13 Works by Quantile
Listing Works
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Leclerc couldn’t tell what startled him more: the sight of Max holding Leo in his arms—the dachshund wriggling, tongue out, stretching eagerly toward his owner—or the way his own breath caught when he heard Verstappen call him “daddy,” the word spoken with surprising softness.
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His life had always seemed like a fortress. Yet it took only a single piece of news — a single glance at a screen — for a surge of memories to breach its walls. For just a second everything inside him fell still, and he heard a deafening crack — the sound of his own heart, something within it breaking.
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Charles Leclerc... Microphone in hand, Charles Leclerc was getting ready to interview the top three drivers. This was the same Charles who had vanished after Montreal – not just from the championship, but from Max's life for nine long months. Charles, the ghost from the most harrowing race of Max's career, was now standing just a few dozen meters away. Alive. Smiling. Yet irrevocably changed.
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2025 British Grand Prix
Even the punishing Singapore Grand Prix, where physical exhaustion sets in by the tenth lap and the air burns in your lungs, had never drained him as thoroughly as this day under the reporters’ crossfire.
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They spent their lives in pursuit of a singular scent, only to learn that the smell they shared was the air they had been breathing for years. They searched for their soulmate in the fragrances of others, never realizing it had always lived in the breath they shared.
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Somewhere out there, in an alternate universe, behind tightly closed doors that shield Charles and Max’s fragile world from prying eyes, all those moments fans whisper about in conspiracy theories — “We know everything, we just can’t prove it” — finally find their true, deeper meaning.
A collection of interconnected drabbles inspired by selected race weekends.Chapters about past F1 seasons will be added later, along with possible new parts following the progression of the 2026 season.
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Liam lifted his gaze—and froze. What could once have been dismissed as a trick of the light now left no room for doubt. Arvid’s eyes were glowing a vivid, blood-red, and dark veins surfaced and spread around them, deepening to near black, as if something tar-like flowed through them instead of blood.
Lindblad bared his teeth slowly. His teeth… his fangs. Sharp. Dangerous. Unnaturally large, they shattered every notion of what a human face was supposed to be.
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Everyone at the party wanted at least a second of his attention, and Lando didn’t mind at all. On the contrary — he bathed in it, drank it in until his head throbbed, savoring the way people reached for him, clung to him from all sides.
Post-Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2025
Series
- Part 2 of The Lando Norris Boys Universe
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And he was smiling — that real, disarming, wide smile which, for Lando, was like a beam of sunlight in the darkness of this day. The very smile that sometimes came to him in dreams on the hardest nights.
Post–Qatar Grand Prix 2025
Series
- Part 1 of The Lando Norris Boys Universe
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Charles never wanted to be a prince, but the path back was forever closed the day the secret of his birth became fodder for the scandal sheets. Now, his world was one of gilded loneliness, where every gesture was bound by protocol. His encounter with Max Verstappen, a racer who lived by no rules but his own, became a breath of fresh air. Max was the one who made the prince believe that even in a world of strict decrees, one could find a personal track to freedom and happiness.
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He had earned the right to be himself. And now he had used that right. Not just anywhere — but here. On the sacred ground of Monza. In the temple of speed that had first bowed to him seven years earlier. Before his tifosi — not as fans, but as witnesses to his truth. Under purifying rain, washing away old barriers. He did it here, at the pinnacle of personal triumph, claiming this victory too — a victory over fear.
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“Is it true that orgasms help?” Lando blurted out — and instantly recoiled inwardly, feeling the words escape him. A hot wave of embarrassment washed over him at once.
“What?” Ozzy slowly tore her gaze away from the screen. Her chocolate-brown eyes, clouded with pain just moments ago, were now wide with pure, wordless astonishment. She slid the spoon out of her mouth, where she’d been holding it absent-mindedly. “Help with what?”
“Um…” Under his team-mate’s stare, Lando felt himself sinking straight through the floor. There was no backing out now. “With the pain. During periods,” he said, staring fixedly at his knees.
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"Rules are like this," Lando continued, his voice taking on a businesslike, almost coach-like tone. "If a number is drawn that only one of us has, that person covers it with a chip. The other person either takes a sip of whiskey..." he tapped a nail against his glass, "...or tells a truth. If the number is on both our cards, we both cover it and move to the next ball."
"'A truth?" Oscar clarified, looking up. "You're suggesting we ask questions?"
"No," Lando shook his head. "We say the truth we think needs to be said. About me. About you. About each other. About us. About what matters."