Tedious_Feelings
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- Words:
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- Works:
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- Bookmarks:
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Bookmarked by Tedious_Feelings
03 Feb 2026
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Here’s the thing about Charles Leclerc: Max Verstappen is never going to be able to fully escape him. Not really. Not in a way that matters.
or
Max Verstappen tries his best to move past his infatuation with Charles Leclerc. Because it's not serious. It can't be. Loving him means losing him, and that's something he completely refuses to do. However, it's not easy with Charles following him around all the time, looking like that, sounding like that, being like that - being Charles Leclerc.
Bookmarked by Tedious_Feelings
09 Jan 2026
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The first time George hears it, he thinks he's hallucinating due to lack of sleep.
He has to be, because what other explanation could there possibly be for Max Verstappen to be having a conversation with his car?
Bookmarked by Tedious_Feelings
07 Jan 2026
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George was used to finding a silver lining in shit situations, but retiring from his home race after putting it on pole didn’t leave him with much to work with.
George scrolled through the recommended feeds, eyes half-lidded and sticky with exhaustion. Then one headline caught him: FORMULA ONE SILVERSTONE REACTION.
Not exactly original, but the description below made him snort: “RIP GEORGE RUSSELL.”
Yes. RIP, indeed.
OR Max is a sim racing streamer and George is a driver and a fan.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 125,205
- Chapters:
- 12/?
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Bookmarked by Tedious_Feelings
23 Dec 2025
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“For fucks sake, if you dislike me that much why do you even talk to me?” George snapped, sitting upright and turning to glare daggers at Max.
Max caught his breath, trapped in the full force of George’s attention. He shifted uncomfortably, breaking George’s gaze to stare at the ceiling, looking for answers in the white plaster. George was irritating sometimes, sure, but it bothered him that he seemed genuinely upset, like their banter might mean something different to him than it did to Max.
“I don’t,” he muttered, heat rushing to his face.
“You don’t what?” George narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t dislike you,” Max bit out.
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A series of russtappen one shots loosely based on/structured with the poem “Imagine We Are Trees” by Julia Klatt Singer. Some smutty, some angsty, some fun, all of them soft.
OR
I put them in Situations™️ until they get their shit together
Bookmarked by Tedious_Feelings
10 Dec 2025