant and sweet in his arms as Daniel makes him sing. It's a chorus of whimpers that he pulls with each slide of their tongues, wet and hot and agonizing. He can feel Max’s legs weak beneath them and Daniel can't help the smile that blooms over his face.
AKA
The hidden chapter to Orange Juice, enjoy ;)
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- Part 3 of The Orange Juice Universe
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Who would’ve guessed that underneath all that hard, tough bravado, Max is kind of a crybaby? He’s got issues aplenty and emotional baggage for days.
All he wants is a shoulder to cry on.
Until he doesn’t, and suddenly what he wants is a lot more than what Daniel can provide.
Or: The one where Daniel Ricciardo is accidentally Pavlov-conditioned to get hard every time Max Verstappen starts crying.
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Max is staring. Daniel is tired of constantly trying to make the right decisions.
Monaco Grand Prix 2023
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I just need you to want me
Am I askin' too much? 🎶Or,
A month after Singapore 2024.
Daniel is alone in his LA home.
Max shows up uninvited.-
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“Something wrong Maxy?”
Max wrung his hands and shifted from foot to foot, staring at the blanket like it had offended him somehow. “I-” He faltered. His voice became small and quiet. “I don't know how.”
“‘Don’t know how’ to what?”
“Build a nest.” He was avoiding Daniel’s gaze, blue eyes firmly fixed on the floor between his feet. “I’ve never…I spent so long pushing who I am away that now…Daniel I think that I'm broken.”
OR:
Daniel is obsessed with Max's scent. Max won't build a nest. Daniel buys him a blanket and Max has a breakdown about it that leads to him going into heat.-
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"Lando?" He asks, shocked, because standing in the doorway is technically Lando, but not his Lando. This one is much younger, plucked straight from his rookie year or somewhere thereabouts, almost like someone had taken a look through Oscar's old social media footprint and plucked out the very version of Lando that Oscar had obsessed over, hidden under the guise of looking up to his racecraft.
Well, Oscar did admire his racing, but it wasn't exactly Lando's car that had him jerking off under the covers in shitty hotels between F2 races, fist almost stuffed into his own mouth to evade the scrutiny that came with the paper thin walls.
...mostly
This Lando is also shirtless, waistband of his pants twisted slightly as if he'd pulled them on in a hurry, tripping over himself as he hurried to the main room. Clearly Oscar had interrupted something.
"Who are you?"
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"You can't be serious, Lando," Oscar grumbled as his arm was pulled relentlessly by Lando.
"C'mon Osc! It'll be fun!" Lando dragged him through the Paddock, destination set in mind.
Said destination, which also happened to be the Paddock Chapel, was quite a walk away. Meaning that, Lando had to haul his teammate all the way to the other side of the Paddock all by himself.
Or,
Lando and Oscar get 'married' in the paddock chapel.-
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Charles Leclerc carries a secret that could end his career.
Max Verstappen stumbles upon it.
What begins as a threat of exposure becomes something else entirely—a negotiation that leads them both into uncharted territory far beyond the racetrack.
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Charles wants to be eaten out. Max wants to comply.
A wet, messy exploration of what happens when a request is made.
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Max Verstappen never expected to find his greatest rival in a dimly lit corridor, trembling with a heat that had nothing to do with racing.
What started as curiosity became a leash, and what became a leash might just turn into something neither of them could name.
- Language:
- English
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- 6,395
- Chapters:
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“Is there a different way of saying this?”
There are, in fact, a dozen different ways to say what Max is telling him - though from ‘preggers’ to ‘up the spout,’ they all come back to the same thing.
OR: Max and Daniel navigate One Hell of a Nine Months.
Series
- Part 1 of never to part
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the desire that consumes me whole by cryystal_m00n for champagne_for_breakfast
Fandoms: Formula 1 RPF
05 Jun 2026
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His Max is only a lion when it aids the narrative journalists and his team have painted of him. He is ruthless like one, and hungry and mighty like the beast. Hard to kill; Nemean, they whisper the metaphor they seem unable to fully grasp.
He is not the soft lion that is currently grumbling as Charles pushes him into the car they rented for their holiday. He is not the adorable kitten that has been licking Charles' hair down, body half transformed to resemble the beast he once was. He is not the gentle lover of Charles Leclerc, for as his shape shifter nature is an open secret, so is their relationship.
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The physiotherapy Mark Webber never knew he needed.
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“Just think of it as a free vacation, mate. Sebi’s not that bad!” Jenson consoled over the phone.
“He told Christian I shoved him.” Mark scoffed back. “He’s the only reason I’m freezing my ass off, shin deep in snow right now.”
“He was probably just scared you’d blame him too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he thinks you hate him. Between that and being called into the boss's office, I’m sure he was probably just wound up. You know how he gets.”
Sebastian did have a habit of overthinking to the point of self sabotage. It wasn’t a stretch to believe he’d gotten himself into a tizzy thinking Mark had some master plan to throw him under the bus, which is why he’d jumped at the first opportunity to shift the blame away from himself. That still didn’t make Mark feel any better though.
He was still cold. He was still in Switzerland. And he’d still have to waste a portion of his break spending time with the very man he’d been counting down the days to get away from.
Series
- Part 2 of SebMark Bookshelf
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The night Sebastian won his third world title, Mark should’ve been celebrating. Instead, he was watching from the shadows. Drunk, bitter, and painfully fixated on the German he could never stand… and couldn’t stop wanting. One filthy, unforgettable night changes everything.
Mark was rough. Sebastian was eager. The hotel sheets never stood a chance.
But come morning, Sebastian wakes up sore, alone, and without a single memory, except for the shirt that reeks of Mark and sex.
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Sebastian acts like a brat.
Mark is done with that.
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Sebastian raises a handful of kandi bracelets—his own creations, strung on stretchy thread and glinting in the strobe light. They clack faintly as he wiggles his fingers, offering a peace sign. Right wrist: his to give. Left: gifts from others. A code, if you knew it.
Mark doesn’t. He just blinks, confused, and Sebastian grins wide.
He feels Sebastian roll something down over their hands, a slide of warmth and elastic.
A bracelet. On Mark’s wrist now.
The beads form two words in plastic capital letters.
KISS ME
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"I'm asking you again. How many manhole covers did you manage to steal?" The precinct officer laces his fingers together and lets out a heavy sigh. This is already the fifth time this week he's been brought in.
For as long as he could remember, Kimi had hated Oliver Verstappen-Leclerc. Whether it was the painful aftermath of his parents' divorce, or just ordinary teenage maximalism that still hadn't gone away (and he was twenty-two years old, by the way!). A story about how Kimi was forced to straighten up and put up with Oliver.
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