#lestappen prompts

[likedbycheri]

And I ain't gotta tell him, I think he knows (does he, really?)

Charles Leclerc/ Max Verstappen | 5+1 one shot (wip)

summary

Max is quite certain this is not supposed to be complicated, he just wants to ask Charles out on a date. Daniel says he might actually need to use his words in order to that. Surely, Charles can tell he is being flirted with, right? Right?

snippet under the cut :))) for the lovely @nameification

“Can I take you out, Charles?"

Charles blinks, confused. "What did I do?"

Max blinks back, just as confused. "What? What do you mean?"

He furrows his eyebrows. "Well, I have gotten many creative death threats before, but I do not know what I did to you that would make you want to kill me."

Someone groans behind him. Charles still doesn't understand what he did to make Max want to kill him.

Max stares, incredulous. "Wha- wait. Did you say death threats?! You've been getting death threats?!"

Max is so silly, sometimes. And cute, with his startled blue eyes, brows furrowed and hair mussed up adorably. He is also blushing red. Charles decides red looks good on him.

"You are cute."

Max splutters, hands flailing. "Bu- I- you-" He cuts himself off to groan, tugging a hand at his hair and looking thoroughly stressed out.

Charles still isn't sure what he did wrong, but Max is still looking too upset for his liking. Maybe he should give him a hug. Hugs always make him feel better.

He puts a hand on Max's shoulder and squeezes softly until blue eyes peak through pale fingers. "Hey, would you-"

"Charles!"

They all whip around to look in the direction of the voice, Pierre muffles a scream into his palms.

.... more later on :)))

[lestappenforever]

28. “Look, it’s not my fault we got distracted.” “No? Then whose is it?”

Ohhhh, I like this one!

Here you go, my lovely anon. You're also getting 48. “Don’t lie to me. I’m like a bloodhound. But for lies.”, and 34. “I know, love, I know.” because I found them fitting. ❤️

---

28. “Look, it’s not my fault we got distracted.” “No? Then whose is it?", 48. “Don’t lie to me. I’m like a bloodhound. But for lies.” and 34. “I know, love, I know.”

Max's kitchen is an absolute mess. There is flour everywhere; on the kitchen counter, on the floor, fucking flour handprints on the fridge, which Max has no idea how got there.

(That's a balatant lie. He knows damn well how they got there.)

The bag of sugar has been tipped over and spilled into the sink, which is going to be a bitch to clean up. The cocoa powder has dyed the majority of Max's otherwise pristine white tiles brown, and the mere sight of it is enough to make his temples start aching.

That's definitely going to be a bitch to clean up.

He praises himself lucky that he had enough sense to trick Jimmy and Sassy into the guest room with their dinner (and their litterbox) before embarking on this journey-turned-disaster, because his cats are incredibly curious and will lick anything to see if it's edible. And Max doesn't particularly fancy a trip to the emergency vet this late at night because his cat may have ingested something poisionous to them.

There are three cracked eggs in a bowl that has somehow managed to remain upright, but the shells are thrown haphazardly into the sink.

Next to the bowl is another bowl, this one containing nothing but cream cheese.

Max sighs at the chaos of it all.

"Wow. I didn't think it would be this bad," Charles pipes up from behind him, looking over Max's shoulder at the kitchen. He's holding a can of whipped cream in his hand that is substantially less full than it had been an hour ago.

Max cocks an eyebrow at him. "Maybe you should have thought of that earlier, huh?"

Charles looks at him with an indignant expression.

"Look, it's not my fault we got distracted," the Monégasque says with a huff.

Max snorts.

"No? Then whose is it?"

Charles doesn't answer. Max waits.

Charles still doesn't speak, but he looks Max up and down, which is saying everything his mouth isn't.

"Mine?!" Max almost shouts due to his surprise, turning to face Charles.

The Monégasque is only wearing a pair of black boxers. His brown hair is a complete mess, cheeks flushed and lips bitten red. The base of his neck and his chest are covered in blooming bruises left there by Max's mouth, and there's a perfect outline of Max's hands on his hips.

He looks even more obscene now than he had done earlier, and Max kind of wants to devour him. Again.

"I am not the one who came in here wearing one of my Red Bull polos out of fucking nowhere after refusing to even try one on for months!" Max counters, pointing an accusing finger at Charles.

It wasn't as if it was a well-kept secret that Max wanted Charles to join him at Red Bull. Hell, he'd practically spelt it out in numerous interviews over the years. But Charles and his undying loyalty to Ferrari had ensured that Charles wouldn't even try anything Red Bull related on to appease Max.

Until today. When they'd had things to do. Because tomorrow was Lando's birthday, and the Brit had bullied them into promising they would make him cupcakes. And neither Max nor Charles had the ability to tell him no.

Especially not when Carlos had been standing behind Lando at the time, glaring at them with a look that said 'If you don't make this boy cupcakes for his birthday, I swear to God I will kill you both'.

"Hey, how was I supposed to know me wearing a Red Bull polo would drive you that wild?!" Charles responds in a raised voice.

Because of fucking course it turns into an argument. It always does with two people as equally stubborn as Max and Charles.

"I have literally told you it would on numerous occasions, Charles!"

"I thought you were exaggerating, Max!"

"I obviously wasn't!"

"Yeah, well, I know that now!"

They stare at each other for a long moment, not saying a word. Then Max glances down at Charles' hips, tilting his head to one side.

"Are those my boxers?"

When he looks back up at Charles' face, the Monégasque's eyes widen. Max knows that look. He's trying to look innocent.

"No?" Charles offers unconvincingly.

Max narrows his eyes.

"Don't lie to me. I'm like a bloodhound. But for lies."

Charles snorts.

"So what if they are?"

Max groans, looking at his absolute warzone of a kitchen.

"Charles," he whines miserably, looking back at Charles who presses up against his side and kisses his neck.

"You know, you don't have to take me to bed every time I wear your clothes. We can just clean this up and get back to work," he says against Max's sensitive skin, in a tone of voice that absolutely does not make it sound as if he means it.

Not even a little bit.

"You're a fucking menace," Max tells him as he picks Charles up by the backs of his thighs.

Charles fucking beams at him as he wraps his legs around Max's waist and his arms around his waist, letting the Dutchman carry him.

"I know, chéri. I know," Charles tells him, as he leans in to nibble at Max's earlobe, sending a shiver through him.

"Just so you know, you're cleaning up the kitchen later," Max says, matter-of-factly.

Charles squawks at that, beginning to squirm in Max's hold, but it's useless.

"Max!"

Max just grins as he carries Charles back to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

[charles-leclerc-official]

Previous time travel story anon again! Today is Max's turn and he gets a little bit more multi universe experience.

The 2024 red bull Max woke up in a hotel room only to found out it's the day right before the 2019 Austria GP and more absurdly, him Max Verstappen, is a F1 driver driving for Ferrari.

Fortunately, Charles Leclerc still exists, and still exists as a F1 racing driver in this universe. He is still Max's best rival to compete on track. The only problem is that now it is Charles driving for Red Bull.

Though Charles in navy blue is still surprisingly sexy (believed by 2024 red bull Max), especially compared with Max in red (judged by 2024 red bull Max), Max feel really bad because this 2019 red bull Charles seems to behave in a more aloof and aggressive manner towards Max. Of course Max and Charles were far from friends in 2019, but in this universe Max even could not get a surface level pr smile from Charles.

This is terribly bad for the 2024 red bull Max, since he has been so used to stay with and talk to Charles during the race weekend. He needs to yap with Charles, to start the race on the front row with Charles, to enjoy the wheel to wheel battle with Charles, to shake hands and grab Charles' waist to celebrate the accomplish of their race, to enjoy the podium with Charles and spray champagne to each other.

All of these could not be done with this 2019 red bull Charles, obviously.  

The 2024 red bull Max is in his separation anxiety with his sweet Charlie now!  

And again, the time point is the 2019 Austria GP, the time when that significant trauma event happened. He only has less than 24 hours to figure out the history as well as the current dynamics between Max and Charles in this universe and think about what he can do to move a step closer to Charles besides a crazy race.

When he is back to his 2024 universe, he may need to bury himself into his 2024 Ferrari Charles' chest to have a therapy.

(Please forgive my typos if there is any...all of sudden I want to see them switch their racing suits!)

Anon once again you are a visionary.

I would like to add that this Red Bull 2019 Charles has dyed his hair blond for evil unhinged Charles purposes.

Charles without the PR constraints of Ferrari would be too dangerous. Max goes back and immediately starts telling Charles all the things he loves about this version of him and Charles just sits there and takes the praise (albeit very confused)

here is the time travel au for those curious Also part 2 of this prompt here

And any authors feel free to play around with this prompt, tag me so I can share it if you do!

[panevanbuckley]

soulmate au where your soulmate's thoughts appear on your skin except your soulmate has adhd and your body becomes a living canvas of nonsensical, never-ending, constantly entertaining trails of thought

[press-f1-to-grieve]

charles looked like he went for prenatal visit and then max suddenly have a new baby? 🤔

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 9/13

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man—Charles, Max assumes—sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,�� Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

[1425fivefive]

lestappen forced fem + humiliation

(love u, families r weird)

some lestappen forced feminization + humilitation for you for christmas (hopefully it's still christmas where you are!!) (for the kink prompt asks)

“God,” Charles murmurs, tracing a finger over the edge of Max’s panties, marveling at the acres of Max’s pale skin, the matching bra and panties Charles picked out for him highlighting his soft curves. “You’re so pretty.”

Max whimpers, squirming on the bed, but he glares up at Charles. “Shut the fuck up, Charles.”

“Max,” Charles says, smiling indulgently. “Why would you wear such pretty things if you did not want me to call you pretty?”

Max flushes, his face going a gorgeous, indignant pink. “You made me wear them.”

Charles rolls his eyes. He hadn’t made Max do anything. He’d ordered the lingerie online and had it shipped to Max’s apartment, told Max that if he wanted Charles to fuck him again, he’d have to wear it, make himself all pretty and sweet for Charles.

And here Max is, laid out in bed, dressed in nothing but a lacy bra and panties, still acting like he doesn’t want any of this. They both know it’s a lie. Charles can see Max's sweet little cock through the lace, the way the fabric’s starting to stick to him from how much he’s leaking. Max has trouble getting hard but Charles doesn’t care, loves the way Max is always small and soft and pink for him, so easy to fit in his mouth. Plus, Max never has any trouble coming and Charles can’t get over how wet Max always gets. Like a girl, Charles thinks, a flash of heat rushing through him.

“I think you like this,” Charles says softly, trailing his finger up to Max’s cock, dragging over the wet spot on the fabric. “Look how wet you are.”

“I’m not wet,” Max snaps, but Charles notices the hitch in Max’s breathing, the way the flush is starting to spread down his neck.

“No?” Charles brings his finger to his mouth, sucking the taste of Max off it.

Max lets out a desperate moan but he clamps his jaw shut, turning his head away to stare at the wall.

Charles doesn’t understand why Max can’t let himself have this. Why Max can’t see how much he wants Charles to treat him like a pretty girl Charles has brought home to fuck—play with his tits, eat him out, make him fall apart on Charles’s cock.

Charles bends down, pressing a soft kiss to Max’s stomach. He trails a line of them down Max’s belly, watches as Max’s breathing stutters as Charles gets closer and closer to the waistband of his panties.

But Charles stays just above the waistband, brushing his lips back and forth over the soft skin of Max’s stomach, watching as Max starts to squirm, hands clenching into fists by his side like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing Charles’s hair and dragging Charles to his cock.

When Charles starts sucking a mark into Max’s stomach, Max moans, hips hitching.

Charles pulls off, smirking. “Ask me, Max.”

Max lets out a choked whimper, tilting his head to look at Charles with a desperate expression.

“Ask me,” Charles repeats.

Max whimpers again, but he glares at Charles and says, “Suck my cock,” in a bossy little tone. The same tone Max uses on the radio sometimes, the tone that makes Charles want to put Max over his knee.

Charles snorts. “You won’t get anywhere with that.” He goes back to sucking bruises into Max’s skin, leaving little marks of himself. Reminding Max exactly who owns him.

“Suck my cock, please,” Max tries.

“Better,” Charles says. “But I do not think cock is the word I am looking for.”

Max moans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Suck my—” Max breaks off, taking a shaky breath. Finally, he says, voice so soft it’s almost a whisper, “Suck my clit, please.”

“Fuck,” Charles groans, planting a soft kiss to Max’s skin, right above the waistband of his panties. “Good girl,” he breathes, right against Max’s spit-slick skin.

Max keens, tipping his head against the pillows, back arching off the bed, shoving his little cock toward Charles’s mouth.

“Charles,” Max pleads, squirming against the sheets. “Charles, please, I don’t—Charles.”

Charles just laughs softly and tugs Max’s panties down in his legs.

“Oh my god,” Charles breathes, staring in shock at the smooth, pink skin around Max’s dick and balls. “You shaved.”

Max whimpers, clearly humiliated, but he spreads his legs a bit, showing off his hole, as hairless as the rest of him. “I waxed,” Max whispers. “Went to—found a woman who could come to my flat, no one—no one saw.”

“Fuck,” Charles moans, bringing a hand up to brush over the soft skin above Max’s cock. “God, Max.” Charles can’t stop touching him, watching the way his mostly-soft cock blurts more pre-come with every pass of Charles’s thumb, like just the promise of Charles’s touch is enough to have Max making a mess of himself. “You did this for me?” Charles asks.

Max makes a devastated noise and flings an arm over his eyes, like he can’t bear to look at himself, at Charles. But he nods, once.

Charles feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. The thought of Max laying on his back, letting someone wax his dick, his balls, his hole, all so he could look pretty for Charles.

“Such a good girl, Max,” Charles says, voice strained, and before Max can say anything more, Charles is shuffling down the bed and sprawling on his stomach, sucking Max’s cock into his mouth.

Max cries out like he’s been shocked, body twisting against the sheets like the feeling’s too much, like he’s trying to escape the pleasure he feels. Charles just throws an arm over Max’s stomach, pressing him down against the bed.

Charles moans around Max’s cock, sucking and licking, whining at the taste of Max’s pre-come flooding his mouth. When Charles swirls his tongue over the head, Max gasps Charles’s name and lets the arm covering his eyes drop to the bed, staring down at Charles with an awed expression.

Charles pulls off, just enough to ask, “Do you like watching me lick your pretty clit, Max?”

“Yes,” Max whimpers, flushing pink down to his stomach. “Yes, I—please.”

Heat flares in Charles’s belly hearing Max admit he likes it, admit he likes it enough that he wants to watch, wants to see exactly what Charles is doing to him.

“Good girl,” Charles murmurs, ducking down to drag his tongue over Max.

It doesn’t take long before Max is squirming and whining, babbling about how good Charles’s mouth feels, how Charles is going to make him come. Max always fights Charles on the way down, but the second he’s under it’s like he can’t think about anything other than how good he feels, desperate to chase every ounce of pleasure. When Charles brings a hand up to press against the plug in Max’s ass, the one Charles had told him to put in before Charles arrived, Max comes with a shocked moan, his mostly soft dick spilling lazy ropes of come into Charles’s mouth, Max trembling and whining above him, letting out little gasps of Charles’s name.

Charles tugs the plug free the moment Max is done coming, sitting up and shuffling forward to drag the head of his cock around Max’s hole, teasing but never pressing in.

“Please, Charles,” Max moans, bringing a hand up to play with his nipple through his bra. “Want you to.”

“What, Max?” Charles murmurs, staring at where his cock is pressing against Max’s rim, already puffy and open. Charles wonders how long Max had the plug in, whether he was sitting around his flat with it in, imagining Charles filling him.

“Fuck me,” Max whimpers, looking up at Charles with an agonized expression.

Charles presses against Max’s hole, making Max feel the threat of him. “Where do you want my cock, Max?”

Max moans, little dick twitching, spilling more pre-come. “In my arse.”

“Cute,” Charles says, mocking, and slaps the inside of Max’s thigh, hard enough to sting. “Where do you want my cock?”

Max whimpers, hand squeezing roughly at his tit, cock desperately trying to harden. “In my pussy.”

“Fuck,” Charles moans, pushing in in one, smooth slide. “That’s it, baby. Good girl.”

“Charles,” Max gasps, going so tight around Charles that Charles has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from coming immediately.

When Charles finally has himself under control, he laughs. “God, Max.” He starts to move, pushing little panting breaths out of Max with each thrust of his hips. “I always forget how tight your pussy is.”

“Fucking—Charles,” Max moans, bringing both hands up to squeeze and pinch at his tits, his soft dick bouncing with each thrust of Charles’s hips.

“That’s it, baby,” Charles murmurs. “Play with your tits for me.”

Max turns his face to the side, trying to hide against the pillow, but he listens, pinching and rubbing his nipples through the lace.

“God, Max,” Charles moans, fucking Max hard and deep, grinding against Max’s prostate. “You were made for this.”

Max moans and Charles thinks he’ll whimper, nod, say something like, Yes, Charles, made to take your cock.

But Max glares up at Charles, clearly still not as down as Charles would like him to be, and says, “I’m not—”

“No?” Charles asks. “Look at yourself, Max.”

Max whimpers, shakes his head, even as he grinds back to meet Charles’s thrusts.

“Oh, you think you should be the one doing the fucking?” Charles lets out a short laugh, mean and mocking. “Look at this, Max.” Charles reaches down, cupping Max’s dick. It fits easily in his palm, covered completely. “It’s not even really a dick, is it?”

Max makes a miserable sound, dick blurting against Charles’s fingers, but he says, “I’m not—I’m not a girl.”

Charles smirks, rubbing his palm in steady circles over the head of Max’s dick. “No?” Charles asks. “Then why do you come like one?”

Max’s mouth drops open in a perfect little o, eyes going wide, and his dick squirts against Charles’s hand, rim fluttering rapidly around Charles’s cock.

“God, Max,” Charles moans, stunned, awed, keeping up the steady circles over Max’s dick, fucking him through his orgasm.

“Charles,” Max moans, half-whine, half-scream. “Charles, I can’t—" Max breaks off on a whimper as another wave runs through him.

“Good girl,” Charles murmurs, working Max through it, watching Max gasp and whine on his cock, Max’s perfect tits bouncing, Max’s little dick twitching and spurting against Charles’s hand. “My good girl,” Charles breathes.

[hashcakes]

Just watched the The Anything But F1 Quiz Max and Charles should have picked each other. ( I know it's technically f1 but if the questions aren't about it... come on let me have it.)

"Max, when was Charles born"

"Charles what's max's sister's name"

"Max what cologne does Charles wear"

"Charles what does max taste like"

Can guarantee they both would have gotten 100%.

[maxcuntstappen]

for a prompt,

max as the f1 world champion. charles is the heir to the monaco throne. [lorenzo is king currently]

max and charles love each other. max wins the monaco gp for charles. monaco goes crazy.

"Max," Charles tries to sound stern, he really does. But he doesn't think it comes across too well with how he cannot stop giggling.

It's not his fault really.

It's his boyfriend's.

His boyfriend who has him pressed against a wall of his motorhome, relentlessly kissing at Charles' cheeks.

"Maxxxx," Charles tries again, "You need to go."

A 'uh-huh' is the only indicator of Max having even heard him.

Max redirects his attack of pecks to Charles' neck and it makes Charles squirm.

"Max, that tickles!" he exclaims, trying to wiggle his way out from under his boyfriend's grasp.

Max chuckles, finally moving his mouth away from Charles' body, to look him in the eye, "I know," he grins.

It makes Charles' heart jump, how happy Max looks, how pretty.

Time seems to stop as Charles cradles Max's face in his palm, relishing in how Max turns his face to nuzzle into it.

Blue eyes twinkling, lips perpetually pulled upward, cheeks pink and puffed up. Max is a beauty.

Charles opens his mouth to tell him so when a firm knock interrupts him.

"Prince Charles," one of his guards calls out, "Nous devons partir maintenant. Prince Lorenzo et Prince Arthur attendent."

Charles sighs, wishing he could stay with Max longer.

Max seems to be wishing for the same, if his drawn out groan is anything to go by.

Yet, Max doesn't move away. He only snuggles into Charles harder, head buried into the crook of Charles' neck.

Charles laughs, running his fingers through Max's hair, "Come on, mon amour. Time to go."

Max huffs, "No."

Charles rolls his eyes, fondness seeping through his pores, and gently tugs at Max's hair.

Max pulls his head away with an exaggerated moan, "Ouch," frown lines covering his pretty face.

Charles pecks Max's nose and all of them disappear in a second.

"I'll see you after, okay?" Charles says, squeezing the nape of Max's neck.

"Yeah," Max says, a small smile on his lips, "Yeah, okay."

Max steps back and Charles walks to the door.

"Wait!" Max exclaims, making Charles jump.

He turns around.

"What about my good luck kiss?" Max asks, the corner of his mouth twitching as he pouts, clearly trying to suppress the smile trying to break through.

"You don't need a good luck kiss, mon amour. You're Max Verstappen," Charles reminds him.

Even after all this time, ever after multiple world championships, countless podiums and several records broken, Max still lights up when Charles compliments him.

He hopes he never stops.

"Charles, but what if you don't kiss me and the race goes badly? Do you really want that on your conscience?"

Charles scoffs, "Okay but what if I do kiss you and then the race doesn't go well? Will it be my fault then?"

"Of course not, schatje. Then it'll mean that your kiss protected me from anything worse happening," Max replies, like it's the most obvious information in the world.

Charles' heart throbs with adoration. He takes a quick two steps and grabs Max's face in his hand, pressing a firm, soft kiss to Max's lips.

When Charles pulls away, Max looks dazed.

Charles gets it. He feels it, the overwhelming rush he gets when he cannot believe this is his life.

"Good luck, mon amour," Charles smiles, dropping his hands, and walking backwards to the door, "See you on the podium, okay?"

Max simply nods, seeming to still be too lost for words.

That's okay. Charles knows what he would've said anyways.

--

"And the winner of the 2024 Monaco Grand Prix... Max Verstappen!"

The roaring in Charles' ears nearly blocks out the raucous applause of the Red Bull team. But Charles hears them still, faintly. Acknowledges them, thanks them for loving Max and appreciating him and taking care of him.

His cheeks ache because of how hard he is smiling.

And yet, when Max steps up on the top step, quickly turning around to catch Charles' eye, his grin somehow widens.

Charles winks at him, his hands not pausing their applause, and Max laughs, softly shaking his head, before facing the crowd.

Charles' eyes are glued to Max's back as the Dutch and Austrian anthems play. It's a beautiful back, all broad, strong shoulders, tapering down into a small waist.

The only thing that could make Max look any better is if he was wearing red, Charles thinks to himself.

Well, all in due time.

Soon, he's being indicated to step up to award the second place trophy.

Charles looks straight ahead as he walks to the platform, not risking turning into an ooey-gooey mess for a glance of Max's face.

Lando stands tall and proud on the podium, his face split into a grin.

Charles hands Lando his trophy and Lando holds out a hand for Charles to shake.

It makes Charles roll his eyes. There's no need to pretend that Charles doesn't see Lando every other weekend, that he hasn't seen Lando sloshed out of his mind and passed out on the floor of Max's jet, that he doesn't send Lando memes constantly and bitches about it if he doesn't give an adequate reply.

Charles grasps his hand and pulls Lando into a hug.

Lando yelps, and gosh, Charles so hopes that there is some camera somewhere that has recorded the noise.

"Good job, mate," Charles says, arms tight around Lando.

"Thanks, mate," Lando replies, and Charles can hear the smile in his voice.

Charles beelines back to his original spot, next to his brother, standing behind the podium finishers.

As Lorenzo awards Max with his trophy, Charles has to suppress the urge to shout and scream and hoot.

All he can do is clap a bit more aggressively than he did for the others.

It doesn't miss his notice how Arthur does the same.

It's soon after that Charles and his brothers, along with the other dignitaries, are being hurried off of the stage in an attempt to keep them safe from the champagne flying in the air.

Charles has just stepped into the protection of the wings when he's being pushed back out to the stage again.

"Va!" Arthur urges, literally shooing Charles away with his hand.

"Ne fais rien de trop stupide!" Lorenzo warns, but he's grinning wide too.

God, Charles loves his family.

It's Lando that spots him first.

The very next second, Charles is drenched head to toe.

But it's worth it to have Max's giggle in his ear as he hugs him tight tight tight.

His race suit under Charles' hands feels sticky and cold and like home.

"Mon Dieu, Max, tu es incroyable. So incredible. I love you. I'm proud of you," Charles rambles, trying to make the most of the couple of moments he'll get to speak to Max before he's swallowed up by his team and media duties.

Max pulls away, smiling at him, all crinkle eyed, "Thank you for your good luck kiss, schatje," he gives him a quick soft peck before gently pressing the trophy into his arms, "This one is for you," and then Charles is swallowed up in Max's embrace again, the roars of the crowd ringing in his ear, nowhere as loud as the beat of his own heart.

[nyoomfruits]

"if you win i'll kiss you" from the kiss prompts !!!!!!

big MWAH smooch to @jennarations for transcribing that one interview of charles describing the inchident for me when i couldnt listen to it you are the BEST

“if you win, i’ll kiss you”

“Charles!” Someone yells, as Charles makes his way to the karting track in search of his father. He knows who it is before turning around, recognizes the English pronunciation of his name, colored by the hard tsj and lispyness of the s. There’s only one person who says it like that. 

“Max,” Charles says, tone even. Max is... An enigma to him. On track he’s fast, ruthless, annoying, snatching wins that were supposed to be Charles’s, hoisting trophies that should’ve been in his hands. 

But outside he’s. Friendly. In a very skitish way, like he doesn’t really know how to talk to people, like he’s only ever been taught how to race and never how to make friends. 

It should make Charles feel bad for him, maybe. But Charles is fourteen and he already has friends, and he doesn’t care for Max Verstappen and his million trophies and his bright fucking future. 

Or well, he does care. But only in the sense that he wants to beat him. Take his trophies, his wins. That stupid future WDC everyone keeps whispering about, despite him never even having set foot in a single seater. 

“How are you?” Max smiles, genuine and kind, and Charles squints at him. 

“Good. Fine,” Charles says. Maybe if he keeps his tone clipped, doesn’t ask any return questions, Max will get the hint and go away. 

“Are you excited for the race?” Max asks instead, voice eager, completely oblivious to Charles’s annoyance. “I’m liking Val d’Argenton so far, good track.”

“Sure,” Charles says, shrugs a little halfheartedly, looks around if he can maybe see his dad milling about, pretend he’s calling him over. “Excited to win.”

Max laughs. “Ha,” he says, “me too.”

Charles squints again. “Not if I get there first.”

Max’s eyes are twinkling, and he’s enjoying this, the annoying bastard. “Wanna bet?”

“How about,” Charles says, “if you win, I’ll kiss you.” It’s a bit mean, maybe. Charles has seen the way Max looks at him sometimes. It’s the same way Charles looks at the girls in his class. He’s not stupid, he knows what it means. 

Max looks like that now, eyes wide and a little startled, but interested, too. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah! Yeah, okay. I’ll win.” 

“Sure,” Charles says again. There’s no way. Charles won’t let him. Plus, he has no intention of kissing Max, so. 

Good motivation all around. 

They get called away then, and before Charles knows it he’s strapped into his kart, ready to go. He forgets about Max all together then, completely focused on just winning, all the way up to the moment he actually passes Max on track. Only then does he remember the bet, and he smiles a little bit at his double victory. Only one kart left in front of him now. He’s so close he can almost feel the weight of the trophy in his hands. 

But then at the next corner Max is back with a vengeance, pushing Charles so wide he falls all the way back to seventh place. He’s absolutely fuming when he finally crosses the finish line, pulls up beside Max to make an ‘are you crazy?’ movement at him. 

He can’t see Max’s face, but he can almost picture it, mirroring his own annoyance, as he pushes Max wide in retaliation and he sends him rolling into a giant puddle of water, soaking Max all the way up to his middle. 

In the end, none of it even matters. Not the bet, not the pushing, not the podium. They both get disqualified for unsportsmanlike behavior and then that’s the end of that. 

It’ll take a couple of years, before Max smiles at him again, says his name in that same way, with that same excitement. 

It’ll take even more before Max finally gets that kiss. But when he does give it, it’s not because of any bet, or because of any stupid jealousy or need to prove himself. It’ll be because Charles wants to.

[likedbycheri]

okay folks I got a super important question !!!!!! and I need help !!!!!!

I want to work on something but I have too many ideas and not enough time, these all have lestappen as main, but I might add other ships depending on the vibes, I'd love to know what yall would like to see :)) hope yall have a good dayyyy

[lestappenforever]

im sorry i literally just read through all your prompt fics and i would kill for a 44 and 45 if you havent done it yet. love your work so much mwa mwa (its okay if ur not taking prompts)

My lovely anon! Thank you so much for this — my brain kind of spiralled and ran away from me with this, so you're getting 11. "Come to bed." and 13. "Hold me?" as well.

Also, I wrote this on my phone while being a passenger princess in the car on my way across the country, so please forgive any typos.

I love you! ❤️

---

44. "I do love you, you know. Even if I'm shit at showing it.", 45. "Don't say anything. Just... Just lay here with me.", 11. "Come to bed.", and 13. "Hold me?"

It's not an uncommon occurrence, Charles and Max having a disagreement. In fact, it has been the baseline of their rivalry, then their friendship, and now, their relationship. 

They have passionate discussions. Heated debates. They bicker and press each other's buttons. When one pulls, the other pushes, again and again and again. 

But, most of the time, it’s fun. Harmless. A disagreement that will pass within a few minutes once they've both had a chance to cool down.

It usually doesn’t turn into a full-blown fight. Not one that leaves Charles looking at Max like he doesn’t know him anymore before storming off into the bedroom and slamming the door shut behind him.

He doesn’t even remember how it started. Something minor, no doubt, but Max cannot for the life of him remember what. All he knows is that whatever they'd been talking about turned into a conversation about Ferrari and Charles' outright refusal to accept that maybe it’s not the right team for him when they still haven't been able to give him what he needs to win a championship after so many years. 

It's something Charles is passionate about, for obvious reasons. But Max is passionate about it too, because he knows what Charles is capable of. Knows that had he only just been in a different team — a team that listened and learned — then he'd already have a championship under his belt.

Because all Max wants in this world is to give Charles everything. But a championship is the one thing he can’t give him. And it’s infuriating, because nobody deserves a world championship more than Charles. 

So yeah, when Charles had told him that he still believed Ferrari could help him achieve his life-long dream, Max had snapped. 

Because when Max was this passionate about something, his passion could sometimes cross the line to anger. Not at Charles — never at Charles — but at the situation. At Charles deserving so much better than what he was getting. 

That, on the other hand, wasn’t always obvious to others.

He overstepped, he knew that much. But he also knew there was no point in trying to fix this now because that would be poking the bear. And right now, the bear needs to breathe. 

So Max lets him breathe, and he busies himself playing with Jimmy and Sassy. And when they get sick of him, he sits on the balcony and watches the city below. 

He watches the boats, the cars, the people, and has to use every bit of strength to resist the urge to go to Charles. 

Once two hours have passed and the Monégasque still hasn't emerged from the bedroom, Max can't take it any more.

Trudging back into the apartment, Max makes his way down the hallway to the bedroom. He lingers outside the closed door, hesitating. Two hours should be enough time, but it’s never a sure thing with Charles. Sometimes, two hours isn’t even close to being enough.

As he opens the door, Max hopes to God it's enough this time.

Charles is lying on the bed on his back, staring at the ceiling. But he'd left the door unlocked, which Max will take as a good sign.

(He won’t entertain the possibility that Charles simply may have forgotten.)

"I'm sorry," Max says as he sits on the edge of the bed next to Charles.

The Monégasque doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring at the ceiling.

Should have waited another hour, Max thinks to himself.

Well. Too late now.

"I didn't mean anything I said the way it probably sounded. I just — I think you deserve so much more. I'm sorry I didn't manage to articulate that."

Charles still doesn’t look at him or speak. But the tightness of his jaw eases slightly.

Max will fucking take that and run with it.

"I do love you, you know. Even if I'm shit at showing it," he goes on, reaching out tentatively to brush his fingers over Charles' thigh through the duvet.

He sees the Monégasque struggle with his resolve. Can tell Charles wants to hold on to his anger, just for a little while longer. 

"You're only shit at showing it sometimes," Charles tells him with a sigh, before finally looking at Max. His eyes look puffy and tired, but still stunning. "Come to bed?"

It’s not forgiveness. Not yet. But it’s a start. 

Max wastes no time, stripping out of his shirt and pants and climbing into bed next to Charles. He's about to keep apologizing — plead with Charles to forgive him, but the Ferrari driver beats him to the punch.

"Don't say anything, just — just lay here with me."

It's a simple request. One that Max is eager to comply with. 

Hell, he'd launch himself off the fucking balcony with the biggest smile on his face if Charles had asked him to in that voice.

So they lay there next to each other. Not touching. Not speaking. Just existing in the same space. Breathing the same air. It's enough.

Until it isn’t. 

Charles turns onto his side, facing Max, and looks up at him through his eyelashes. It’s a look that turns Max's very soul into a puddle.

"Hold me?"

"Always," Max's response is immediate as he shifts closer and pulls Charles against his chest, wrapping both arms around the other man and holding him as if his very life depends on it.

Charles sighs — a soft, pleased sound — as he nuzzles against Max, tucking his face against Max's neck and inhaling deeply. Letting the familiar scent of Max, of home, wash over him. Letting it soothe his soul.

Max lets it soothe his, too.

They don’t speak for the rest of the evening, but they don’t need to. Because as Charles holds on to Max and falls asleep in his arms, Max knows they'll be alright. 

They always are, in the end.

[charles-leclerc-official]

Rpf Monday let’s go!

Ever since charles said fuck in the press conference (and then giggled and squirmed about it) I’ve been having thoughts about an a/b/o au where omega charles is feeling increasingly possessive of his rival max (an alpha) and also for some reason cannot stop thinking about max getting assigned community service for swearing (hence why charles keeps mentioning it). It culminates in him saying fuck at the press conference in a quarter-baked attempt at getting assigned community service along with him because what if max is doing community service and some other omega is assigned to supervise him? What if max is doing community service and not thinking about charles?? What if doing community service with max is charles’ best chance to get max to notice him???

I may or may not do anything with this, but it’s fun thoughts nonetheless XD

- Zoomimal

Charles: "Fuck"

Everybody: . . . .

Charles: "Oh no PLEASE don't give me community service, I have been DREADING the possibility of having to do MANUAL LABOR with Max. PLEASE this isn't fair."

Everybody: . . . .

Charles: "Please make sure I am put on the same community service with Max as a form of protest of this very unfair and biased system. For reasons."

Press con continues ignoring Charles

Charles: "How the fuck is it when Max says fuck he get community service but when I say fuck no one is listening? It seems a little fucking biased, no?"

*Charles is shockingly given community service* *Charles requests that they pick up trash off the track together so he can bend over a lot in front of Max*

[monacodarling]

[cupidskissx]

a funny fic about lestappen being caught doing the dirty by drivers/team principals?😂

Hello sweet Anon, I hope you see this, I’m sorry it took so long 🙈❤️

Now, I know you wanted funny, this has its moments, 2 lines probably, because my inspiration came mostly from this masterful artwork by @lihuiantipyretic so I hope you still enjoy this!

TW: light Dom/Sub, light choking

1.1K

Charles had seen Max win his third WDC from two car lengths behind, it was something to behold, him weaving down the straight after he passed the checkered flag. Then he’d been rushed off his feet, caught in the whirlwind, probed and prodded, cameras in his face. It wasn’t until the press conference that Charles saw him finally decompress, but something wasn’t right. Charles could see him shifting in his seat, he looked uncomfortable, antsy, and when Charles finally caught his eye he knew instantly.

Fuck.

Max held his gaze for a beat too long, eyebrows pinched, pleading, for the whole room to see.

The newly re-crowned champion, having taken the title off Charles, was looking at him like that in front of everyone. Charles crossed one leg over the other, hands in his lap.

If Charles was a weaker man he would have stood up and dragged him away then and there. But he’s not. As much as he wanted to, needed to, he couldn’t. They couldn’t.

It was another, agonising, 15 minutes before they finished. Their release prolonged due to the fact Max occasionally stumbled over his words, or floundered to recollect the championship winning overtake.

They barely made it into the bathroom down the hall before Charles was kissing him. “You okay?” He asked, shoving Max against the wall.

“Mmm, I am now.”

“Do you still need me to…”

“Yes, need you to bring me back down.”

“Okay, baby, you relax,” Charles pressed him into the wall, hands roaming over his chest as Max’s linked together around his lower back. “Let me take your mind off it all.”

Max nodded.

They didn’t do this so openly, so publicly, it’s something that remained hidden away in dark hotel rooms. But Charles couldn’t deny him, not now, not today, not when he needed it the most.

He got his mouth back on him, slid his tongue into his mouth, and one of his hands up to his neck. He cupped the flesh, the solid muscles shifted as Max tilted his head up for Charles to have better access.

Charles gently added more weight into his hold, Max melted into kiss, into him. The power that ran through Charles’ veins was thick and dangerous. The urge to keep going, to test the limits, got stronger with each laboured breath Max puffed into his mouth.

“More,” Max begged, “Please.”

Charles didn’t need to be told twice, he ran his other hand up to his neck, interlocking his thumbs over his throat, and adding more pressure. Max’s Adam’s apple strained against the tips of his thumbs. Max started to lose the ability to kiss him back.

“That’s it, Cheri, just like that. I’ve got you.”

Max broke away to rest his head back against the tiled wall. Eyes squeezed shut.

Charles pushed his thigh between Max’s legs, he instantly sank down enough to slowly grind against it. Charles rested his forehead against Max’s, whispering to him, telling him how good he is, how Max is his, and only his. Max’s cheeks flushed and Charles didn’t know if it was from being showered in praise or from the lack of air, so Charles eased off, just in case, and kissed him again.

Max didn’t expect the warm mouth on his, he grunted in surprise and tightened his hold around Charles’ waist, pulling him closer, his thigh rutting against Max’s bulge. Max rocked on him, harder and faster, until he stilled. He came undone, still fully clothed, moaning into Charles mouth.

“You really did need that, didn’t you? Didn’t even get to touch you,” Charles murmured. He slipped his thigh out from between his legs and loosened the hold on his neck, but he kept his hands cupped over his throat. The absence of them too soon often made things worse.

“Later,” Max promised, voice tight. “Do you need me to…”

Max unlinked his fingers from around his back and reached for him. Charles grabbed his wrist. “Later sounds good.”

Max nodded and kissed him, long and slow, until they broke away, snapping their heads to look in the direction of the bathroom door as it swept open.

Charles swallowed thickly at the sight of Christian Horner, stock-still, staring at them. The door swung back on its hinges, colliding into Christian’s shoulder, knocking him out of his daze.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Leclerc?” Christian advanced on them, “Get off him!”

Charles dropped his hands instantly, “It’s not what is looks like,” he tried to step back but Max’s tight hold prevented him from moving.

Max’s clear intention to keep Charles in place made Christian stop in his tracks before he could yank Charles off him.

“Max?” Christian turned his fiery glare onto his driver for conformation.

“It’s okay,” he agrees, “Charles and I…”

He didn’t need to say more, Christian filled in the blanks, cutting him off with a breathless: “Jesus…”

Charles could see him fight the urge to tell them this was a PR nightmare. That if the wrong person had walked in it would have been career ending.

Christian sighed, heavy and prolonged. “How long?”

Charles looked at Max who had the tiniest smile on his lips. “A year and a bit.”

Christian nodded, likely piecing together all the small moments that didn’t make sense over. Like when Max arrived at a TAG Heuer sponsorship event wearing a Richard Mille. Or when Max left last year’s Zandvoort debrief early, citing a tummy bug, when in actuality he needed Charles’ hands around his neck. Or more recently when Christian arrived unexpectedly at Max’s hotel room last month only for Max not to let him in because Charles was still spread out, naked, barely lucid, after getting his brain sucked out of his dick not even three minutes prior.

“Don’t become complacent,” it was the closest they’d get to Christian’s blessing for now. He’d likely pull Max into his office and force him to have the conversation they’d both tried so hard to avoid.

“I’m gonna go pee,” Christian said, “When I’m done one of you better be gone.”

Christian went into one of the stalls, and flicked the lock.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Max whispered. Out of all the scenarios, Charles never expected Max to confess those words for the first time inside a small Brazilian bathroom with the sound of Christian Horner peeing in the background.

Charles laughed at the absurdity of the situation and kissed him, “I love you too,” he whispered against his lips. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Max nodded, “I’ll be a while, you know how it is.”

Charles recalled being pulled in every direction for hours after winning his championship title. He nodded, “I’ll stay awake for you.”

Max kissed him, long and slow.

“I was serious, stop making out and get out of here,” Christian’s strained voice grumbled.

“Okay, okay. Good luck with him,” Charles grinned, kissed Max one more time then left.

*

Feel free to send a prompt any time if you don’t mind waiting literal months for me to get my act together 😇🥰

[lovelylotusf1]

Ooh if you're still accepting prompt requests, could you do one for Lestappen for #s 8 and 17?? (Preferably with Charles being the injured one??)

Hurt/comfort! Yes!!

Warning for the aftermath & discussion of a sexual encounter that didn't go well.

Still doing prompt requests!

Red bruises (taking care of you)

“Charles, what the fuck happened to you?”

Charles closes the door and pushes himself past Max without gracing him with a reply. Stops in the middle of the hotel room to stare into Max’s eyes with a defiant look that would be way more effective if there wasn’t a hand shaped bruise on his cheek.

“Do you have something for bruises? I ran out.” There’s something in his voice that makes Max’s skin crawl. Or more accurately: there's nothing in his voice. It’s empty. As if Charles stuffed any emotion deep inside his chest, and now there’s nothing left to break to the surface.

Max almost can’t focus on the words when Charles sounds and looks this … fragile. Breakable. Charles’ eyes are red like he's been crying before coming here. He keeps rubbing his wrists, and when Max follows the movement, he can see that they’re chaffed and ringed by more horrible red bruises. Anger boils deep in his gut at the sight.

He surges forward and grabs Charles’ hands as gently as possible. Turns them around to reveal that his palms are hurt as well. His nostrils flare, but he tries to keep his voice level as he asks, “Who did this to you?”

“Max.” Charles rips his hands away, and finally, there is a hint of emotion in his tone. Annoyance. Max can take annoyance, has dealt with Charles being annoyed with him his entire life. “Do you or do you not have something to treat bruises with? If you do not, I will walk away and you will forget that this happened, yes?”

Max takes a deep breath. If Charles wasn’t worrying him so much, he would shake him until he got a name, and – And then what? He can’t really go and punch whoever hurt Charles, not when he’s a famous f1 driver and his entire career is at stake if he causes a massive PR scandal. But he wants to. Oh, he wants to do it so badly.

He channels that energy into searching the hotel bathroom for some medical supplies and returning back to Charles in record time.

Charles has sat down on the bed in the middle of the room, that vacant stare still on his face. He doesn't move. Not a twitch when Max sits down by his side. Not a single flinch when Max starts applying gel to the bruises. Like a porcelain doll. Max's heart hurts.

As he finishes wrapping Charles’ wrists with bandages, Charles shifts for the first time since sitting down. “It was a bad hookup.”

Max startles, not expecting Charles to speak up. He’s about to say something, when Charles continues, “Everything was fine until that bastard hit me. When I said I didn’t want that, he laughed in my face. Almost didn’t want to untie me. He said that if I wanted to be tied up like a whore, I also wanted to be hit like one.”

The words stab into Max like a rusty needle. A whirlwind of emotions follows, fiery fury raging in his chest. How dare that bastard treat Charles like that? He wants to curse that fucker until he drops dead and rots in hell. He wants to tell Charles how wonderful he is, how he's so brave for standing up for himself, for telling Max about it and for accepting help.

But he knows Charles. Charles doesn't want pity. He would curse Max for trying to do something like that and probably never speak to him again. Instead, Max does the only reasonable thing: Comfort Charles.

“Can I hug you?”

Charles inhales sharply. Continues staring at his now bandaged hands that are still in Max's grasps. And slowly nods his head.

Max guides Charles' hands around himself. Wraps his own arms around Charles carefully, not wanting to frighten him. But Charles has other plans. The moment Max's arms rest against his back, he basically crashes himself into Max's chest, burying his head into Max's shirt.

And he breaks down.

Charles doesn't sob. His entire body shakes, but he stays quiet. The only indication that he's crying are the tears that stain the front of Max's shirt.

Max only holds him tighter. He kisses the crown of Charles’ head and lets him cry.