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Summary
He thinks back to all those times he’s walked home alone, knuckles red from bracing against a brick or a tile, head pounding with the greedy rush of pleasure tinged with fear. He remembers how good it felt to fuck hard enough that he couldn’t think, to lose himself in the constancy of pain.
And now, here’s George. George, who isn’t rushing, who sometimes looks at him like he has all the time in the world to wait for Max to open up. George, who hands him things without being asked, who doesn’t make a point of keeping score, who offers something Max is sure he doesn’t have a name for - something that, for once, doesn’t sting when he tries to reach for it.Or,
Max Verstappen has always known sex as pain, closeness as danger. George Russell might just prove him wrong: with a few sharp edges of his own, well-aimed jabs, a little tough love and a patience Max doesn't quite know how to fight off. -
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"You're staring at me like you want to kill me, Charles."
It’s summer break and Charles is tired of being nice.
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In the quiet aftermath of victory and loss, one night changes everything. Desire collides with guilt, and what should have been comfort leaves only a deeper ache.
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“There’s nothing left for you to give.” Charles mumbled, his gaze intensifying on Max’s face but never leaving, only deepening more.
“Wait!” Max's husband exclaimed suddenly.
𝘕𝘰.
𝘎𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘬𝘦-
“You can have my husband!"
Or: Max's old-aged, wrinkled, -knows nothing about sex- husband loses excessively to Charles while playing poker, losing all his money, his cars and houses, and there is only one thing he can offer now.
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Max wins under the neon lights of Las Vegas, and the world rushes to worship him. Cameras, hands, champagne, everyone wants a piece of the champion. Charles watches from P2, jealousy clawing at him, until he finally snaps.
If the world thinks Max is their golden boy, Charles will remind him who he really belongs to.
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Charles chuckled—leaning closer, voice dangerously soft. "Your God won't save you, Max. When you fell, it wasn't Him who caught you." His gaze burned into Max's, unyielding. "It was me. Always me."
Max has a lot of issues, Charles just wants to make him better and fuck him up in the process.
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"Leave, Lando." Charles said, quiet but immovable. "You can hang out with Max another time."
That, of course, was an invitation for Lando's temper to flare. His voice lifted, twisted sharp with mockery. "Why? You want to fuck Max that badly?"
After the Dutch Grand Prix, Max expected a good evening back at the hotel. Peace, however, wasn’t on the agenda.
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“Why so tense, Joshua?” Seungcheol’s voice was almost a purr now. “Afraid someone might see?”
Joshua’s gaze flickered to the glowing floor numbers. “Sir, you… you’re dating my boss. If Jeonghan finds out—”
Seungcheol’s hand came up to cup the back of his neck. “And what? You think I’m scared of him?”
Series
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Summary
Race morning in Melbourne was supposed to be quiet. Peaceful. Charles had been enjoying exactly that—a nice stretch of calm with a hot cup of coffee and no interruptions—when Pierre showed up and ruined it.
"You actually marked Max."
Charles nearly spat out his coffee.
Max once smelled of pure lavender, but now he smells like Charles too.
Series
- Part 1 of truly, madly, deeply
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Summary
Sometimes it was with Charles, sometimes it was with Carlos. It didn't matter who—Max just wanted to feel good.
Max has a bad habit that always involves either Charles or Carlos.
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Sakura Haruka: Property of No One (Liar.) by MoonChilduwu27
Fandom: Wind Breaker (Anime), Wind Breaker - にいさとる | Nii Satoru (Manga)
23 Jul 2025
- Words:
- 47,265
- Works:
- 8
- Bookmarks:
- 31
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Summary
“Yeah? You want to have my pups?”
Oh.
Oh fuck yes.
OR; Logan, IndyCar driver (currently in heat), wants his alpha, Oscar, to knock him up in the lake house down at Powell Lake. And if there's another addition to his stack of mating jewelry, that's a bonus.
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He realizes halfway, that Logan deserves better than to be taken apart on a suede couch, no matter how pretty he would look in the moonlight, spread out for the stars. Logan, who had two of the worst years imaginable and was finally putting himself first. He who had persevered and deserved better than a quick fuck on a couch.
Alternatively,
a sargebon fic inspired by none other quigzahutt
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Summary
Suddenly, nails dug hard into the scent gland on his neck.
“Charlie” Max’s voice dropped. “You knotted me”
“Hmm” He sighed, fingers dancing up and down Max’s thighs, playing with the fine hairs.
“Charles, fuck- you fucking knotted me” Max’s scent spiked with panic. “We’ve got- quali is in like forty fucking minutes, you dick, we need to be getting ready now”
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Charles and Max get stuck.
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Summary
It takes him a couple months to realize that he's popular even beyond his small circle. That people whisper about him on campus because they find him handsome. That they don't suspect anything at all—he's just a pretty boy they can admire, giggle over, crush on.
It's heady, this victory.
And it's easier, after that, to sink into the burgeoning love he has for his own body. This body that he has so carefully shaped: surgery; hormone therapy; late night or early morning gym sessions to get some muscle definition, sneaking swims in the school pool after hours so no one would see the scars on his chest; hours of following vocal lessons online to change his voice; hours practicing how to walk, how to carry himself, how to blend in with his cis peers. He carved Zhang Hao into existence piece by bloody piece and he's proud of who he's become.
Or: It has been a long, difficult road from a quiet house in Fujian to arena stages in Seoul. Now, Zhang Hao struggles to balance idol life with secrets that he has kept buried for years, and then there is this love for Sung Hanbin that just won't die.