myrablack
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“Obviously it makes no difference to us.”
Zak Brown’s voice carries, no matter the size of the room. It was one of the first things Oscar noticed about him, during their early meetings, numbers scribbled on the back of napkins in dark corners of hotel bars, Mark’s face impassive.
“We’ve got omegas back in the factory, lots of ‘em.”
Series
- Part 1 of strike up the band
Bookmarked by myrablack
12 Dec 2024
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“Good evening. I’m Charles,” he offers his hand, which Max takes and for a second, Charles thinks he’s going to kiss the back of it. Some muscle spasms in the tight grip, rough velvet against soft skin. When Charles gets his hand back, it feels like he lost a finger or two in the fight.
“What’s your poison, Charles?” Max asks, settling on the barstool like it’s not designed to be the most uncomfortable chair in the world.
“Cyanide, usually. I’ll settle for a gin tonic for now.”
or:
Charles is a supermodel that has learned everything he needs to make his world turn. Now, he has no idea what Max Verstappen wants from him.
Bookmarked by myrablack
16 Nov 2024
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“What’s wrong with you?” Max snarls but doesn’t move. It makes Charles even more angry. He wants to see Max snaps, needs him to revert to the angry kid that ranted about him on camera, just so they could see eye to eye.
They have unresolved business. They will always have.
But Max is composed and Charles is fraying at the edges. Somehow, Max is always a step ahead.
or:
Charles finds it hard to be himself when all he do is hide, Max is confusing while horribly honest, and love is stored between a quarter of orange and a whisky cabinet. Somehow, it all comes together.
Series
- Part 1 of and I forgive you even as you choke me
Bookmarked by myrablack
16 Nov 2024
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The World Championship trophy rests in his trembling hands, his name etched in fine gold. It isn't until he's staring down at it—his name nestled close to Max’s—that he realises his dreams have always been carved out of someone else’s pain. Jules. Max.
And now, maybe even himself.
Bookmarked by myrablack
06 Nov 2024
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There’s someone standing in his kitchen.
He looks young, maybe close to Max’s age, with messy dark brown hair that’s pulled back from his face by a red bandana, and he’s leaning against the kitchen counter like he’s supposed to be here.
Max’s first rather unhelpful thought is; fuck, he’s gorgeous. His second, more reasonable thought is;
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Charles Leclerc,” the man smiles. It's a little bit dazzling and Max is not at all distracted by it. He extends his hand for Max to shake. “I’m your new executive sous chef.”
Or: Max is very happy with his life, thank you very much. He has his restaurant, his team, and two Michelin stars at the age of 24. He definitely does not need some pretentious Monegasque chef coming in and throwing everything into chaos.
Except, maybe he does.
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Bookmarked by myrablack
16 Oct 2024