#lestappen is every where for the eyes to see

[omegalerc]

i got tagged by oomf @lestappen-on-top to do a fav movie gif challenge and im taking this opportunity to wake everybody up to all my lestappen visions

[vivwritesfics]

Drive Me Crazy

Chapter Three

None of you are used to pack dynamics. Unlike then, it made you near feral. There's nothing more they want than to build you back up.

Lestappen X Reader

Series Masterlist

It all happened so fast. Max grabbed a hold of Charles and pulled him away from you, as your handler grabbed the back of your shirt and pulled you away. A good thing, too. Your teeth were bared at him, ready to bite down on any inch of skin you could reach.

The muzzle was fastened over your mouth, keeping every body else safe from you. "Huh," Charles said as he struggled out of Max's grip. He looked at you, at the way your expression changed the minute the muzzle was back over your face. Eyes wide, expression guilty as you stared at him.

I'm sorry, you wanted to choke out. But you couldn't. Instead a whimper left your lips as you tried to beg for some sort of forgiveness. But Max (Max fucking Verstappen! But you could freak out about that later) stepped between you. The look he gave you was enough to shut you up.

"Come on," said your handler as she pushed you through the garage. You couldn't stop yourself from looking guilty as engineers and mechanics stared at you. They'd seen what had just happened, there was no doubt in your mind. Your gaze fell to the floor, unable to look any of them in the mind.

There was your car, your F1 car. Your status as reserve driver had been kept quiet, your seat fitted and the car set up to your liking. Your number sat on the car, number fifty-three. It was real. It was really, really real.

They were still watching you. They watched as you touched the numbers on your car, as you climbed your way inside of it and sat in your seat.

"How does it feel?" Your handler asked, leaning over the halo.

You nodded as you looked up at her. Good. It felt good. It felt right. As soon as this part of your life was over, you could finally be done.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Max pushed Charles through the garage. Through the garage and out the other side. Your focus fell back onto the steering wheel in front of you and you mimicked a lap around the circuit.

You didn't know that Max was pushing Charles into his drivers room. You didn't know just how angry he was with Charles. But you did hear as Max slammed the door shut.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Max roared, his expression furious.

Charles didn't cower at his anger. They were long past the days where Max's wrath would have his retreating to safety. "You saw her, right?" He asked and glanced at the door. "You saw how much she needs me."

"Needs you? Charlie, she went to attack you! She doesn't need you."

But Charles shook his head. "She needs me in the way you needed me, Max. She's what you would have become if you didn't let me in."

"She's dangerous."

Charles's hands were on his cheeks, holding his face. "So were you." He didn't let Max drop his chin to his chest and kissed him slowly. "What if I can help her in the way I helped you? Shouldn't I try?"

Max placed his hands over Charles's. His cold hands, cold from the can of Red Bull he had finished before he marched over, against Charles's warmer ones. "Not if it puts you in danger," he whispered, his eyes pleading. "Charles, I..."

But he couldn't say it.

"Come on," Charles said and let his hands slip away from Charles's face. "I can't top your speed in practice if you're sulking in here," he whispered and kissed Max once more.

As they walked back through the garage (Max continuing on to the Red Bull garage), there you were. Your helmet, Ferrari red and covered in sponsors, nothing personal about it, sat on your head. Acting as a muzzle, Charles realised when he looked at you.

His leg jolted, but he stopped himself from walking over to you. No, not yet. Not after what had just happened. He gave you a smile and you flipped up the visor, letting him see your eyes.

Charles got himself ready to climb into the car. All the time he wasn't wearing his helmet, he was looking at you, watching you. You, in your fireproofs, with your overalls around your hips. It suited you, everything but the helmet. The helmet looked too corporate.

You needed something personal, a design all your own.

"Tell me how she does," Charles said to Bryan before he pulled his helmet over his head.

Bryan passed him his gloves. "You worry about your own drive, okay?" He said and Charles focused his eyes forward.

Formula One was nothing like Formula Two. Everybody on the grid had forgotten it, even if they had all been in the series at some point. Most before it was called Formula Two, back when it was GP2.

There had been little preparation for your transition into Formula One. It wasn't supposed to happen yet, you were supposed to have more time. But then Carlos went and broke his damn leg and here you were.

If only he wasn't human, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation.

Your first lap was, well, terrifying. More than once you wanted to stop the car, jump out and dry heave onto the gravel. Nothing would come up, that you knew. But you kept going, keeping out of the way when the McLaren's came past.

First practice isn't about being the fastest, you told yourself.

"Next lap go," your engineer said, as if you were a dog he had taught a trick to. You gritted your teeth as you took the last corner. And then, you went for it.

It wasn't about topping the times, about being the fastest on track. It wouldn't be for you this weekend, anyway. This weekend was about getting a feel for the car you'd spend the next few weeks in. It was about bringing the car back to the garage in one piece. You didn't need to worry about scoring points or helping the team in the constructors, not this week.

But that was all you were thinking about.

Gotta go fast. Gotta score points. Gotta go fast. Gotta score points. Gotta go fast. Gotta score points. Gotta go fast. Gotta score points.

The lap felt good. Not fast, but good. But that wasn't enough, not for you. Your engineer said something, something that was met with a snarl as you went again.

"Come into the pits on this lap!" Your engineer was shouting. "Box fucking box!"

Box box. You knew that phrase, even when you weren't thinking right. But the lap was good. You couldn't abandon it, not now. "Box box, beastie."

Slamming on the brakes, you swerved into the pitlane. A dangerous move, one that would definitely see you penalised. You pitted and the car was pushed back into the garage.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Your engineer roared as he marched over to you. He gripped the halo are he stared down at you.

You were still, chest heaving as you waited to be told what to do. Waiting for your handler to come over and give you instructions. Eyes set forward, watching as Charles pulled into the pit. He wasn't there for very long, a minute at most, before he was making his way back onto the track.

"Beastie," your handler said, grabbing your attention. You looked up. Well, looked up as much as you could in the car. "Listen to your engineer. No more driving like that, okay?"

She said it so gently that you found yourself attempting to nod. Just wanting to make her happy, to make her proud of you. Her hand was suddenly on top of your helmet. "You know what happens if you disobey."

Your eyes were still focused forward and you nodded again. You weren't going to disobey again. You wouldn't dare.

When she patted your helmet, you shut your eyes. That was close to what would happen, close enough to have you moving away.

"Get back out there," she said and moved away from you. You drove out of the garage, down the pitlane and out onto the track.

You did what your engineer told you. Did a push lap when you were told and cooled down when you had to. Of course, you didn't see the wave Charles gave you when you went past, couldn't hear as he asked about you on the radio.

"How is she doing?" He asked Bryan.

"She's doing good, Charles, but concentrate on your own drive, please."

You were doing good, that was all Charles needed to know.

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[verstappen-cult]

Hi Gwen, I really like your story. Can I ask for a lestappen x reader where they are going out together (shopping or date). Then when Max and Charles leave them for a bit, someone tries to hit on the reader but she's oblivious about it? Thank you!

“You think this would fit me?” You ask Charles, blue dress in hand. “But I want it in green.” Your boyfriend didn’t even have a chance to answer before you turned around, looking for something else. 

“I like how blue looks on you.” Max says, sitting next to an annoyed Charles. 

You’ve been shopping for the upcoming trip you’ve planned for summer break. They were excited to come with you at first, even though you insisted on going alone, so now they have a choice but to follow you around until you find everything you need. 

“That’s just because blue it’s your team color.” Charles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “She looks prettier in Ferrari red.”

“Can you stop being so whiny?” Charles sticks his tongue out, leaning against Max. 

“Why don’t we go for something to drink, uh?” Your boyfriend says, wrapping an arm around the Monégasque’s shoulders. “Will you be okay?” 

“Can you get me an Iced Latte, please?” You look at him beneath your lashes as he stands up, dragging Charles with him. 

You decide to try on the blue dress just because Max likes it when you wear blue clothes. On your way to the changing room you spot a red strapless top and you grab it too. Making them happy is that easy. 

In the end, you like both items and there’s no doubt you’ll buy them, but you still want the dress in green. As you get out of the changing room, wanting to ask a saleslady if they have it in other colors, you bump into a young man which causes you to drop the clothes onto the floor. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” You’re quick to apologize. The stranger looks up from his cellphone, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. However, once he sees you, his expression relaxes and a smirk appears on his face. 

“Don’t worry. It was my fault, I was looking at my phone.” He crouches down in front of you, picking up the clothes. He scans the items very carefully before giving them back to you. “Good choice.”

“Thank you, I really like them.” You say, happy that someone thinks they’re pretty. Maybe he’ll buy them for his girlfriend too. 

“I’m sure you’ll look hot in that dress.”

You don’t know what to say or how to react. Most times you ignore what men say to you, other times you thank them when they have good intentions or you know they're fans that respect you. But this man doesn't give you good vibes, not with the way he’s smiling at you with his eyes running over every curve in your body. 

He takes a step closer, and you want to throw up. What kind of perfume is he using? 

“You can use it on our date.” He says it with so much confidence you want to laugh in his face, but you don’t do it because that wouldn’t be very wise of you. However, you still hear someone laughing behind you. 

You don’t have to turn around to see who it is, you can recognize that laugh anywhere. 

“Who told you she wants to go out with you?” You feel Max’s warm body behind you, his hand finding your waist in a very possessive way.

Charles keeps laughing, which is drawing the attention of everyone in the shop. 

“I’m sorry,” He says, wiping imaginary tears as he stands next to Max. “Does that really work out for you? Because it’s awful, mate.”

“You should really think about changing the way you approach women.” Max’s voice is dripping with venom, and you instinctively lean closer. 

“Waiting for them outside the changing room, really? Pretending to not see her?” Charles is not laughing anymore, he looks pissed. “She’s taken, by the way.”

The stranger looks between Charles and Max, recognition crossing his features. 

“I’m so sorry!” He apologizes, his whole attitude changing in a minute. “I wouldn’t dream of hitting on your girlfriend. Never.”

Max laughs, but ignores him. “Are you done, schatje?” 

“Yes, but I was trying to ask someone if they have it in green when… well.”

“Let’s go see, then.” Max gives you a pat on your ass, making you giggle and walk away from the still very shocked guy. 

“Oh,” Charles says, making you and Max turn around to see what’s happening. He’s a few feet away from the stranger, walking in your direction but looking at the man standing right where you left him. “Think about changing your perfume too. You stink.”

[adventuringblind]

Baby Daddy

Lestappen x Reader

Genre: Smut

Request: Yes and I did this happily because it came from the best (Would have been happy either way but that just makes it better)

summary: Charles and Max decided to see who can get reader knocked up first.

Warnings: Breeding kink, PinV, vomiting, double penetration, teasing, praising+degrading

Notes: The author liked this one. The author will now be jumping in holy water.

masterlist

The following media is not intended for minors. Please don't interact if you're under the age of 18.

She wasn’t sure how the conversation started. She knew both boys wanted to start a family, and she was in the height of a baby fever that she can’t escape from. So, asking about it made sense.

Not that they were mad. Of course not. They just couldn’t decided who would be the one to be the biological father.

“I think we should make it a competition.” Max’s smug face makes her pale. It’s never a good sign when he brings up that word.

“Winner gets to choose the order of out last names.” Charles demands. Another argument they’d been having recently.

“What about me?! I’m the one who’s carrying the baby!”

“You can choose where yours goes no matter who wins.”

“Sounds fair to me.” She smiles with satisfaction. At least she knows there is an ungodly amount of good sex coming her way.

~

Three months of trying. She was sore after every race. not for the reasons of her lovers. But because of what they to do her. their competitive spits had yet to falter. Much to her benefit and pleasure.

Six months of trying and she was starting to lose confidence in herself. Her doctor said she’s fine, but it doesn’t stop the stupid thoughts because all three of them want this entirely to much.

A year and she’s given up on thinking about it. They are obviously still trying, but it’s not something that she talks about much anymore. She knows that it takes longer for some and she’s okay with that. She just avoids the subject as much as possible.

~

The night Max wins his second championship title is about how’d you expect it to be. Except for the part where him and Charles are in the corner with the tiniest bit of alcohol in their drinks.

They eye her in that stupid dress she knows they love, dancing rather suggestively with Kika and Lily. She’d been staying away from alcohol as of late so they know she’s not even close to tipsy. Yet the look on her face as she dances could make anyone think she was.

‘I think we should get out of here before we do something stupid.” Suggests Charles without breaking his gaze.

“Like what?”

“Take here right here and now.”

The boys startle her as they drag her away from her friends. She hardly even registers they are in the car going to the hotel. “Did I do something wrong?” The sincerity in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Max leans down to whisper in her ear. “Just thinking about getting this dress off of you."

Charles runs his fingers along her thighs, causing her to shiver. His mouth finds the crook of her neck and lays gentle kisses down to her collar bone.

She feels for the taxi driver. The poor man is subjected to whatever is happening in his back seat.

"Gonna take you home and put a baby in you." The Monegasque moans into her skin. It was making her feel in a way that had her squeezing her legs together.

They continued riling her up the entire way back to their hotel room. Even getting hands in the elevator and in the hall, which was thankfully empty.

Max gets the door to the room open. Then, the two males waste no time litterally ripping the dress off of her. Her clothes are gone in seconds.

Their hands are everywhere she doesn't want them. She's left squirming beneath their hold. Pinned to the bed in a way that leaves her more vulnerable. Every peice of herself exposed to them.

And they know exactly what they're doing.

Max runs a single finger over her slit. "Look, Charlie, I think she wanted this."

"Already so wet for us chéri." Charles moves from where he was attacking her neck down to her tits and attacks them instead. His tongue doing a number on the sensitive area.

Max slips a finger inside of her. To slow for her liking. She tries to buck her hips to get more friction only for Max's unoccupied hand to put more wait on her hips. "This is what you get for teasing us in that dress."

"Mm Maxy, think about how she'd look in the dress all swollen with our child." Charles hands barey touch her stomach, and yet it still has her back arching.

Max jumps off of her and is immediately pulling Charles up with him. He gives her a pointed look and tells her to stay.

And then their hands explore each other. Peeling each piece of clothing off the other in record time.

"If you're trying to get me to cum now to you have an advantage, it's nit going to work." Charles says as Max rolls his eyes and stops any movement he was making.

"I have an idea." Max mumbles.

"That's never a good sign."

"Well fine! I guess you don't want to hear how we could make this even."

The female looks between the two bickering and is interested in what he has to say. But also scared. Scared the she won't be able to walk for a week.

And she's right because soon enough, she is lying back against Charles with his cock inside of her. She can't stop moaning as Max leans over the top of them.

Even. She officially hates that word. And yet here she is being turned on by the fact that both boys will be inside her at the same time. Fingers crossed, they don't rip her open in the process.

"You sure you wanna try this?" Max looks at her for approval, and even with her initial fear, she knows they would never hurt her.

"Just go slow, please."

Max starts slow. Charles bites into her shoulder at the friction of her and Max. She can feel all of his muscles tensing underneath her as Max takes his sweet time pushing into her.

It hurts. She knows it won't in a couple of minutes. But right now, the stretch if it all burns like white hot fire.

When both are in her, they take care to help her relax until her body adjusts to the size. They wipe away her tears as she sinks into their hold.

"So good for us, amour. Taking both of us so beautifully." Charles exhales a breathy moan as if to further prove his point.

"Fuck schat, you look so pretty taking us so well."

And then everything went fuzzy. The friction of the two males was too much. Moving in and out in tandem; perfectly in sync with each other. Her thoughts seemed to be replaced only with them. Their breathing, the sounds, the feeling of skin on skin.

"Dobyou want it, schat? You want us to put a baby in you?"

She can't actually speak properly, but there is definitely a yes that can be heard in her moans.

Their praises are only pushing her closer to her breaking point. "I'm- please- I can't."

She doesn't even have time to warn them. She can't warn them. She can't hear them either. Her nails are buried in their skin.

They spill into her simultaneously. Their bodies are perfectly connected with each other. It feels overwhelming and terribly beautiful. The feeling of them spilling inside of her at the same time.

When they come down from the high is the hard part. Max slides out first, and Charles follows, slowly and gently. They collapse in a heap of exhaustion. The emotional tie and physical tie completely took their energy.

"Do you think maybe this time...?" She trails. Her question weighs on them.

"In time, mon amour. We'll still be here even if it's not."

~

Summer break is a time to recuperate. The three of you are on summer vacation, spending time together on the beach.

That night had been a month a half ago. The female had yet to realize she was late to her cycle. Opting to ignore it and assume she's just messed up for some reason.

The second to last morning of their trip, she woke up feeling absolutely terrible.

She snuck out of bed as quickly as she could without waking the boys who are much heavier sleepers than her anyway.

The nausea feeling was overpowering, and it didn't matter how stealthy she was. They woke up to the sound of her spilling the contents of her stomach.

And then every day after the the point everyone is concerned.

Two months and still no period, she finds herself at the doctors. The boys are back to racing, but with her state, she decided to stay in Monaco.

A decision she was now regretting while having the test from the doctor in her hands.

She is definitely pregnant this time. The paper in her hands says it clear as day.

It is only Friday. She has time to get out to the race to surprise them. And with that idea floating in her head, she calls Pascale.

~

Her and Pascale arrived to the track fifteen minutes into the race. The older woman is making a fuss over her as she tries to jog to the redbull garage. She was in Ferrari last time, and Redbull is closer to her anyway.

Pascale shakes her head as she watches the female slip into hospitality.

~

Max and Charles both made podium. She was absolutely ecstatic and even more so that Christian helped her get to where they would park.

They didn't notice her at first, even doing a double take at her and then each other. Then, with their helmets off, they ran to great her.

Their smiles were so big that she thought they might fall off.

They both attempted to embrace her through the divider, and she was able to slip her test results into the hand of Charles.

They looked at her skeptically before once again, having to leave her.

It wasn't until the cooldown room that they had a chance to look. Charles tentatively unfolds the paper and holds it out on front of him and Max.

The cameras got a lovely picture of the two hugging very tightly despite being 'rivals', and the happy tears from Charles could be made out even through the sweat.

Did it have people looking at the scene a little funny? Yes. She could hear the gasps of disapproval, but she didn't care. The teams know already and gave them the go-ahead over a year ago to make the relationship public.

She watches them with love and adoration.

~

"Definitely mine."

"No way! The baby will look like me!"

She rolls her eyes at the two. "Does it matter?" They look at her with mouths agape.

She is actively holding the paper that determines who wins. The paper that will tell them who the biological father is.

And she rips it.

Because no matter what, they are a family. The boys are looking at her endearingly despite the fact that she just took away their results. Because it doesn't matter. They are making their own little family and they couldn't be happier.

So, the argument of the last name order continues one.

[leclerced]

need some max rubbing just the head of his cock against his girl (who just so happens to be a virgin) and it makes him cum so hard because no one else gets to have her like that and she just looks so pretty holding onto him for dear life

ive been reading this lestappen big dick max fic all morning and i havent checked my inbox until now, but now that i have im just thinking about virgin!reader and big dick max and her truly not expecting it or knowing what to do with it when she sees it for the first time. internally cursing herself because of course he has a big dick. she should have dated a normal guy, like her friends who complain about the size of their boyfriends or hookups dicks.

he’d sit on his knees and have her on her back with her thighs resting over his, he’s holding her waist with one hand and stroking his cock with the other as he rubs it against her. she’s got one hand on his bicep and the other on his knee, squeezing or digging her nails in every so often. he’s so reassuring, telling her how pretty she looks and how good she feels against him. her eyes get all glazed over as she watches, mouth falling open dumbly as she tries to imagine him fucking her, one hand drifting to her stomach where she’s sure she’d feel his cock if it were in her. he’s practically fucking his hand and pretending it’s her cunt, rolling his hips into his fist and against her pussy with every stroke. his favorite thing is when she comes and he presses the head of his cock inside and he can feel her pulsating as she writhes underneath him. he wouldn’t have realized he’s very into come play until he’s constantly spilling across her pussy and rubbing against it until she’s whimpering from overstimulation.

[loquarocoeur]

PLEASE make a list. For research purposes ofc🫶 (to further my obsession with yoursverse lestappen)

Sighs dreamily

Just off the top of my head this morning, I'll say some Max-isms that Charles finds cute are:

• Smacking/kicking/elbowing Charles every two minutes when Charles says something stupid, but it's so gentle it wouldn't hurt a fly

• Him saying 'Charles' at the end of every second sentence for no reason other than just to say it

• His lying voice

• His 'I'm so done with Charles' voice

• His embarrassed voice

• His voice in general

• The way he says his S's and T's and R's

• How much of a typical boy Max is

• Him being obsessed with video games

• Him checking out his own biceps in mirrors when he thinks Charles can't see him

• Him not knowing how to decorate/interior design to save his life

• Him not being able to put together a decent outfit that isn't red bull shirt and jeans to save his life

• Him not knowing what SPF is and not believing in skin care and hair routines even though he lets Charles do it for him and hasn't bought 2 in 1 again

• His wrinkly forehead when he's confused

• The crinkles at the corners of his eyes!!!

• His beauty spots, especially the top lip one

• His tendency to speak before he thinks, so even if his face wasn't expressive enough to be an open book Charles hardly ever has to wonder what he's feeling

• His tendency to hide his face in his hands when he's laughing

• Also his tendency to hide his face in whatever part of Charles he can reach when he's embarrassed

• Or how he sometimes just smacks his forehead into Charles' shoulder when he's done with Charles' antics, but he'll let them happen anyway

• Max's talent for finding things in life to be mad about

• How much Max laughs and smiles without even noticing

• How much Max is obsessed with kinder chocolates, tomato soup and carpaccio, like he will eat anything, but it's like his eyes are magnetically locked onto tomato soup and carpaccio on the menu at literally every restaurant, you can physically see when Max found it as an option and there's no hope of him eating anything else

• His love/need for forehead kisses

• The override button he has for being embarrassed to talk about his feelings whenever Charles is even the tiniest bit upset

• All the ways he tries to coax the cats into giving him attention when they just want to live their lives

• His insistence that Leo is Charles' dog and Charles' responsibility, but he keeps finding Max cuddling him where he thought Charles wouldn't catch him or teaching him new tricks which isn't working because Charles is feeding all the pets too many treats for them to still work as a reward system

• His panic response when Charles starts crying for literally any reason including sad movies, honestly even happy ending movies, any kind of tears just give him a panic oh god how do i fix it response

• Max always feeling the need to explain to Charles again that he does hate the crying, but he also doesn't want Charles not to cry because he's allowed to have all his feelings

• T-Rex typing

• His innocent look when he's trying to pretend he has no idea what Charles is talking about when he wants to start a conversation Max won't like

• The thin layer of fat Max never loses over his stomach. He likes it especially in the off season when Max gets to eat lots of chocolates and things

Idk, there are probably loads more, maybe I'll keep a list in my notes app

[1425fivefive]

please you don’t wanna know what i would do for a lestappen fic, max has a pussy and charles denying him, humiliating him. i am on my hands and knees 🥲 if you choose to write this, thank you otherwise thank you anyway for your gift to the community

anon, you made a really, really good case. lestappen feat. mostly denial with light humiliation! (for the kink prompt asks)

Charles loves when he gets to take his time with Max.

Most of the time, they fuck in hotel rooms or in stolen moments in their flats in Monaco, everything crammed between races and testing and press duties. But winter break feels different. Charles gets to spread Max out on their bed and enjoy taking Max apart, bit by bit, until Max is sobbing and trembling and begging to come, every bit of him flushed a bright, gorgeous pink.

Sometimes Charles is in the mood to let Max come. Sometimes he isn’t. He never lets Max know until the very end.

Usually, Charles knows what he plans to do. Whether he’ll let Max come in the end. But today he can’t decide, can’t work out whether he’d prefer to see Max begging and desperate or soft and sated. Charles figures he’ll know what he wants when the time comes.

“Charles,” Max whines, and Charles can’t help but laugh at the desperate look on Max’s face. They’ve barely even started.

Max’s hands are cuffed, arms stretched above him, cuffs hooked to the headboard. There are clamps on each of his nipples, pushing the rosy buds out from his chest, sensitive and tender, easy for Charles to tease. There’s a third clamp on Max’s clit and he’s so pink and swollen that it makes Charles’s mouth water every time he catches sight of it. Makes Charles want to eat Max out until he cries, until he begs Charles to stop licking him or he’ll come. That’s Charles’s favorite part. When Max proves exactly how desperately he wants to be good.

The best part of the whole set-up, though, in Charles’s opinion, is the spreader bar attached to Max’s ankles, keeping him from closing his legs. Like this, Max can’t get away from anything Charles wants to do to him.

Charles is still in his clothes, a loose button down and trousers. He prefers it like this, Max naked and on display, Charles pretending to be above it all.

“What should I do with you?” Charles murmurs, eyes dragging over Max’s body. He steps to the edge of the bed and gives a flick to the clamp on Max’s clit, grinning when Max’s mouth drops open, when Max’s legs desperately try to close, straining uselessly against the bar.

“Perhaps I will just leave you like this,” Charles says, delighted when Max’s eyes well with tears. “Let you squirm and cry and think about how desperate you are, how sensitive your pretty clit is.” Charles gives the clamp another flick, just for fun.

Max flinches, lip quivering, a tear slipping down his cheek.

“Crying already,” Charles says, walking around the bed to where he can flick Max’s nipples, smiling when another tear slips free. “You really must be desperate tonight.”

Max whimpers, nods, tugging against the restraints.

Charles lets him struggle. Lets him wear himself out while Charles walks back to the foot of the bed.

Charles grabs hold of the spreader bar and tugs it up, pushing it back toward Max’s chest, shoving his knees back, thighs up, revealing his dripping cunt, the plug Charles pushed inside of him earlier today still sitting snugly in his arsehole.

“Charles,” Max gasps, feet twisting like he’s trying desperately to pull himself free, hide himself from Charles’s gaze.

“What?” Charles asks, eyes fixed on Max’s cunt. “I like looking at pretty things.”

Max moans, long and low, pussy clenching under Charles’s hungry gaze. Charles gets an idea, one he knows Max will hate and love in equal measure.

“It’s a shame, really, that I won’t be fucking it tonight,” Charles says calmly, eyes flashing up to Max’s.

Charles sees Max process his words in real time, sees the realization dawn, the devastated look on Max’s face, the hitching sob.

“But if you beg prettily enough,” Charles continues, bringing his free hand down to toy with the plug in Max’s arse, “maybe I’ll fuck you here.”

Max whimpers, and Charles know he must be heartbroken to find out that Charles won’t be fucking his pussy. That he’ll have to keep feeling empty and achy and needy, cunt dripping pointlessly onto the sheets while Charles fucks his arse. Max can’t get anywhere close to coming from having his arse fucked. It’s why Charles enjoys doing it so much.

But Max takes a shaky breath and says, “Please.”

“Max,” Charles says with a laugh, landing a sharp smack on the back of Max’s thigh, right where it meets Max’s arse, “we both know you can do better than that.”

Max whimpers, even as Charles watches his pussy get wetter, his clit throb with arousal.

“Come on, Max,” Charles murmurs, ghosting his thumb over Max’s clit, the barest hint of a touch, only enough to torment Max. “Beg.”

“Please,” Max moans, looking up at Charles with a desperate expression. “Please fuck my arse, Charles, please.”

Charles groans, cock hardening. He brings his hand down to play with the plug again, pulling it out just enough to watch Max’s rim start to stretch.

“Your arse?” Charles asks, pushing the plug back in, watching Max’s hole swallow it greedily. “You’re sure you do not want me to fuck your pussy?”

He looks up at Max, laughing when he finds Max glaring at him.

“Careful, Max,” Charles murmurs. “I can still leave you like this.”

Max whimpers, brow going slack. “Please,” Max whispers. “Please fuck my arse, Charles. Need it.”

“Good boy,” Charles breathes. His cock is aching in his trousers. He worries he might come the second he gets inside Max, but he reckons Max probably won’t mind. That it’ll only make him feel even needier.

Charles walks around to the headboard and unhooks Max’s cuffs, dragging them forward to hook onto the spreader bar instead. Like this, Max’s legs are pulled back, keeping him spread and open for Charles, leaving Charles’s hands free to wander.

Charles sheds his clothes on the way back to the foot of the bed, smiling to himself when Max moans at the sight of Charles’s cock.

“God, Max,” Charles moans, taking in the sight of Max like this, nipples and clit clamped and swollen, pussy dripping, unable to move an inch. Charles still can’t quite believe Max lets Charles do this to him. That Max wants Charles to do this to him.

Charles ducks down, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Max’s thigh, and he can’t resist breathing a quick, “I love you.”

Max’s eyes soften. “Love you, Charles.”

Heat flares in Charles’s belly, but he stands up and focuses, focuses on making this good for Max. Or bad, depending on one’s perspective.

Charles tugs Max to the edge of the bed, lining him up with Charles’s cock. When Charles pulls the plug free, Max moans, rim clenching, trying and failing to close.

Charles can’t resist dragging a thumb over Max’s stretched rim and saying, “Try to close for me, baby.”

Max tries, fails, stretched too wide for too long by the plug.

“Fuck,” Charles groans. “Such a fucking slut, Max. Look at how loose you are, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.” Charles presses the tip of his thumb in, the slide easy. “I wonder if I will even be able to feel anything.”

Max sobs at that, chest flushing.

“You will have to work very hard for me, Max,” Charles says. “Try to make it good, yes?”

Max nods frantically and Charles watches his hole clench, only able to close a bit despite Max’s best efforts.

Charles lets out a mocking laugh. “Perhaps it is impossible. Perhaps it is not worth my time.” Charles squirts a bit of lube into his hand, starting to stroke himself showily, ignoring Max’s noises of protest. “Maybe I will come like this instead,” Charles muses, thumbing over the head of his cock. “Get myself off and see how good your pretty pussy looks covered in my come.”

“No,” Max gasps, pulling helplessly against the restraints, staring up at Charles with eyes dark with desperation. “No, please, Charles, please fuck me.” He shuts his eyes, takes a shuddering breath. “I can make it good, I promise.”

“You promise, yes?” Charles asks.

Max’s eyes fly open and he nods, head flying up and down. “Yes,” Max says. “Yes, Charles, yes, I’ll be so good, so good for you, I promise. I’ll make it so tight, please, please, please.”

Charles moans, has to squeeze the head of his cock tight to keep from coming.

“Okay,” Charles says, pretending like fucking Max’s gorgeous arse is a burden. “Remember your promise, yes?”

Max whimpers, nods.

Charles starts to push in, but he notices the clamp on Max’s clit and realizes Max might come if Charles leaves it on, the bounce of the clamp as Charles fucks him potentially enough to push him over.

When Charles reaches for the clamp, Max lets out a sob. “No, Charles, please, don’t take it off.”

“Ah,” Charles says, grinning, hand hovering above the clamp. “You want to come.”

Charles sees panic flash across Max’s face as Max realizes the mistake he’s made, revealing how badly he wants to come. It only makes Charles want to deny him more.

“Don't try to lie, Max,” Charles continues. “It is very obvious you want to come.”

Max moans, face and neck flushing.

“Who decides when you come?” Charles asks.

Max whimpers, but he says, “You.”

“Yes, good boy.” Charles pinches the clamp between his fingers. “And if I say you don’t get to come”—Charles tugs the clamp free—“you are not coming.”

Tears flow freely down Max’s face as Charles tosses the clamp onto the sheets, taking takes away Max’s last hope of coming. As Max processes that Charles is going to fuck his arse with nothing touching his pussy or clit, that Charles is going to leave Max dripping and oversensitive and desperate.

With that, Charles plants his hands on the backs of Max’s spread thighs and pushes into Max’s arse.

To Max’s credit, he tries to make it tight even as he lets out devastated little whimpers, tears still slipping down his cheeks.

Charles fucks him deep and slow, avoiding anything brushing Max’s pussy—Charles’s stomach, his hands, his fingers. He can’t stop staring at Max’s cunt. At how empty it looks, pink and soaking wet, at Max’s plump clit, so swollen it’s peaking out of its hood. Nothing touching Max anywhere that matters.

Max cries the entire time, heaving sobs as Charles fucks his arse. It must feel awful, Charles thinks, having Charles so close to where Max wants him, getting fucked in the wrong hole.

“Ask me for it,” Charles murmurs, eyes still fixed on Max’s dripping pussy. “Ask me.”

Max’s tears slow and Charles knows Max thinks Charles might give in, that maybe Charles has changed his mind.

“Please,” Max gasps. “Fuck my pussy, please, Charles, need it so fucking bad.”

Charles can feel himself getting closer. “Yeah, Max, just like that, keep going.”

“Want your cock in my pussy, please, Charles, please,” Max pleads, frantic. “Want you to fuck my pretty pussy, want you to come in me, please, Charles, please, I need it, I need it.” Max starts crying again and sobs, “Need you in my pussy, please.”

Charles moans, long and low, and comes deep in Max’s arse. He comes harder than he has in ages as he watches Max realize what’s happening, watches Max let out a devastated cry, sobbing openly as he feels Charles come in his arse.

“No,” Max sobs, tears streaming, face bright red. His head thrashes to the side, like he’s trying to hide his face, realizing he can’t. “Charles,” he moans, his pussy swollen and red, begging for Charles’s fingers, his cock, his mouth. Begging for things that Charles won’t give it, because Charles likes seeing Max like this too much, knows Max loves it too. “Charles, fuck,” Max sobs. ”I needed it, I needed it, please.” 

“I know, baby,” Charles murmurs, stroking a hand over Max’s thigh. “I know it must hurt.”

Max just cries, moaning as Charles pulls out, pushing the plug back in to keep Charles’s come inside. Charles leaves Max there for just a moment, letting Max sit with the disappointment, the aching arousal, the knowledge that he won’t be coming tonight.

But Charles is too desperate to get his hands on Max, and before long he’s unhooking Max’s wrists and ankles, unlocking the cuffs, kissing the reddened skin.

“So good, baby,” Charles whispers, pulling Max into his arms. “So fucking good for me, perfect, baby.”

Max takes a shaky breath, shoving his face into the pocket of space between Charles’s neck and shoulder. “Yeah?” Max asks, voice muffled. “I was good?”

“So good, Max,” Charles repeats, pulling Max tighter against him. “So good, always.”

[flore01]

I've read countless Lestappen fanfics, and I realized that we need one where Charles finds Ao3 and when searching for his name, finds his tag with Max, and reads it out of curiosity, is horrified, but comes back every night to read, until it becomes a obsession that makes him see Max with different eyes...

I'm just throwing this idea out here... writers, do what you want with this information...

[foggieststars]

24 + lestappen💗

24. breathplay from the kink prompt asks <3 fair warning this got. long and weirdly emotional

-

The thing about Charles is, Max is never totally sure where he stands. They fuck, sure. Regularly, even. But Max is never sure whether he’s just one of ten people Charles has on rotation, and Max is the one he comes to when he wants particularly fucked-up shit done to him. 

Because that’s the thing about Max. When it comes to Charles, he can never say no. 

Charles is naked from the waist down, still in the mesh crop top he’d worn to the club, wriggling in Max’s lap when he asks. 

Max blinks, and then asks him to repeat himself. When Charles does, it’s accompanied by a devilish smile and a roll of his hips. 

“I said, I want you to choke me.” 

Max wonders for a moment what Charles’ thesis advisor would make of him like this. If Professor Vettel knows that his prized protege, the one who spends hours diligently prepping for his classes, wrapped up in woollen jumpers and baggy jeans, spends his weekends torturing other PhD students for fun. 

“I - Charles,” Max says, gasping when Charles clenches around his cock. “I don’t - shouldn’t we –” talk about this, he wants to say - doesn’t dare say. Charles never wants to talk, not about anything. Not about why he chose to study architecture. Not about why he hasn’t mentioned Pierre’s name once in the last three months. Not about why he disappears for weeks at a time, only to show up to Max’s apartment at 2 in the morning just to fall asleep in his bed and disappear before Max wakes up. 

Charles just grins at him, their faces close together. Max likes fucking him like this, Charles in his lap, every feeling written across his face. The dimples in his cheeks stand out, and his hair’s mussed. It makes him look soft and vulnerable. Everything Charles isn’t.

Against his will, Max’s eyes are drawn to Charles’ throat. As if noticing the attention, Charles angles his head to show off the column of his neck, preening. Max watches his pulse jump in the base of his throat and wonders. Wonders what it would be like to wrap his hands around it, feel the flex and twitch of muscles, working desperately to pull air into his lungs. 

Charles rolls his hips again. “Max,” he says - whines, really. Max can feel his heartbeat in his temples. 

“You are so fucked up,” Max groans, and when Charles opens his mouth to protest, Max grasps him by the hips and rolls them over, so Charles is lying on his back. He laughs when they come to a stop, splayed out against Max’s bedsheets. 

“I know,” Charles says, wrapping his legs around Max’s waist. He digs in with his heels, right at the base of Max’s spine, like he’s spurring on a horse. 

Charles tilts his head back again, and Max brings a hand to his collarbone. He brushes over the delicate pulse point with his thumb, thinking, testing. 

Max knows it’s considered uncool to like vanilla sex. In the circles he and Charles occupy, it’s practically a competition to see who can do the most fucked up things to each other in bed. Max keeps quiet whenever the conversation drifts in that direction, usually encouraged by Lando. He’s not ashamed of liking what he likes. He doesn’t think it’s a bad thing to not want to hurt another person. 

But Charles - it’s like he exists solely to push Max’s buttons. 

Max fucks forward into the heat of Charles’ hole, one hand on the bed for purchase, one hand resting around Charles’ throat. Charles gasps, leans into it, fucks back onto Max’s cock. It’s rare to see him so desperate for anything. He must want this - badly. 

Max doesn’t like hurting people. But Max likes making Charles happy more. Anything to extend their time together, one more secret tryst, one more kiss on the dancefloor of a grimy club with all their friends jeering in the background. If this is what Charles wants… 

Max tightens his grasp around Charles’ beautiful throat, slim and white and delicate. It’s terrifying, the power this gives him. He could hurt Charles. He could kill him. Max can hardly think of anything else as he squeezes gently, feeling the flex of muscle under his hands. Would Charles even move to stop him, if he thought Max was taking it too far? 

Max keeps fucking into him, tightens his grip again. Charles’ throat is working desperately beneath his hand, trying to breathe. There’s a quiet, choked-off noise as his mouth falls open, and Max pulls his hand away. He gives Charles a moment to breathe, and then cuts off his air again. It’s fucked up, how hard it’s getting him. How much Charles clearly loves it, clenching around his cock with desperation. His cock is hard and flushed, dripping pre-come against his stomach.  

Max angles his hips, searching for Charles’ sweet spot. He knows he’s got it when Charles’ mouth drops open in a silent scream. When he pulls back, lets Charles breathe again, he coughs and splutters around a moan, tears leaking down the sides of his face. His eyes are so green. 

“Had enough?” Max asks, sweat dripping down his forehead. His muscles are aching from the combined effort of fucking Charles and trying not to choke the actual life out of him. His head feels heavy, and Max wonders if it’s to do with the exertion, or the realisations that he’s having. That he likes doing this to Charles. That Charles likes this being done to him. 

Charles fixes him with a stare so cold it’s almost regal in its intensity. “Again,” he orders, and Max does as he’s told. This time he’s less harsh, lets Charles breathe just a little. His breathing intensifies, coming in stuttered gasps. Charles starts bucking underneath him, like he’s trying to run away from the feeling. 

“Max,” Charles croaks, with what little air he has left, and that’s all the warning Max gets before Charles is coming, shaking around his cock, breathing ragged and heavy when Max takes his hand away. 

It’s incredible, the feeling of power, of responsibility. He can’t stop feeling the bones of Charles’ throat underneath his hands, so delicate and fragile. That Charles had asked him to - had trusted him to… 

Max comes with a quiet yell, rutting into Charles like an animal, groaning at the feeling of his own come leaking out of Charles’ hole. It’s disgusting and messy and exactly how Charles always wants it. 

When Max pulls out, he flops down beside Charles with a heavy sigh. His muscles are sore and aching. He wonders if Charles will stay long enough for Max to run them a bath. Probably not. 

Max looks over at Charles. He’s staring at the ceiling of Max’s room, running his hand back and forth across the red mark Max’s hand had left on his throat. 

When he notices Max’s attention on him, he rolls his head to the side and smiles. “Thanks for that,” he says. As if Max had lent him a pen, rather than held him down by the throat during sex. 

“No problem,” Max scoffs, but feels like he’s the one struggling to breathe. Charles has always had this effect on him. Max watches him and wonders if he’ll ever be able to stop. Or if he’s doomed to continue forever orbiting around Charles, like the earth around the sun. 

Charles sits up and stretches his arms out above his head, strips off his top. And then he wriggles beneath Max’s duvet, reaching out his hand for Max to hold. 

He’s beautiful like this, burning brightly and larger than life. Always on the run, never looking back at the people he leaves behind. 

Max thought he could keep up with him, once. Thought they could escape together, from whatever it is Charles is running from. 

Max isn’t sure of much of anything anymore.

[lxndonorris]

for comfort - lestappen

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smut after the exhausting Belgian GP Max just wants to rest, and Charles knows exactly how to help him x word count: 1650+ taglist: @game-set-canet open for requests!

Max clenches his jaw as he finishes his final interview for the day. His Red Bull Racing suit feels like it is suffocating him, and the cap on his head does little to hide the frustration in his eyes. 

The Belgian Grand Prix didn't go as planned. Ending in P4 feels like a failure, especially considering his expectations and recent performances. 

The media buzzes around him, microphones thrust into his face, cameras capture his every move, but his mind is already elsewhere.

As soon as the last question is answered, Max makes a beeline for the Red Bull motorhome. The crowd parts for him, sensing his frustration, and he moves through the paddock with the confidence and determination that brought him so many victories. The vibrant colors of his racing suit stand out, but it is his demeanor that truly commands attention.

The motorhome is a sanctuary, a place where he can momentarily escape the pressures of the track. He pushes the door open and steps inside, the familiar, cool air wrapping around him. The hum of the refrigerator greets him as he crosses the small living space, his eyes immediately locking onto the Red Bull cans lined up inside.

He grabs one and, with a practiced flick of his wrist, opens it in one swift motion. The cold liquid is a welcome relief as he takes a long sip, feeling the tension begin to ease from his shoulders.

Out of the corner of his eye, Max notices something that makes him pause. There, leaning casually against the counter, is Charles Leclerc. 

The Ferrari driver is still in his racing suit, but the upper half is hanging down around his waist, exposing the tight red fireproofs underneath. It is a sight Max fell in love with—the way the fabric clings to Charles's athletic frame, highlighting every contour.

"Charles," Max says, his voice a mix of surprise and something softer, more intimate. "What are you doing here?"

Charles pushes off the counter and takes a few steps closer, a smile playing on his lips. "I wanted to see how you were doing. It was a tough race."

Max scoffs lightly, though not unkindly. "That's one way to put it."

Charles's eyes twinkle with amusement as he glances at Max. "P4, huh?" Not bad, but not quite P3." His voice has a teasing lilt to it, and Max sees the challenge in his eyes.

Max takes another sip from his Red Bull, his gaze wandering over Charles's body, admiring it fully. 

"Did you enjoy the view of my rear?" Charles continues, his tone light and playful.

Max smirks, lowering the can from his lips. "I would have rather passed you, but it didn't work out today."

Charles just shrugs, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Maybe next time."

He takes a few deliberate steps through Max's motorhome, his eyes never leaving the Red Bull driver. Max's gaze is fixed on Charles's chest, admiring how the fabric of his fireproofs hug his body, accentuating every muscle, every ripple beneath the tight material. The sight is mesmerizing, and Max can't help but let his eyes wander.

Charles, fully aware of Max's attention, turns around slowly, displaying his muscular back. The fireproofs cling to him, showing off the definition and strength that were honed through years of racing. 

With a smirk, he looks back over his shoulder at Max, knowing exactly the effect he has—a game they both enjoy, the unspoken admiration, and the playful teasing that comes with it.

Max feels a surge of warmth as he takes in the sight of Charles, his frustration from the race beginning to dissolve. Charles turns to face him, swagger in his step, closing the distance between them with easy confidence. 

When he reaches Max, he places both of his hands on his waist, pulling him close. Max giggles; the sound light and genuine, a stark contrast to his earlier frustration.

Charles leans in, his voice soft but filled with warmth. "I missed fighting you on track. It felt good to do it again."

Max looks up into Charles's eyes, the familiar spark of their rivalry mixed with something deeper. 

"Yeah, it did," he admits. "Even if it didn't end how I wanted."

Charles shrugs, his smile never fading. "There is always next time. And the time after that."

Max's frustration continues to melt away, replaced by the comfort and connection he feels with Charles. Here, in this private space, they can be themselves, away from the pressures and expectations of the exhilarating world of Formula 1.

Charles's hands slide from Max's waist to his lower back, pulling him even closer. 

"You know," he says, his voice dropping to a playful whisper, "I think I enjoy our battles even more when they don't go as planned. Keeps things interesting."

Max laughs, the tension of the day dissolving completely. 

"You always know how to look on the bright side."

Charles's smile widens. 

"One of my many talents."

Standing so close to one another, the tension between Max and Charles is palpable. Their bodies are still thrumming with the adrenaline of the race, the fierce competition heightening the attraction that always simmers between them.

Max places both of his hands on Charles's chest; his touch gentle but deliberate as he strokes him lovingly. He feels the warmth of Charles's body radiate through the tight fireproofs; the sensation grounding and intimate.

Charles hums softly, tilting his head slightly, eyes half-closed in pleasure.

"I love seeing you in your racing gear," Max admits, his voice low and sincere.

Charles's smile is warm and knowing. 

"I feel the same way about you," he replies, his hands moving to rest on Max's hips, holding him close. 

"It's comforting."

Max's hands continue their tender exploration, the fabric of Charles' firerpoof shirt soft beneath his fingers. He feels the strong, steady heartbeat beneath, a rhythmic reminder of the life and energy they both poured into their passion for racing and for each other.

Knowing how much it relaxes Max, Charles encourages him further.

"You can stroke me more if you want," he invites, his voice a seductive whisper.

Max doesn't need any more prompting.

His hands slip underneath the fireproof shirt, the heat of Charles's skin a stark contrast to the cool air of the motorhome. 

Charles moans softly, his eyes closing completely as he leans into the touch, his body relaxing further. Max feels the fine muscles beneath his fingers—the strength and grace that make Charles such a formidable competitor on the track and such an alluring presence off it.

Charles regains his composure after a moment, opening his eyes and leaning in closer to Max. He whispers into his ear, the words lost in the intimate space between them, but the intent clear. Max feels a shiver run down his spine at the sensation, the closeness, the connection they share.

Without another word, they move to the small couch, sitting down together. The closeness of their bodies, the shared warmth—it all feels natural, a continuation of the bond they forged both on and off the track.

Max's hands remain under Charles's shirt, gently stroking his back, feeling the smooth expanse of skin and the occasional shiver that runs through Charles at his touch.

Charles leans against Max, his head resting on his shoulder, a content sigh escaping his lips.

"You can touch my dick if it makes your day better," he breathes down his neck.

A shiver runs down Max's entire back as he lets out a low grunt. Slowly, one of his hands wanders around Charles's waist and slips inside the bottoms of the racing suit. Already, he feels his length bulging against the fabric. Gently, he begins to stroke Charles, enjoying the sensation pressing against the palm of his hand. 

Charles's body shudders quickly, and then he giggles.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" His accent comes through slightly, and he pulls his head back to look into Max's eyes.

"So good." Max nods slowly.

They sit together on the couch, their bodies pressed close.

Max's hand is buried inside Charles's racing suit, gently stroking the warm skin beneath. Charles smirks, his eyes filled with a mixture of affection and mischief. Slowly, he leans in and kisses Max softly, their lips meeting in a tender, unhurried embrace.

While Max is absorbed in the kiss, Charles's hand moves with deliberate stealth. He deftly unzipped Max's racing suit, the quiet sound masked by their intimate moment. Before Max could realize what is happening, Charles slipped his hand inside, his fingers grazing the smooth fabric of Max's own white fireproofs.

Max's body stiffens momentarily at the unexpected touch, a sharp intake of breath escaping his lips. The sensation is electric, sending a shiver down his spine.

But as Charles's hand continues its gentle exploration, Max relaxes into the touch, relishing the warmth and intimacy it brings.

Charles breaks the kiss, his eyes locking onto Max's. "I've missed this," he whispered, his voice filled with genuine emotion.

Max can only nod; his voice caught in his throat. 

The combination of Charles's touch and the closeness they shared is intoxicating, another reminder of their connection. 

He leans into Charles, his own hand continuing its loving strokes beneath the racing suit, feeling every muscle and contour.

Charles's fingers move with practiced ease, tracing patterns on Max's chest, each touch sending waves of pleasure through his body. Max closes his eyes, a soft moan escaping his lips. He feels completely at ease, all the tension from the day melting away under Charles's touch.

"You always know how to make me feel better," Max murmurs, his voice tinged with gratitude.

Charles smiles, his eyes softening. "That's because I know you so well."

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating in sync. The outside world fades into oblivion, leaving only the warmth and comfort of their shared moment.

[nyoomfruits]

🎵 ship of your choice

i got old lovers in dressing rooms by keaton henson and i was like oh this is PERFECT for older lestappen so!!! here you go :)

Max hasn't changed much, all things considered. His hair is a little longer, maybe. The lines by his eyes deeper. His smile softer. He leans against the doorway of Charles's little dressing room trailer like he does this all the time, like they're just old friend catching up, like there isn't 10 years and countless missed chances between them.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Charles says, earnestly. Which probably means Max isn’t here for interviews or media appearances. He knows F1TV wouldn’t be able to pass up on that, getting two old rivals back together, one interviewing the other. He’s seen them cry tears of joy every time Nico and Lewis are so much as in the same room together.

Max shrugs. “The kids really wanted to go. T is thinking about studying engineering so she’s been begging me for months to go. Really hard to say no to that face, let me tell you.”

Charles wouldn’t know. He’s never seen Tina Verstappen before. Nobody has. Max has been rather strict about keeping his kids out of the public eye. “Good choice,” he says instead. “The engineering, I mean.”

“You’d think that. Until you have someone following you around asking you about break balance for 5 hours a day,” Max says, so utterly fondly that the supposed annoyance hardly lands. It must be nice, Charles thinks. A family. Children who follow you around. A partner who loves you.

“I’m glad,” he says, though the words stick in your throat. “That you’re happy. You deserve it.”

Max’s smile twitches, a tiny thing that barely reaches his eyes. There’s a sadness in them instead. A yearning. A longing. A memory of a time long before. “How’s Catherine?”

“We broke up,” Charles says. He doesn’t tell Max there’s been another girl after Catherine. There’s no use. They broke up too. It’s been a long line of girls, one after the other, all the same, all attempts to fill the empty hole in his heart.

The empty hole the man standing right in front of him right now created.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Max says. He looks genuinely sorry, too.

It’s moments like these where Charles wishes he could turn back the clock, go back to that fateful moment back in Austria 2019, tell himself that one stupid incident on the track wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth the stupid fight that followed, the stupid break up.

By the time they found forgiveness, it was too late. And now here they are. 17 years and many broken hearts later, Max a happily retired dad of three beautiful children, supported by his beautiful wife, and Charles with his pundit job and his empty home.

“It was good to see you,” Max says, when a PA sticks his head around the door to inform Charles they need for the pre-race interviews in five. “Good luck to you.”

“Yeah, same,” Charles says, smiling a little sadly. “Have fun.”

And with that, Max turns around, walks away. Charles wonders if it might be the last time.

[vivwritesfics]

PLEASE i need to read your thots on lestappen x bimbo!reader. i think it would be so cute

I've been thinking about this for DAAAAAAAAAYS

lestappen love their girl

she's all smiles and giggles

charles and max love taking care of her

there's little nothing better for them

they spoil her rotten

Charles loves taking her on holidays

and Max loves takes her shopping

like, seriously, there is nothing better for max than seeing her eyes light up as he, with arms full of shopping bags, paid for something she'd just admired

Charles loves taking his partners on holiday

loved seeing his girl in her bathing suit as they lounged around a pool

it was rare max would take his shirt off on these holidays

when he did, his partners made him feel so fucking loved

lets talk races

the red bull merch is nice, but not pretty compared to the ferrari merch

that was why max couldn't be hurt when his girl wore a ferrari shirt

she was still supporting him at the end of the day

the one exception to this was at Zandvoort, the dutch grand prix, where she would wear orange

it's not easy to pull off orange, but she does it

the boys get her whatever she wants

that was how they found themselves with Max's cats and a dog

she has her own dressing room, with a walk in closet and all the makeup she could ever need

Max's camera roll was mostly pictures of her

she posed for them, blowing a kiss towards the camera

she fixed charles' terrible fashion and they became known as the 'fashionable couple'

there were a lot of jokes with the fans that max was their third wheel

because there was no getting that man to wear anything but his skinny jeans

lestappen are obsessed with their girl

showing her off every chance they get

as long as she was happy, they were happy

[xxghostcomplexx]

possible lestappen fics

there’s a lot of fics i wanna write for lestappen yet have never gotten to cause of my fuckin adhd brain- so here is a list of the ideas instead

maybe I’ll write them some day…

(also- feel free to take these ideas and use them as prompts for your own fics)

Song of Achilles AU (Max is soooo Achilles coded, just imagine him saying: “There is no agreements made between lions and sheep. I shall eat you raw.” Jos as Thetis? Sebastian as Chiron? Fernando as Odysseus? Lewis Hamilton as Hector?)

Pride and Prejudice AU (Max as Mr.Darcy, Charles as Elizabeth) (maybe a side of Landoscar as Mr.Bingley and Jane)

Idea 1: ‘Max was not Charles’ first love, nor was he his second or third.’ (A fic where Charles reminisces of all his past loves and how Max fits into in. His first love was racing, second was Jules, and third was Sebastian. Ambiguous ending)

Idea 2: ‘Charles was Max’s first, second, and third love.’ (An accompanying fic to idea 1 from Max’s pov and his view on their relationship)

Idea 3: ‘Charles had hated Max before he even understood the true meaning of the word. Birds flew, fish swam, and Charles Leclerc hated Max Verstappen. It was simple really. It seemed predestined…inevitable- even.’ (A enemy to lover fic where it’s actually just Charles one-sided ‘hating’ Max until he realizes that he stopped hating Max somewhere along the way. Austria 2019 is mentioned here prominently)

Idea 4: ‘Charles thinks Max looks his best when he’s bloodied, his eyes wide and equally red with fury. Max thinks Charles looks even better when he’s crying, his pretty face bruised black and blue.’ (EQUALLY TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, Charles and Max find each other at a young age, classmates and neighbors. They don’t like each other and end up getting into a fight. The two quickly realize that they aren’t… normal after they get into their first fight. They grow up together as known enemies but they can only indulge their true selves in each other)

Idea 5: ‘Into the Lions’ Den’ (Charles pov beginning from before he even joins F1 all the way to current time. He reflects on Max’s past and future teammates and how they are essentially sacrifices. They enter the ‘lions’ den’ and are left to try and compare to Max, only to be left ripped apart. After all, who can hope to stand next to him? Red Bull has two drivers only because they need to. Despite that- as Charles reflect on all this…he can’t help but dream of standing next to Max as his teammate. Let himself be tore apart, let Max eat his heart and drink his blood)

Idea 6: Shameless smut (as the name suggests…it’s just shameless smut. This would be my first ever smut fic if I ever finish writing it. As an asexual person…this is especially hard to write. The plot is basically Max as the ‘successfully businessman who’s very busy and sexually frustrated’ and Charles as the ‘call boy who Max calls on accident when he was trying to find a call girl’. Max is confused and kinda disappointed at first, until he notices that Charles is very very pretty and that Max really wouldn’t mind sleeping with him- in fact -he would like it very much. This fic is just silly. Max is very horknee and not cool at all in this fic. Luckily Charles thinks he’s hot.)

Idea 7: ‘Turns out I don’t mind him kissing guys as long as it’s me he’s kissing .’ (Have you seen that one Reddit story of his guy who worries he’s being homophonic towards his gay roommate cause every time he sees him kissing a guy or bringing one home he feels sick and upset. They end up getting into an argument and he worries that he will ruin his friendship with his roommate. But he then finds out that he’s liked his roommate the whole time and that’s why he felt like throwing up every time he saw him with other guys. Yeah, that but Lestappen. Childhood rivals to friends, living together for college. Max who worries that he’s being homophobic cause he can’t stand seeing Charles with guys, and Charles who just wants Max to get the hint already)

I have more notes on each of these, so let me know if you wanna know more about any of these fics. I think I also might have some snippets for them :)

[finifugue]

Reject reality (Hungary GP) embrace delusion (Landoscar Bridgerton AU) - opening snippet of a fic which I will update whenever Event Horizon gets too depressing and existential. Pre-landoscar, pre-lestappen (minor). 1.6k so far and I'll probably edit the fuck out of it. One day.

It is in the words of another anonymous Lady, that the truth of our merry ton may be found: “a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

“Are you quite sure it’s hers?”

“Who’s else might it be? There aren’t any copycats brave enough to write under her name!”

These words, though plain to the learned man’s ear, ring clear to those nervous mamas which, on this bright day, are finally given the opportunity to demonstrate their mettle in a battle of wit, courage, and pride which has been tended to from near the moment of our country’s consummation. For today, dear reader, is the day the marriage market opens, and the sharp teeth of society await the new nobility to step from the solitude of darkness, to the blinding light.

“Let me see! Let me see!”

“Ow ‒ do not push me, George!”

For many a family, young misses are being decorated with as much wealth as their families possess ‒ such as in the Bridgerton family, where the long-awaited Eloise Bridgerton is rumoured to finally be stepping out from her Diamond sister’s shadow…

“Damn Bridgertons. They’re all she ever writes about, and the Featheringtons, and all those however else associated.”

“Would you rather Lady Whistledown write about you, Alex, and your escapades?”

“I did not say that. When did I say that?”

… But for others, the fervour of this day only sends the gossip mill into a feeding frenzy. For it seems that this season, moreso than any other, it is the gentlemen of the ton which invite scrutiny; particularly the likes of the noble Lords Albon, Russell, and Leclerc, who have once again failed to be seen courting any eligibles of the ton, and are well on their ways to becoming a trio of ‘Capital-R Rakes.’

“Bollocks.”

Lando bursts out laughing. He’s met with three identical, loathing stares from his best friends, all trussed up in their frilly cravats and long coats and beaver hats. In Lando’s humble opinion, they look rather silly ‒ though, he’d never say it. They all have such odd ideas about clothing, as they do with housing ‒ George’s bachelor apartment is lavishly decorated, velvet lining almost every available surface. He wipes a non-existent tear from his eye, just to piss them off. “’Capital-R Rakes?’ Blimey, better get a move on, then. No worse fate than a fucking Capital-R Rake.”

It makes George roll his eyes. “Not all of us are content with bachelorhood, Lando. Some of us wish to appease our fathers.”

“Or our mamas,” Charles mutters. “Though it seems impossible.”

Scoffing derisively, Lando pushes himself up to a seated position from where he was lying on the chaise lounge, whipping the Whistledown article from Alex’s hands. “How very noble of you all.” His teeth clench, and he averts his gaze from them all, where they stare at him with a sort of tired pity that makes his bones itch. He lifts the page up, half-obscuring his face as he pretends to read it, not perceiving any of the writing at all.

There’s an awkward silence, in which Charles gives Alex and George a significant look, and in response Alex elbows George, who sighs. He sits next to Lando, where his feet had just rested. Puts a hand up, as if to rest on Lando’s shoulder, then thinks better of it and settles it on the back of the lounge, running a finger along the ornate mahogany frame. “Do not brood.”

“I am not brooding.”

George pokes him. “You are. You know we didn't mean anything by it. Besides, I do believe Charles’ mama frets about our marital statuses well enough to have more than enough spare for you.”

Against his better judgement, Lando cracks a smile, lightly shoving George away. “Fine, fine. I’m alright. George, keep reading this.” He pushes the page into his hands, lying back and throwing his legs over George’s thighs and resting his arms over his head. George, who has had to endure Lando’s dramatics and quick changes in temperament since they were children, just rolls his eyes.

Despite the misadventure of our most well-known Lords, it must be said, dear reader, that the polite society of the ton shall be graced with the presence of one who will be certain to turn every shrewd mama’s head: His Highness Oscar Piastri, Crown Prince of England.

Charles moans. “Oh, we are ruined. How are we going to compete in the marriage market with a prince?” Charles’ mother, as George had said, is becoming increasingly worried about his marriage prospects, despite the fact that he’s only in his twenties and a Duke, for God’s sake, and — and this part, in Lando’s mind, is the significantly more important factor — gorgeous enough that any of the eligibles would be chomping at the bit to have him court them. Not that Lando would ever let Charles hear him say that ‒ his head’s already far too big. If he knew that he’s been considered one of the most eligible bachelors of every season since he went on the marriage market, it would grow too heavy for his neck and he’d never be able to stand up.

Despite this, Lando feels a little sorry for him. He puts far too much pressure on himself. Lando pats him on the shoulder, smirking. “He can only take one spouse, Charles. I’m sure the rest of the eligibles would be content to settle for the likes of yourself… eventually.”

In return for his awfully kind and generous words, Charles grabs the Whistledown article and whaps him over the back of the head with it, as if he were an irritating insect instead of someone who’s seen Charles fall out of a tree trying to impress Alex’s pretty nanny when they were children. “You are rude and I do not know why we continue to spend time with you.”

“Because I buy you beer and lose at cards.”

“Your two only favourable traits.”

The Crown Prince has been the subject of all the conversation in society since the confirmation of his return to England from the perilous frontier of New Holland ‒ or as radical explorers of the New Age refer to the mysterious continent, the vast new colony of Australia. What he has been doing amid the penal colonies and military operations during his long expedition is unclear; certainly, his escapades are a topic which many a debutante will be sure to delve into in the battle that shall come, as the Prince’s favour is fought for.

Lando thinks about that. It is quite insane, really, that the King allowed his Crown Prince — his only son — to sail away across the globe to a new, faraway, tiny little colony full of the Empire’s criminals, utterly defenceless and all alone, with only a few military bases to house him. He wonders if the King simply did not care for his son. Or if his son wished too desperately to be away from all the pomp and pride of England’s society. Lando’s heard it said that Australia is vast, vaster even than the British Isles, full of life and animals completely different to those seen promenading the streets of Mayfair. “Why’s he decided to come back, then?”

Alex shrugs. “Perhaps he was lonely.”

“Perhaps his father became tired of him wasting his time in a colony a million miles from England, and called him home for supper,” George shoots back, before returning to the article.

The Prince is due to make his first appearance within society within the coming week, at the delightful annual occasion hosted by Lady Danbury ‒ the first ball of the season. Mamas, ensure your children are well prepared in their speeches and talents, for this author hears that the Crown Prince, though most entirely the Incomparable bachelor of the season, has, in fact, very little desire to marry ‒ nor, by many an account, to court at all.

That makes Lando roll his eyes a bit. Of course the Crown Prince of England has no desire to court ‒ to have mamas and eligibles fawning over him and pawing at his lapels for a chance to be next in line for the consort’s throne. Lando can only imagine the type of person to skirt his responsibilities to the throne to adventure the frontiers of the Empire ‒ self-interested, dull, puffed-up and vain. He’s convinced himself, then, that His Highness, the Crown Prince Oscar must be terribly arrogant.

“Ha!” George crows, righetous anger colouring his voice. “Simply because he is a Prince, he is afforded every excuse known to man ‒ no, the Crown Prince of England could never be considered a Capital-R Rake!”

“Well, yes, George, that would be because he’s the Crown Prince of England.”

“You know what I mean, Alex.” George shoots him a glare. “It seems that Piastri is the only person Whistledown refuses to name a rake. Apart from Lando, of course.”

It’s quite amazing, Lando thinks, how long George can hold a grudge. “I don’t think I pass across Lady Whistledown’s mind enough for her to even consider calling me names in her writing,” he replies tersely. “Same as she never talks about your cooks. Or your servants. Or your nannies ‒”

Sidling down beside him on the lounge which is absolutely not made to seat three people at once, Charles throws an arm over his shoulder. “Ah, but Lando, you are terrible at cooking, and you have never once had the indignity to serve us, and on account of the fact that you seem to have been raised in a barn, rather than Lord Rosberg’s countryside manor ‒”

“Charles‒”

“‒ I would not ever call you a nanny.” Charles grins at him. “Perhaps you are just more noble than us all, after all.”

A challenge, then, to all eligibles of the season; for charming Prince Piastri seems to have become the most fruitful task of all… and the most Herculean.

[souvenir116]

not an au or anything but my favourite part about their dynamic is how mutually obsessed they are with each other!!

the way Max only really sees Charles as a rival, and the way Charles isn't happy with his results as long as he hasn't beat Max!! and how much they bring each other up in completely unrelated conversations or how they gravitate to each other post-race

they only have eyes for each other, they are soulmates your honour 🤭

- 🐢

hi i don't know any turtle who's that 😋🐢🐢

Yes!! God, I can't do with them being losers for each other, remember the time where Charles had his phone screen open and there was a gift of Max's points 😭😭 or him having to be the first who celebrates Max last year in Qatar after a disastrous race 🧸🧸 a big tired silly smile on his face 🧸🧸

Max defending Charles in every case and shutting everyone up if they try to throw shade at Charles... even when he's not in the room 🫵🏻 he's that man 🫵🏻 truly a gentleman, I need someone like him unfortunately and desperately 😶‍🌫️

Their post race ritiuals are embarrassing to say the least, they are menaces to the society, the interviewers, FIA officers, other drivers 😾😾

"How they gravitate to each other," 😋 It's always them 😋

send me your favorite AU/non AU tropes and your favorite dynamics about Lestappen, and we'll talk about them <3

[lovelylotusf1]

loved the second chapter of sweet kitten ahh! i would love to see or hear about charles’ perspective and just how mean he REALLLYYY wanted to be if you ever feel so inclined to chat abt it!

Thank youuu, so happy you enjoyed it <3

Honestly, the only thing holding sweet kitten!Charles back is my inability to figure out where exactly the line between “dom/sub undertones”, “light dom/sub” and “dom/sub” is and just keeping everything as light as possible cause I didn't want to retag it :((

I feel like Charles wants to coax every possible expression out of Max, and if the only option to do it is by making sure Max isn't thinking about anything else but him, then by god will he take that option. It's less about the power dynamic of dom/sub for me, but rather how possessive and obsessed lestappen are with each other. I could see them talking about subspace (read: Charles bringing up the idea and cornering Max about it until he's finally ready to talk), purely because Charles wants to burn the image of Max all spaced out behind his eyes forever. And if Max starts crying out of pleasure, than that's an added bonus for him👀

I saw an ask game going around, where an option was to flip-flop a scene, so here you go anon! A tiny snippet of chapter 2 written from Charles’ perspective as a bonus :D Obvious nsfw under the cut.

“On your side,” Charles orders, his voice leaving no room for compromises.

“What are you going to do?” Max asks quietly, and his voice wavers, an unstable little thing. Delight curses through Charles’ veins at the reaction. He wants to bottle up those sounds so he can replay them all the time, the confident Max Verstappen reduced to a sweet kitty just by pushing a few of his buttons.

Before Charles can answer, Max gets up, wincing slightly.

Poor kitten. Kneeling for so long must have been horribly uncomfortable. Maybe he should have kept him on his knees for longer, just to see if Max would have complained eventually.

He doesn't know which outcome he would like to see more. Telling Max to close his eyes and stick his tongue out, patiently waiting for something that never comes, a fiery blush on his face. Or seeing the brat he knows is in there rise to the surface, trying to intimidate Charles with angry words that sound more like angry hisses from a kitten than being actually frightening. Maybe trying out a few punishments until Max becomes a blubbering mess, just because he can.

Charles' list of things he wants to do to Max keeps getting longer and longer.

But for now, he smiles and makes sure that the threat beneath it is visible. “I can’t fuck you, so I will simply fuck your pretty thighs instead. And you are not allowed to touch me or yourself. You either come because I let you, or not at all, baby.”

Max gapes at him like a fish out of water. Charles simply raises an eyebrow in response, keeping his mouth in a neutral line despite how much the grin on his face wants to form.

With a fresh rush of heat on his cheeks that makes him positively glow, Max slowly lies down on his side, facing the wall.

The sight of him lying there, embarrassed but still obedient, does horrible things to Charles. Makes him want to keep Max naked forever, collar and cat ears the only thing he's allowed to wear. Makes him desperate to figure out if the blush that's on his face and neck can go even further if he just keeps him worked up long enough.

The image of Max's flushed skin covered in hickeys and bruises enters his mind unbiddenly, and Charles bites his bottom lip so hard he almost draws blood. He wonders how long he could get away with toying with Max. Leave him aching and begging for Charles to touch him, and simply refusing it. Maybe Max will start crying if Charles doesn't let him come for hours.

Charles shakes his head to clear the thoughts. He must look ridiculous, but Max can't see him like this, so he doesn't care about his appearance for once.

He already has a plan laid out for today. There will be plenty more opportunities to drive Max crazy.