PerfectMatch17
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He keeps Sophie strapped to his chest as he walks through the pit lane. It is loud and chaotic, and stinks of burning rubber and carbon fibre. Fuck, it smells good. Sophie keeps on blowing raspberries, spit flying, but hey, at least she is keeping herself occupied. Max keeps walking, and everyone lets him pass. He feels people stop in their tracks and turn around to stare at him. Each garage going quiet as he passes, and then the next, and then the next. Some pup drops the wheel gun as he whirls around, mouth dropped to the floor.
Of course.
No one has seen Max Verstappen in four years.
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Max and Charles, Monaco race day, 2030.
Bookmarked by PerfectMatch17
21 May 2026
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If there's one person more tired of the Dutch national anthem in 2023, it's Max Verstappen, because unlike everyone else, he's heard it hundreds of times. Max is trapped in this endless grey Sunday at Silverstone where nothing ever changes. He races, he wins, he gets to the podium, they play the national anthem, rinse and repeat. It's its own kind of hell.
Until Oscar Piastri shows up, and he changes everything.
a Groundhog Day with racing autism or maxcar time loop AU
Series
- Part 3 of Formula supernatural
Bookmarked by PerfectMatch17
17 May 2026
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charles
@max kysmax
that’s how you treat your best friend?
wow
just wow
i hope your car won’t start ❤️george
you look pretty bby ❤️max
thx princesslando
hell nah
no pda in chat
sequel to ain't it fun
Series
- Part 6 of f1
Bookmarked by PerfectMatch17
18 Apr 2026
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Tears pricked his eyes as he realized just how foolish he was. The face on the screens, the one he didn’t recognize, burned at the back of his mind. Who would give a shit about that scrap-metal boy from District Six? He was not the District One golden boy, Roger Federer, born with a face worth more than a diamond mine and showered with so many sponsor gifts during his Games that the Gamemakers had to impose a daily limit. He was not Novak Djokovic, forged, sharpened, and steeled in the training academies of District Two, the crown fitted for his head before the canon of his first kill. He was not even in the league of last year’s victor, Iga Świątek, who disguised her genius with nervous, flittering smiles, as dangerous and unassuming as a live wire.
Who was he compared to Carlos Alcaraz, wunderkind? Nobody. He, Jannik Sinner, was going to die.
[Jannik Sinner, before and after The 71st Hunger Games.]
Series
- Part 1 of addendum to a pyrrhic victory
Bookmarked by PerfectMatch17
02 Apr 2026
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Jannik shifts on the bed, prepared to turn his phone off and call it a night, but his phone buzzes again.
Charlie: Hola doubles partner! 👋😄
Bookmarked by PerfectMatch17
14 Mar 2026