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He doesn't exactly have any pregnant references around to base his first pregnancy on, honestly. The closest person would be Victoria, and even then, she lives in the Netherlands with her puppies. Charles has had as much contact with her as he can, considering the discreet relationship he and Max have so far.
Since they got together, it's been easier to visit Max's family without fear of a big secret being exposed to the media. They never hid everything under lock and key because, in practice, nothing had changed. They always kept their work and personal lives very separate, although, deep down, everything always gets mixed up. The bond was just a realization of something that already existed — not a change.
The short time Charles spent with Victoria before he considered having his own pups was… enlightening. They’ve always gotten along well—she, like a cute little sister, has always had a special fondness for the boy who pushed her brother into a mud puddle. Thank you so much for that, Charles. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to make Max swallow mud and couldn’t. That’s like, I don’t know, omega supremacy!
Deep down, she always knew that Charles was Max's crush, even before they knew their second genders. When Max introduced himself as an alpha, Vic confessed that she hoped Charles was at least a beta.
“You guys already had so many challenges ahead of you… I worried that if you guys met in life—as I thought you were meant to be—and you were an alpha, too… I don’t think it would stop you, honestly, but it would make it so much harder,” she said quietly during an afternoon nap, with Charles snuggled next to little Hailey in their nest. “I’m so sorry you had to come out as an omega. I know how critical Dad was of Max being one, so I can only imagine what you’ve been through.”
She wasn’t entirely wrong. But Charles never felt that being an omega was a bad thing. Unlike Max, he always had a lot of support around him—people who showed him that his second gender was just that. It didn’t define whether he ran slower, or was more aggressive, or unstable. In fact, if it did, it was the opposite. Because omegas have always needed to control their emotions—they always have. Otherwise, they would give the world arguments against them.
You are immature. You are emotional. You are weak.
That's what they said. But to Charles, those words always meant something else:
You are a threat to them. You are restrained. You have something they will never have – something to fight for.
Charles is proud of being an omega, of everything he has achieved. There were days when he felt weak, incapable, immature – but those days were buried and overshadowed by those when he proved himself to be Charles Leclerc. Not the first omega to win a Formula 1 title, nor the last, but the one who did it while rebuilding a team that lived in the shadow of frustration.
Charles loves to acknowledge his own nature, to accept it, with all its possibilities – including the possibility of carrying a child. Something that, deep down, he considered . Perhaps this was the biggest “problem” of being an omega: this ingrained weight on creating a life just for the sake of it. But that didn’t mean he wanted to, either – at least, not always.
Charles never thought he would want to... until Max came along.
In fact, Max has always been there.
And that was when everything became clear: Max was worth it. With Max, everything was worth it. He knew he wouldn't be alone, nor overwhelmed.
Perhaps one of the biggest fears was this: wanting this with someone and that person not wanting it. Or worse: not being a partner enough to face everything with him.
Max is different. Always has been.
Charles loves him. And he loves what they have together. He loves what they will have together too. Just as he loves being the omega that he is.
What he doesn't love that much are the pregnancy symptoms.
I mean, Charles is pretty new inside this word, but–
Fucking hell! Back pain? Serious? In what ideal world would Charles Leclerc, a professional athlete with extremely high performance and an excellent quality of life, be forced to wake up every single day with something as pathetically banal as back pain? Pathetic.
( Okay , he uses this to his advantage, forcing Max to lie down with him on the couch — backs pressed together, soft body, blanket, complete nest — to watch whatever classic movie Charles feels like ( cough-cough Titanic cough-cough ). And, well – Max can't complain. He's not the one who's pregnant, hah . Charles gets a free pass, haha . There will be no Verstappen domination in this apartment for the next nine months — not that there was before, but hey .)
Morning sickness? Deal with it. It's horrible, yes. The bitter taste in your mouth as soon as you wake up is awful, but you've already created a ritual: take a deep breath, get out of bed slowly and, with luck , have a decent morning.
But the worst part of all is his consistency on being, uh, weird about food sicne he can only eat things with… honey.
Everything with honey. Anything with honey. Just... add a little spoonful here and there, and watch the magic. A diet nightmare. He knows that too much of anything is bad. But can you blame an omega for cravings?
It's strange. Very strange. Funny, even. Because Charles was never a sugar-sweet-candy-whatever person. He never liked sweets. And he definitely never liked honey. The ant in the relationship has always been Max.
So, of course, one day at breakfast, while Charles snacks on some green grapes without any enthusiasm, Max is nearby, enjoying his bowl of fruit with granola and… lots of honey .
Charles's mouth spits.
Okay . This is how it starts, then.
He leans back in his chair, looking at Max.
“Can I have some?”
Max looks up from his phone and frowns.
“There is honey.”
Well, well, we have a Sherlock Holmes here, folks.
“I’m just not a fan, but…” Charles swallows. “Can I try it?”
Max looks at him suspiciously, but doesn't insist. It's a miracle that Charles wants to eat something other than grapes or tea. He spears a piece of banana on his fork and holds it out.
Charles hesitates, smiles guiltily, and declines with a gentle gesture.
Max frowns even more, eats the banana himself and takes a strawberry, offering it again. And—
“Actually…” Charles interrupts with a smile. “I want the kiwi.”
Max blinks. “You hate kiwi, love.”
“Give me the damn fruit, Max, please.”
Charles is a little impatient too. Details, details.
Max laughs, offers the generous piece of honey-dipped kiwi and Charles takes a bite.
He purrs contentedly as the flavor invades his palate. It's exactly everything he could wish for. With a wide smile and dimples deepening in his cheeks, he blinks slowly at Max.
His alpha is a goofball and laughs, because there's nothing else to do, before pushing the rest of the kiwis towards Charles, happy to sacrifice his own breakfast for a noble cause: the well-being of his omega and the peace of mind of the members of this household for the rest of the morning (cats included in the bill).
Pregnancy cravings shouldn't be challenged, right? Although… well .
Kiwi with honey? Acceptable.
Cheese with honey? Common in some countries.
Toast with honey? Interesting.
Scrambled eggs with honey? Here Charles knows something seems off.
But–
“Are you putting honey… in the lasagna ?”
Max, at this point in the game — after all the weird combinations Charles has had with honey — well, he should be used to it. Right? Wrong.
“Charles, what is this?”
“I'm just experimenting.”
“Schatje, that is completely questionable.”
“But I feel like it.”
Max narrows his eyes, half laughing. “It’s just that this one is a bit, uh… peculiar, isn’t it?”
Charles pouts, wilts in place, and drops his fork, pushing his plate away with a sullen sigh.
“I don’t want it anymore.”
He knows he's being dramatic.
But, oh boy, the lasagna is there, bubbling and golden, smelling so delicious, and practically whispering his name.
But it also whispers honey, honey.
Sitting at the table, he crosses his arms, the plate pushed away as if it were something terrible – like a tomato or something like it. Awful, awful. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Max hesitate in the kitchen before approaching, step by step, like someone trying to calm an angry cat.
“You… know I was joking, right?” Max asks uncertainty, stopping beside the chair. “Charlie, I swear I was just messing with you, babe.”
Charles continues to pout, letting out an Oscar-worthy sniffle. Honestly, Max is lucky—if this were three days ago, there would have been tears involved. Real dramatic ones, with hiccups and everything.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I promise I’ll never criticize your peculiar food choices again… unless they’re life-threatening.”
Charles snorts theatrically, his eyes fixed on the plate still out of reach. He just wanted to try some nigiri with honey, of course. Nothing more. It wasn't even that absurd. But yeah, o kay , maybe raw fish with honey was a bit out of consideration. Totally reasonable. Limits exist, Charles respects them. Most of the time.
“Please, lief , eat your meal. I promise I was joking.”
Charles casts a glance, as if measuring someone's sincerity with an invisible scale. He then pulls the plate back slowly, with wounded dignity. He cuts a piece of lasagna, adds another good spoonful of honey — out of rebellion, perhaps — and then takes the forkful to his mouth.
And-
By the gods.
It's wonderful .
Perhaps a crime against Italy? Yes. But a delicious crime.
And the face Max makes when he sees Charles rolling his eyes in pleasure? Priceless .
Charles chews slowly, making sure to enjoy every second. And because he can , he offers a tiny piece—almost symbolic, because he's not going to waste a lot of lasagna on Max just for a lesson.
“Try it.”
Max’s eyes widen. “Charles, I swear I won’t tease you anymore, schat. I’m done. I swear .”
“Try it, Max.”
“I don’t like sweet and salty like that, I—”
“Max Emilian. ”
The alpha lets out a low groan, picks up his fork, and stares at the tiny piece as if it were poison. He takes a bite reluctantly and chews like someone serving a sentence.
Then his expression relaxes.
“Oh,” he murmurs. “It’s not horrible, just… not as bad as I thought.”
Charles arches an eyebrow. “My pregnant palate is just misunderstood, you see?”
Max points an accusing finger. “You’re a menace. That’s what I see.”
Charles smiles sweetly. “I know, mon cheri . And you’ll soon have a mini-me to deal with, huh? ”
Later, when Charles is rummaging through the fridge for the umpteenth time, Max wraps his arms around him from behind in a slow hug, resting his chin on his shoulder and leaving a light kiss near the mating mark.
“You know what I was thinking?” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep and affection.
“Tell me.”
“Can I call them bees ? Since they're so into honey...”
Charles chuckles softly, leaning his head against Max's neck.
“I think I can agree with that cute nickname.”
A comfortable silence settles between them for a second. Then, as if he can't keep an inside joke in for too long, Charles begins to hum softly as he turns to face his alpha.
Max frowns as he recognizes the melody.
“Oh no. No. Not that song. Charles, for God’s sake, that song is so catchy—”
“Sugar!” Charles says, loud and completely off-key.
“Charlie, no… it’s going to stick in my head!”
“Oh honey, honey,” he sings even louder, excitedly, even doing a ridiculous little dance with his shoulders.
“My God, I don’t know how—”
“You are my candy girl!” Charles sings, pulling the final cadence with desire, eyes shining with provocation.
Max rolls his eyes, mock-sulking. Charles just stares at him expectantly, smiling in a way that exposes his dimples—his secret weapon.
The alpha sighs in defeat, and pulls his mate affectionately until their bodies are touching.
“And you got me wanting you…” he murmurs against Charles’s mouth, who smiles against Max's lips.
Cute, strange, in love. In their own way, made for each other – like lasagna with honey.