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charlescoded · 2 years ago

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I'm trying to decide on what I'll be writing next for lestappen, but in the meantime, here are some snippets from stuff that will probably never see the light of ao3:

1.) love potion

“Please tell me you didn’t just drink that.” There’s a desperation in Charles’ voice that he’s has never heard before, and a worried look on his face that sets Max on edge.

“Yeah? I did..?” He shifts uncomfortably, looking at his empty glass.

“Oh my god,” Charles mutters, his hands grabbing hold of Max’s face without warning. He looks him over like he’s trying to find something. It fills Max with a sense of anxiety. “How do you feel— Do you feel anything strange?” He demands.

Max lets out a confused noise. “No? Charles, what the fuck?”

Charles frowns. “Nothing at all?” He presses. “That does not make sense.” His hand comes to rest on Max’s forehead, like he’s checking for a fever.

He grabs hold of Charles’ wrists, taking his hands off his face. “What doesn’t make sense..?”

Charles’ frown deepens, but he doesn’t try to get out of Max’s grip. “The potion… you drank it, there should be an effect…”

“What potion?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Charles… what potion?” He asks alarmed.

“A love potion.” He admits reluctantly.

...

2.) soul manifestation

“Did you see Oscar’s koala trip up Logan?”

Max doesn’t look up from his phone, but he still smiles. “Yeah, so I know it was by accident.”

Lando sighs. “You’re no fun.” He mutters, sagging down next to Max onto the couch. Logan tripping was by far not the only accident that had happened the last few hours. Pierre’s wolf had broken one of the chairs, and Zhou’s rabbit had gotten stuck on a shelf without a way down.

It doesn’t take long for Lando to get bored again, before he asks another question. “Have you seen Charles? I haven’t seen him for like an hour.”

Max purses his lips and doesn’t answer.

There’s a pause before Lando turns his body completely towards Max. “You do know where he is.” He accuses.

“I might, yes.” He shrugs, keeping his eyes on his phone.

“…Max, where are Charles and his mouse?”

He sighs and finally looks up, slipping his phone into his pocket. “They’re asleep.” He says flatly.

“What do you mean ‘asleep’?” Lando asks alarmed.

“Like I said it.”

“Max!”

For a moment, Max debates keeping Lando guessing for a while, before pointing at his own animal: a lion. If anything, Lando looks even more alarmed.

“Please tell me your lion didn’t eat the mouse!”

“What? No, of course not.” Max rolls his eyes. “I told you, they’re both asleep.”

“I don’t know what that means!”

Max snorts. “Exactly that: They’re asleep.”

“But where!?”

He stands up and grabs Lando’s wrist, dragging him to the sleeping lion. Max puts his hand into the lion’s fur and brushes it aside, revealing a small, sleeping mouse.

“Oh!” Lando exclaims before covering his mouth to silence himself. “But what about Charles?” He whispers.

Max bites his lip and points behind the lion.

Lando takes a step closer, before his head snaps back to look at Max, his eyes wide. Why, he mouths. They walk away slightly before Lando repeats the question. “Why is Charles there? Under your lion?”

“Got stuck.”

“…Got stuck?”

“Yeah,” Max shrugs. “His mouse was sleeping already and he tried to grab it. My lion didn’t like his sleep getting disturbed, so he made Charles stop moving.”

Lando’s eyes go even wider. “And you didn’t help him?”

Max gave him an incredulous look. “And get stuck too? Mate, I think that mouse is in on it. No way am I challenging them.”

...

3.) I wish (you didn’t forget me) scene concept for an au where charles, in a moment of anger, makes a wish that comes true, changing reality (but at this point, it got reversed)

“Wait, you remember!?” Charles’ eyes go wide as Max rips his wrist out of his grasp. His jaw sets, tense and obviously upset. Charles is hurt too, that Max didn’t say anything, that he didn’t do anything, but then he remembers why Max left in the first place and he understands. Still, it hurts.

“Yes,” Max says tersely, glancing around them. There’s people looking at them. There’s nothing private about this, but Charles doesn’t care. Max can’t just disappear here, he will have to interact with Charles, he has to. “It would be better if neither of us did.”

That, too, hurts to hear. Charles has to remind him that this is a Max who thinks that Charles doesn’t want him, that he thinks Charles doesn’t want to remember, but he does. He still so desperately wants Max, and seeing him like this, the insecurity, the dismissal of his own feelings, it feels like too much.

“No, it would not be.” He argues, voice hushed. “I want to remember.”

Max’s eyes harden. “Well, you wished for this, so deal with it.”

He turns around and walks away. Shit. Charles scrambles to follow him. Max can’t disappear from his life, he can disappear into some Red Bull building Charles isn’t allowed into. “Wait! Fuck— Max, wait!”

There’s no reply and Charles once again curses to himself.

This is harder than he ever imagined it would be. He knows he can clear this up, but Max doesn’t seem to want to hear it. He hopes that by the time he knows, this will get better. He wishes that it did.

Charles catches up to Max and grabs his shoulder. Max comes to a halt, turns around, and glares at Charles. They’re around the same height, but something in Max’s gaze makes him feel smaller, like he’s being towered over. “What?” He hisses.

“I love you,” He blurts out, because he can, because it’s the truth. Because he isn’t sure what else he can say to make Max stay and listen to him. “I love you, Max, in our memories, but also in this life. I did not stop loving you.”

Max’s throat bobs, but the ice remains in his gaze. “Sometimes… Sometimes, love isn’t enough. You made that clear.”

He flinches, but he knows he deserves every bit of venom Max throws at him. “I didn’t mean it,” He steps forward when Max looks like he wants to protest. Charles presses his hand against Max’s chest, his own gaze pleading. He looks conflicted about pushing Charles away. “I wanted to return with you. We didn’t… We did not belong there, Max, and I knew it was eating at you. Not racing. I wanted to go back and race against you again—“

“Stop.” Max grabs Charles’ wrist, light and gentle, but his voice is made of glass. Sharp, ragged. Broken. “I don’t need to hear how much you wanted to race me again, Charles, I don’t need that right now…”

Charles falters. Does Max not want to race again? No, that makes no sense. Since they returned, Max has been driving like his life depends on finishing first. Charles hasn’t managed to finish a single race in front of Max since they returned a month ago, but the racing has felt the same. There’s no sudden aggression, or pettiness. It’s just fair racing. So this doesn’t make sense, unless…

Unless it’s not Max who doesn’t want to race against him, but exactly what he said. He doesn’t want Charles to want it.

“Let me finish, please.” He whispers. Max’s hand feels warm against his skin, and suddenly, Charles feels terrified that he’ll leave again. That he’s just made this worse, but then Max nods, a dejected look in his eyes. Somehow, that’s worse than his ice. “I wanted you to race again, Max, I wanted the life back where you were happy, and confident, and full of life.” His throat feels tight. “Not racing, it was… it was hurting you so much, and it made things worse between us. So much worse, and that’s why I wished for our old lives back… But, I still wanted you here, too.”

Max’s expression shows his conflict. His grasp on Charles’ hand goes from lax to firm to lax again. They stay silent as the air between them settles. Charles hopes, prays, that this is enough to make him understand, to give him the security he needs.

He just wants his Max back.

The tension disappears from Max’s shoulders, his fingers glide over Charles’ own. He holds his breath, feels the anticipation building, but Max’s smile isn’t happy, it’s sad instead. “What we had there, it’s not going to work here, Charles, even if our feelings haven’t changed.”

Disappointment crashes down on him. Reality feels suffocating all of a sudden, and desperation returns. But, if nothing else, Charles can be incredibly stubborn. “Why not?” He’s ready to disagree, ready to fight Max for this, for them.

“Because we’re both drivers.” Max squeezes his hand, Charles feels it in his heart. “You could come out because you were a champion without me, but you’re not one with me.”

“Why does that matter?” He argues.

“You think I don’t remember how people looked at us there? What they said? It would be worse here, Charles, when you’re not secure with Ferrari.”

Charles bristles. “And what about you? You are secure, you are free, are you not? Do you not love me? Do you not want me?”

Max inhales sharply. “Of course I love you, of course I want you. That’s not—,” He pauses, struggles with his words, before continuing. “I can come out, Red Bull would be fine, but you’re not—“

“Would you take the leap for me?” He rushes out. His determination rises.

“For you? Yes, of course, but you shouldn’t take it for me—“ That’s good enough.

“I decide that.” Charles closes the last distance between them and kisses Max. His hand rests against Max’s jaw, warm and present. Max doesn’t move at first, but Charles feels the moment he relaxes, the moment he realises the decision Charles made. He made the leap. Max returns the favour with another kiss, a smile blooming slow and hesitant, before settling on relieved.

The media can fuck off. Charles can kiss his boyfriend again.

...

4.) things you said after you kissed me (it's a bit toxic, innit)

“Kissing me won’t fix things, Charles,” Max whispers, the brush of his lips light and fleeting. “What we have? It’s not enough.”

“Why not?” It’s a challenge. Charles’ eyes are bright, fire burning hot like a forest fire. And Max wants to burn. “Do you not want me?”

It’s a ridiculous question. Of course Max wants him. He’s always wanted him. But he knows that what he wants, he’ll never have. “We’re not meant to be together. You know this. You’re already with someone else.”

Charles twists his hand into the fabric of Max’s shirt, holding him close. It feels almost possessive, like he can’t let go. Of this. Of them.“ I do not care, I want you.”

It’s not. It’s not right. Max knows this, even as he feels Charles’ lips brush over the stubble of his chin, down to the slope of his neck. It feels divine, his skin alight, Charles’ touch making him crave more. “I can’t share you.” He murmurs. His protests sound weak to his own ears.

Charles knows, too.

Laughter reverberates against his skin. “You can. You will.” The confidence is all-consuming. Max’s bones feel heavy, the weight of them the only thing keeping him from tumbling down to the ground.

“Please stop.” He whispers.

#lestappen #my writing #ellie's trying to convince me to write the 5+1 people think they're together (but they're roommates)#but i sent her like 5 ideas a day so i'm not attached to a specific one (yet)#(baby-vampire!charles my beloved-- pacific rim au my beloved-- oh oh! the one where charles sees the future and changes it for the worse)#all of these came from my dms with ellie btw (and are definitely not spell checked lmao)

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running-with-kn1ves · 7 months ago

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Fitness Trainer

A/N: I blended some french terms of endearment with English don't come for me. But is Antoine really French, or is he feigning this way to get closer to you? (Had a fem idea for this too)

Synopsis: Another day at the gym, your personalized trainer is helping you out a lot more intimately than he would with most clients.

TW: Creep gym trainer, yandere themes, mentions of future stalking/imagined groping, sensual content

And up... and down, just like that."

The squeeze on your hips kept you stable, even with your fingers shaking, mouth agape as hot breath was sucked in, and out.

"One more, you can do one more for me."

"I can't..." you huffed, thighs quaking as the barbell on your shoulders made you ache.

"Yes you can. C'mon sweetheart, we'll do it together."

He gripped the barbell beside where your sweating hands were, chest flush against your back as his feet entrapped the outside of your own.

“Do it with me now,” He pulled the weight lower, forcing you to squat despite the agony in your ankles and tailbone. “Push through it, baby.”

The sweet name just slipped out, breathy against your ear as his hot exhales slowed compared to your huffs. It almost made you slip.

You could feel the muscles in your wrists shaking, vision going blurry as sweat drips into your eyes. One of his hands leaves the barbell to grip your hip, forcing you back into a standing position as your knees nearly give out.

You rise slowly back up with the barbell in your hands, nearly groaning in pain at the strain. You finally lift your arms to your chest, finishing the rep with a strained frown as your personal trainer forces the weight off of your arms. His taller stature makes it easy to put the barbell back on the rack in front of you.

You feel as if you could collapse, an hour and a half of intense training brought upon by your own determination leaving you exhausted and a little discouraged. You thought you could do more, push yourself harder-- but at the end of the day, the amount of reps your body would let you do, was it. You’d crack if you tried to go even further, end up tearing something or worse.

Your trainer could tell; the way you sweat, your eyebrows furrowed as you kept that hard, strained look with each motion he made you do.

“I hate to say it, but you’re done for today.”

You look up at him from your place on the ground, water bottle hanging from your grip as you try to catch your breath.

Antoine had only worked with you for a couple weeks now, what started as once a week now thrice, if you had the time after work of course. But somehow, he always enticed you to come back.

His body, which should’ve been motivation, was more or less disheartening-- rippling muscles and bulging quads peeking beneath his tight ‘TRAINER’ black tee and athletic shorts as the perfect ensemble.

He was so sweet, so encouraging and upsettingly positive. Always filling up your water bottle, saying how he’s always admiring the growth of muscle definition in your back, giving you light touches to show which area of your body that a machine might work out. He even offered post-exercise massages to make sure you didn’t get sore after each session, free of cost as a perk of joining the gym’s ‘premium membership’, an idea he sold you on. That, along with the complementary protein shakes made that were hi “specialty.”

You knew it was his job to hook you in, but who could say no to that sweet meathead’s face? Which is why you were here, on a late saturday afternoon, in this nearly empty gym with him that he convinced you to love.

You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, even if he was the one persuading you, offering to use his time off to come in and help train you.

“Feelin’ sore?” Antoine bends down next to you, offering a small towel from his pocket. The twinge of accent in his speech makes him sound funny, dry lips parted as he looks you over. “You went harder than usual today.”

“Yeah,” You let out after a gulp of water. “Definitely gonna feel this later tonight; ha, maybe I’ll actually take you up on one of those massages.”

You point with your water bottle, grinning tiredly as Antoine’s eyes seem to shine. He licks his lips to hide a giddy grin.

“Of course-- definitely, I’d be more than happy to. These hands can work magic you wouldn’t believe.”

Antoine shuffles behind you, pulling at your shoulders to make you sit up straight.

“Wha- you mean right now? I’m all, sticky.”

“Now’s the best time, your muscles are just coming down from the effort they’ve exerted. Best to prevent any aches and pains as soon as possible rather than waiting.”

He begins gentle rubs against the base of your neck; vast, warm fingers grace your collar with a softness you hadn’t expected. Usually when people try to massage your shoulders they’re too harsh, too grippy; but Antoine was rhythmic, pushing into your back with his palms as he made his way down to your shoulder blades.

“But considering you’ve pushed so hard, I don’t want to see you back here for a couple of days.” Antoine insisted.

“Awe, you want me outa here that badly?” You joked, laying your head forward as Antoine’s fingers made their way to the back of your neck, running pressed thumbs down from your hairline. “I see how it is, prefer your other clients over me.”

It felt sort of weird, having him massage you so deeply on the gym floor out in the open. But the only person here in the middle of the afternoon was an older woman, paying more attention to her cellphone on the treadmill than anything you two were doing.

Antoine shook your shoulders.

“Don’t say that, now!” He leaned his head over next to yours from behind, getting so close your nose almost brushed against his cheek. “It’s not funny; I hope you don’t see me that way.”

“It’s just a joke,” You titter, running your handtowel down the front of your shirt.

“I never understand your jokes.” He sighs, hands moving down to your tailbone. He lifts the bottom of your shirt sticking to your skin, digging his hands against the soft flesh.

“Woah, hey,” You turn to look at him, but his head is down, looking at his fingers.

“I have to get to your hips, you can’t do so many squats without release. And at the rate you were going to day… well, you see what I mean.”

The bottom of your tanktop covers his knuckles as he pulls and kneads the skin of your lower back.

“O-okay.. I guess..”

He’s not usually so insistent, but he seems so genuine about it-- and, he’s the trainer, shouldn’t they know best?

He begins with little strokes to your skin, almost caressing. You grow anxious until his thumbs push deep lines into your flesh.

“Does that feel a little better, Mon cœur? Less pain?” He asks up close, staring at your heated and perspiring cheeks.

You’re awed by how good it actually feels, the tension melting away with each push of his knuckles into your skin, and grip of his hands around your waist as each of his thumbs digs into your sides.

“Yeah… feels a lot better..”

“You can rest your head on my shoulder, don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, arching your back with your head against his shoulder. He had easier access into your back, working his hands up beneath your shirt to reach your mid abdomen.

The deeper Antoine kneaded, the farther he grew up your back, the more… audible, his groans became. Each dip was another breathy moan into your ear. It was fine at first, just the sounds of his work; and then, it became almost, uncomfortably sensual.

“Just like that...” He mumbled, giving a deep hum.

With your neck so close, his nose dips against your jaw to sneak a sharp inhale of your scent. It was heightened from your hour of strenuous work, a smell he couldn’t get enough of.

But you jumped forward before he could nuzzle as deep against you as he wished.

“Uh! Thanks, I feel a lot better now. Really… got all the kinks out.”

You clutch your towel, facing your trainer to prevent him from working his “magic fingers” again.

“Of course. And that’s just a taste, a fully body massage would leave the workout you just completed to drain away, as if it was just a dream.” He wiggles his hands with a sheepish grin, one so simple and sincere your guard fell again.

Sure, guys at the gym could be creeps, but he was your trainer, eyes kind and a little foreignly clueless, who only wanted to see you thrive; he’d never try something with you, his client.

“Yeah, maybe next time. But now, I need to shower and get this stink off of me.” You bring yourself to your feet, all wobbly and achy-galore. Even with Antoine’s work on your shoulders, you can feel your back beginning to seize up. It’s gonna be hard to bend down for a while.

Offering a hand to Antoine still on the rubbery gym floor, he takes it with a slight ease. He doesn’t use the weight in his hand to get up, knowing he’d just drag you back down to the floor if he did.

“Thanks again-- I mean, I know it’s your job but--”

“Don’t thank me; it’s always a treat to have you here, my cherie. I’d train you for free, you know!”

You laugh, flattered at the idea. If you were a bit more forward, you’d ask him for that little perk. Hey, paying for his service certainly wasn’t cheap!

Making your way to the bathroom, you thank your lucky stars the hard part’s over. Too bad you can’t look at Antoine’s pretty face anymore, though.

Antoine on the other hand, follows your stumbling body with his eyes, watching as you disappear behind the water fountain and bathroom door.

His eyes jut back and forth between the machines and front door for witnesses, seeing none before snatching up your forgotten towel. How’d you never notice they didn’t just give these things out?

He’d brought the cute handkerchief from home, wanting to appear the most of a gentleman. And, in the hopes that you’d use it every and anywhere.

Oh, he thrived off that scent, pushing the white damp cloth heavy against his nose. It smelled even more potent of you, moreso than the few inches away of sniffs he usually got.

His tongue just barely brushed against it, writhing in ecstasy from how it still held the stickiness of your sweat. You didn’t know how intoxicating it was to him, watching each bead of sweat leave your neck, the dip of your back when he got the chance to help hold that barbell with you… it was almost maddening, how strictly he had to restrain himself from lapping at your hot skin and running his hands beneath your gymwear.

No, he had to save this for later. What would his manager think if he saw him acting so ferally?

Besides, there were more important matters to attend to. Such as, taking out the bathroom trash, a simple excuse to slide his manager for the opportunity to watch you shower.

Who knew working here would have such great advantages in getting close to you.

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