#also charles is still charles because a. i cannot name swap when i genderbend

[valyrfia]

HAND OVER THE FF LESTAPPEN

alright, check it out

Charles blames the Instagram algorithm, when one day she’s scrolling aimlessly only to come across pictures of Max Verstappen in a bikini. 

Max lounging on her stomach across a sunbed under the European sun next to a cerulean sea, the band of her dark blue bikini riding up, sitting snug across her muscular shoulders peppered with moles and the unmistakable shape of a fading wine-coloured mark high up on the curve of her shoulder that makes something in Charles's throat curdle and sets something strange and deep in her core alight.

She sends it to Pierre immediately, because of course she does. 

Charles Look at this shit. She probably called the paps on herself. 

And that’s the odd feeling deep in her stomach, it’s anger, the fact that Max can be snapped near naked on a strange foreign beach without consequence and Charles has to be careful that the knee-length skirt she wears on errands in Monaco doesn’t get blown up, lest she gets another embarrassing lecture from Mattia on her public image. Be careful Charletta, he would say, Santina is a better nickname than Puttana. Puttana, a fitting word to describe Max’s recent endeavours, really. Charles’s socials have been pushing her the pictures all week. Max outside bars, hanging onto tall men who make more in a year than Charles would care to mention, their young pretty wives off to the side with them, seemingly resigned to the fate of what’s happening. After all, who could compete with Max Verstappen, champion of the world?