levivi
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Max gets it, she’s so in love and committed and reformed. Fucking him was her rebellious phase and now that she’s changed her ways he’s not even worth looking at.
He doesn’t even care about that, George is one girl among millions, but there’s something so irritating about watching her pretend to be this great girlfriend as if Max didn’t have her biting her lips bloody in the same bed she and Alex sleep in every night just a few months ago.
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- Part 2 of two wrongs make a right
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He’s not her boyfriend, he doesn’t have to care. That’s Alex’s job. Their arrangement is simple, she gets off, he gets off, none of that romantic bullshit that makes Max’s skin crawl.
Domesticity isn’t for him. He sometimes thinks it’s not for George either, the way she fights like a wild animal – fucks like one too – but then he sees her under Alex’s arm on his Instagram, glowing like a woman in love, and isn’t so sure anymore.
Series
- Part 1 of two wrongs make a right
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Max is a prodigy, a champion, she drinks beer and tells the journos to fuck off when she doesn’t like the questions they ask. She fits in with the rest of the guys like a fish in water.
George isn’t like that.
She’s had to fight her way through the ranks to get where she is now, had to bankrupt her dad and claw until her nails bled so someone would take a chance on her. She still doesn’t have a title, barely has the respect of the fans.
She doesn’t fit in with the girlfriends, too intense about racing, but she doesn’t fit in with the guys either, too feminine or too prissy or too try-hard. Max is aggressive enough to get away with it, whenever George tries to lean into the masculinity of the sport she just looks like a bitch.
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Dunk’s already packed his bag, dug up his best blazer he’d gotten for Freshers Ball and reused for every fancy event since. It’s starting to fray by the elbows, but he’s already resigned himself to standing out like a sore thumb among Aerion’s rich, white-haired family.
He usually does, being a foot taller than everyone else, and a ginger to boot, but even if he hasn’t met Aerion’s relatives before, he knows what the Targaryens are like.
Everyone knows.
They’re going to eat him alive.
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A tear slips down his dirty temple, slides into his ear.
“I yield,” he whispers and the pain relents, if only for a moment. The sharpness of a fist is gone, the throbbing of a bleeding lip stays. Now that he remembers the words, he can’t stop saying them. “I yield, I yield–“
The weight is gone, his helmet tugged off. There are hands on his face, frantic voices above him. He can’t see anything.
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Lando attaches the blushy, pouty photo and sends it, then locks his phone and drops it onto the carpet beside him, staring up at the ceiling.
There’s a pause, stretching suspiciously long.
A faint click echoes through the call. Mute. Then unmute again.
“Sorry,” OP says when he comes back, his voice rougher now. “Thought someone was at the door.”
Or: Lando loses an F1 championship and signs up for a charity Minecraft speedrunning tournament to cope with his existential crisis. Turns out his coach, faceless speedrunning champion OP81, might be a bit of a fanboy.
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Bookmarked by levivi
29 Jun 2026
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George pauses when he notices his hips.
He winces at the sight.
The heat from the shower had melted into the old scars. The calloused patches burn against the paleness of his usually unexposed skin, presenting an alarming contrast. Angry red lines mark his hipbones. They look like a particularly nasty rope burn—one that tore open flesh. He runs his hands over the uneven texture.
George scrubs harder, bruisingly.
For a second, hysterically, he thinks of Toto Wolff.
He presses the pads of his fingers into the area. It’s as if he clawed hard enough, he could erase the marks from his body. He knows it’s silly. Regardless, he still tries. On bad days, George tries until the blood coagulates under his nails.
OR
Max to Mercedes is announced during summer break. George is left rotting in a team that has already forsaken him for the rest of the season. He can only crawl back to Williams, utterly abandoned by Toto, but still desperate to prove himself to the older man. He finds unlikely solace in someone he should hate the most…
Inspired by the toxicity of this season so far.
Bookmarked by levivi
24 Jun 2026
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“What the fuck was that, mate? You could have at least tried being convincing, blimey.”
“Enjoy playing my part for the cameras, don’t you, Russell?” Max snaps.
“Oh my god, of course you’d say that,” George mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Like it or not, you’re gonna have to. Or would you rather be found out?”
Max opens his mouth, finds seemingly nothing to say, and closes it.
“And for the record,” George adds, “I don’t know what’s happening. Obviously.”Or: In Singapore, Max and George swap bodies, at the height of their title fight. It’s a nightmare. It’s also... an opportunity. Maybe. If George can figure out how to use it — and if Max doesn't beat him to it.
Bookmarked by levivi
20 May 2026
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This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He’d planned it all out, hadn’t he? Practiced in front of the cracked mirror in his new single bedroom apartment. Forced his unused voice past straining vocal cords. Again, again. Until he could seem like a passable version of his former confident, if not snarky, self.
This pathetic, shaking man clutching the cold seat of a toilet in the PTMC staff bathroom had never met that person.
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Or: I put all the angst tropes in a blender, smash Langdon into a wall, and force feed him the smoothie.
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Dan can't breathe. He needs to, and he can't. He asks, "Is… is Trixie okay?"
"No, Daniel," Lucifer answers, really gently and slowly, like Dan is unbelievably fucking stupid. "Her father is dead."Or: Dan doesn't understand why Lucifer is grieving him. He's still right here.
Bookmarked by levivi
25 Feb 2025