#lestappen snippet

[lestappenforever]

Post Singapore GP Lestappen angst snippet, anyone?

Full fic coming tomorrow, hopefully. (If I can come up with a fucking title.)

“When are you going to start being selfish?” He demands, looking at Charles expectantly, wanting an answer. 

Charles puts his glass down on the table with a little more force than necessary. “Max!” He’s borderline shouting, now, and he takes a deep breath to calm himself before speaking again. “Are you seriously going to sit here and lecture me after the weekend you’ve had?”

For a brief moment, Max looks like Charles imagines he would have looked if the Monégasque had physically slapped him. He remembers seeing that look on the Dutchman’s face in Brazil, and his heart aches at the memory. The Dutchman recovers quickly, though, schooling his features. He narrows his eyes at Charles. 

“I had a shit weekend because our setup didn’t work for this circuit,” Max tells him. “Not because my team decided to sacrifice me. And I still finished P5.”

The words sting like a bitch — not because Max means for them to, but simply because Charles knows that Max is right. It makes something angry and bitter stir up inside of him.

“And I finished P4,” he says, as if it’s something to be proud of. As if finishing ahead of Max is some huge deal, even though Charles knows damn well that it’s not. 

“I would have overtaken you if there was another lap. Your tires were shot because they didn’t let you pit.”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s true.”

“I know,” Charles admits, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He turns his head and looks out over the water. “It is not an ideal situation or an ideal season, but it’s —,”

“If you say ‘it’s like this’ one more fucking time, I’m going to throw my glass at you.”

[sunshineyoujustwait]

seventeen million years late to this, as usual, but now that I have five minutes to spare- better late than never!

Tag Game:

tagged by the wonderful, talented and gorgeous @cupidskissx ily and apologies this took 5 business days to respond to

rule(s): post a snippet (however long or short or longish or shortish) from a wip !!

this is a longer snippet from a work I started ages ago and completely forgot about, I may return to it now that I remembered it exists lmao

“Do you ever wonder, like, is there supposed to be something more than this?”

Charles rolls his eyes, glancing over to where Max is laid out on his balcony, beer dangling precariously from one hand. “Max, it’s the new year, not the end of the world.” Max huffs at him, takes another sip of his beer. “That’s not what I mean, it’s just- what’s next, you know?” Charles glances longingly at the glass double doors leading back into the apartment, wonders if Max would notice if he just dipped from this entire conversation. Lando and Carlos are playing beer pong, and it’s suddenly looking very appealing.  He sighs, turning back to the blonde beside him. “What’s next for you is probably more race wins, maybe a third championship.” Charles tries not to sound bitter, he’s not sure how successful he is.  “Sorry,” Max winces a little. “I know you should probably hate me right now.” I’m trying to, Charles thinks, but I can’t. It’s an unfair thought really, none of this is Max’s fault. There’s plenty of blame to go around for the mess that was last season and Max doesn’t deserve any of it. Still, it feels like it would be easier to hate him, if that was something he was capable of doing.  Max rolls over onto his stomach, narrowly avoiding falling off the hammock he’s curled himself into. “Winning is great and all, and I love racing, but it just feels a little hollow or something, lately. We fly across the world, we race, we come home, rinse and repeat, same thing every week.” Charles glances at Max where he’s sprawled out across the hammock. He looks fine, a little drunk maybe, but not like someone on the verge of an existential crisis. His hair is flopping into his eyes and Charles’ hands twitch with a sudden desire to run his fingers through the errant strands. It’s not a new feeling, exactly, it’s just that sometimes when he looks at Max under the lights like this, soft and relaxed, it makes his breath catch in his throat and his stomach whirl with an as of yet unnamed feeling.  Other times, he just wants to strangle him. “Must be nice,” he mutters, “getting sick of winning.” Max groans. “Fuck off, you know that's not what I meant. It's just that, it feels like there should be something more, you know? Someone to share it all with, lights on when you come home, that sort of thing.” Charles doesn't know, not really, but he supposes it makes sense in a way. You achieve one dream - world champion, check (twice) - then you start seeking out the next. In Max's case that seems to be some sort of cosy picket fence. Like Maslow's hierarchy of needs, but for millionaires who drive fast cars for a living.  He's still stuck on the previous step of the pyramid though, so he's not feeling entirely charitable about it right now.  “Then date, find someone, it's not that complicated.” It comes out harsher than intended, but Charles is feeling a little lost at the direction of this conversation, and the image of Max settling down is rattling around in his brain for some reason, ugly and discordant.  Max is quiet for a moment, and Charles kind of maybe feels like a bit of an asshole.  “Tried that,” he says finally. “It didn’t exactly work out.” Charles definitely feels like an asshole then, winces at the words because, yeah, he did. There’d been a ring and everything, it had been a bit messy.  “Sorry,” he tries, but Max waves him off, shrugging. "Do you not get lonely?" "I date." Max snorts at that, which- rude.  “I have racing. I like racing. I'm not-” he gestures vaguely at Max's sprawled form- “losing it because I don’t have someone waiting for me when I come home. I’m happy.” “Yeah well, I guess it just doesn’t feel the same anymore.” “What doesn’t?” “Racing.” That catches Charles’ attention, sets the alarm bells ringing in his admittedly alcohol muddled mind. There are few constants in his life but Max and racing are two of them. 

Everyone has probably been tagged by now as I'm so late but if you see this and you haven't then plz, this is your invite!! Share all the snippets !!!

[f1writingbyme]

So, I finished this thing today…

I shared a little sneak peek earlier today, but I finished it this evening. @lestappenforever will beta it for me tomorrow (fucking LOVE YOU for that) and when it’s done, I’ll be ready to post it ❤️

I’ll leave a little snippet under the cut 👀

"No, wait!" Max actually shouts.

His loud tone startles Nico, who freezes with one foot in the air, just as he was about to go to the door of the motor home. He stares at Max with raised eyebrows, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with him. The thought makes Max blush even more and he's sure he would blend in with Charles' car if he was standing next to it.

He clears his throat. "Let me take a look, yeah?"

Before Nico can ask him why he can't go in when he could last night, Max slips past him on the stairs. He enters and quickly closes the door behind him before Nico can see anything inside. Just as he expected, Charles is sitting on his couch, butt-naked, one hand wrapped around himself, lazily stroking his hard cock.

Max's mouth waters at the sight and for a moment he forgets what he came in for.

"Looking for this?" With a shit-eating grin on his face, Charles holds up a black wallet in his other hand.

Nico's wallet.

As the German's name pops into his head again, Max snaps out of the trance he was in as he stared at the gorgeous man on his couch. He steps forward and snatches the wallet out of his boyfriend's hand.

"You're going to be the death of me, baby," Max says, his eyes flicking down to where Charles is still stroking himself.

"You're going to be the death of me if you're not on top of me in the next ten seconds, chèri," Charles counters, the tone of his voice breathy as he flicks his wrist in the way he likes best.

“Fuck,” Max moans softly.

“10, 9, 8…”

[cupidskissx]

Austria Abeyance snippet pleaseeee 🥺

Taking his assignment seriously he tells Charles to turn around.

“You only want to look at my arse,” Charles says but does as he’s told.

It hadn’t been Max’s intention but after he takes a 0.5 shot of him framed between the peaks he zooms in on the slant of Charles’ waist.

“Alright, I’m bored, let’s go,” Max announces, zooming out again.

To his credit, Charles doesn’t argue, and starts to clamber down. His arms flail as he dislodges some of the stones he must have loosened on the way up. Max snaps his clumsy descent and quickly selects the final few shots, he contemplates choosing one of the better ones too but decides he wouldn’t be able to explain that away if he’s caught. He opens airdrop and waits for his name to appear. Except it doesn’t. The only contact that pops up is…

[chock-and-bates]

Cant wait to read your medieval au and imagine charles wearing a slutty damsel dress, lying on a bear fur waiting to be ravished <3

bear fur, you say? are you, like, psychic???

in honor of this prophetic ask, here is a very long snippet from my dark medieval au, roar of the fire.

(tw: blood, #43 fans beware!, and some mild chussy spice 🌶️)

His husband had dragged his chairs close as soon as they had sat down, wrapping a possessive arm around his shoulders and tucking Charles into his side, where he had stayed throughout the feast, with Max occasionally trying to hand feed Charles food and snickering when he would snap at him.

They were still pressed together now, observing the barely contained mayhem in the Grand Hall. Charles watched as Lando made a fool of himself, shamelessly flirting with Sir Ricciardo, Carlos, and the physician's apprentice, Oscar. He spun around on the dance floor, throwing his arms around whichever man was closest, and laughing maniacally at whatever they said.

Charles scowled at the scene, ashamed that such a fool was his lord-in-waiting. It made him grateful that Max was not one for dancing, for Charles had no desire to be in close proximity with the little strumpet tonight.

Of course his present situation was not much better. Since the dancing had started, Max was honestly more preoccupied with Charles than with watching his own court. He kept plying him with more wine, humiliatingly lifting his goblet to Charles’ lips for him to sip from as he whispered filthy promises to him, occasionally allowing his hand to wander no matter how many times Charles tried to push it away.

“I like the gown,” Max murmured to him, his finger running along the low neckline of the blood red dress Charles had been forced into. He brushed the tip of his finger against Charles’ skin, “You look very pretty.”

Pursing his lip, Charles threw him a withering look, “I look ridiculous. Apparently Lord Perez did not think my usual robes were fitting for a feast.”

Chuckling, Max just leaned closer to rest his forehead against Charles temple, his arm still tight around his shoulder so he couldn’t shrug him off, “My poor little queen. Maybe it will cheer you to know that I do not intend for you to be wearing it for much longer.”

Heat crept up his neck at the words and he uselessly tried to squirm away, “I told you, this is not a conversation befitting for a feast, you brute.”

Max didn’t let him budge an inch, instead whispering hotly against his ear, “Did you see the massive bear rug one of the diplomats gifted us? I’ve already ordered it to be taken to our chambers and laid out in front of the fire. I’m going to take you on that rug tonight, wife. Going to rip off this dress and-”

“Your grace,” Lord Horner’s voice interrupted Max’s filthy words, “May I present to you, Lord Colapinto.”

With an irritated huff, the King pulls away to see the guest. Flustered, Charles also glances up at the intrusion.

Lord Colapinto turns out to be one of the foreign diplomats, a young man, with a charming face, and a misplaced, confident sparkle in his eyes from far too many drinks. He gives a low, drunken bow to Max and begins to extol the incredible feast-

Charles tunes out of the conversation quickly, he has no desire to listen to more diplomats lather his husband in praise and flattery, as if that will spare their lands if Max sets his sights on them.

Until he realizes Colapinto’s eyes have begun to rest on him.

“I, of course, offer my congratulations on your recent nuptials,” Colapinto practically purrs as he stares at Charles, “Your bride is most lovely.”

Everyone at the great table stiffens, Charles included.

“Your grace, you do not dance,” Colapinto looks back at Max, the drunken haze in his eyes even more obvious after his words. Who could have let this poor man stumble up here in such a state?

Max does not answer the question. He’s gone very still, his gaze sharp and focused, a predator observing his prey.

“King Max does not dance,” Lord Horner answers instead, an icy warning underlying the statement.

One that, unfortunately, Colapinto does not heed.

“Ah, a true shame. If I may,” Colapinto stumbles closer, “I would offer to take the Queen for a dance, if it pleases your grace.” He extends a hand towards Charles, “Your beautiful bride deserves to be shown off to the court-”

Max stands abruptly. In what feels like the blink of an eye he has unsheathed the knife from his belt…and stabbed it straight through Colapinto’s wrist and into the table.

The lord shrieks in agony, writhing in shock and pain as his blood spreads out from where he’s pinned. Exclamations of surprise and disgust erupt from those near, causing the music to stop and the rest of the guests to crane their necks to see the bloody spectacle.

Charles does not look away from the grisly sight, clenching his jaw and staring at the foolish lord as he screams and squirms.

“It does not please me,” Max sneers as he answers the lord’s witless question. 

With icy eyes he looks out at the rest of the crowd, everyone falling silent and fearful under his stare.

“Come, we’re retiring,” he says to Charles, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. 

Everyone bows to them on their way out, but Charles barely notices, Calopinto’s shrieks still ringing in his ears.

Moments later, despite the violent scene, Charles still finds himself laid out on that bear rug. The fur is pleasantly warm from the heat of the fire against his bare skin, that cursed dress laying in tatters near the door. Max is also naked, laying half on top of him, sucking and biting dark, possessive marks into his neck as his hand works at Charles between his legs.

“Did you want to dance with him, schatje,” Max asks him, the words whispered against his throat.

Biting his lip, Charles tries desperately to hold in the wanton mewls that Max keeps pulling out of him, his thumb relentlessly circling the sensitive bud at the top of his sex, while his cunt keeps clenching around the two fingers Max has buried inside him. He keeps remembering how it’s the same hand that had just wielded his knife.

Still, his question makes Charles scowl, and he hopes Max can hear it in his voice when he answers. “No. As if I would ever want to dance with a drunken idiot.”

He can feel Max’s smile against his neck, sharp and violent.

[catzz089]

*appears from thin air* snippet… pls pls pls

Sighs deeply heavily and aggressively. Come and get your munch

“No.”

“Max-”

“No. Vic I’m not changing my mind on this. I don’t know you or mum. In case you don’t recall, I was left with him when I was eight. The last time I tried to fucking speak to you, you handed the phone straight off to Jos and let him scream at me for hours and you never even bothered to check in. I’m tired of putting in effort for you two when you don’t care about me. Because if she ever fucking cared she wouldn’t have signed off full custody without a second thought.”

“It was better for you.” She argued, “With the racing and the training, you needed someone who could help you with that. It was the best option.”

“I was a punching bag,” He sneered, “I learned to cover up bruises at eight fucking years old. Do you think it ever got any better? And what about when I fucked up my wrist so badly I couldn’t race anymore? What was the reason then? Was it just too much of an inconvenience to try and get me out? Mum did nothing for me. I’m not leaving my home for her.”

Victoria was glaring now. “She was scared, Max. She was fucking terrified. We both were. Jos wasn’t a good man, what do you think he would have done to her? You were an issue Max. You got unhappy then you started taking drugs and failing every single fucking class. Mum didn’t know how to support that. And if we’d known dad wanted our phones to call you, maybe we wouldn’t have let him have them! But as it stood, a drunk, aggressive man was screaming at us from outside. We did what we could.”

“What do you think happened to me? Why do you think I became such an issue,” He spat the word out, “Nobody did anything for me. I did what I could to feel better, and I quit when it made me feel worse.” He fumed.

“Look, are you coming home or not?” She hissed.

Max didn’t need to respond.

Victoria searched his face for answers, for a yes. She wouldn’t find it.

Victoria scoffed one last time, somehow drenched in more disdain than before and stormed off without so much as a second glance.

Max watched her leave, and collapsed down onto the table once she was gone. His head knocked harshly against the hard wood, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to care even when the pain he forgot about starting ringing harshly again.

Max paid and left silently soon after.

---

Max wasn’t really sure where he was, or where he was going. His mind was moving faster than his feet and when he finally came to he was sat on the edge of the harbour, looking out across the sea.

The midnight blue waves crashed against each other sending sparks of water at his face. It was refreshing, any other night it would have been calming.

His head throbbed still, clouding the edges of his vision and threatening his balance. He wished he had some painkillers.

He curled his legs up, hugging them to his chest. The moon stared down at him; It was full and bright and overwhelming. He turned his head back down, the waves were too restless to show reflections anyway.

It was only then, when he came to the slow conclusion that no, he hadn’t brought his jacket, and yes, it was fucking freezing.

He must have looked a sight. Hunched over on the dock in a deep red waistcoat, ironed black shirt and pristine dress pants whilst gripping at his own hands in some vague attempt of grounding himself.

At least he wasn’t crying yet.

“Max?”

[stickdoodlefriend]

Snippet for my Lestappen Harry Potter AU

The dark turrets pierce the thick smog—heavier than the last time Charles had visited—and a passing flickering candlelight in the windows catches Charles's eye. Before he can discern what the luminous blur is, it vanishes out of his viewpoint.

He nudges Sebastian with his elbow, tilting his head towards the office, "Someone's in one of the professor's offices." Considering everyone would be in the Great Hall for breakfast, he doubts there are papers to grade and any professor would want to trudge up five stories to fetch them.

The cold nips his face and he burrows his mouth deeper into the big collar when they hop on to their brooms, the wind picking up the harshness of winter making the whole trip entirely dreadful and there was a murder for them to investigate.

"All studies for the professors are enchanted to keep students out. Are you sure it's not a dormitory and a student slacking off breakfast?"

"No, Max's office is just below it. It has to be a faculty member"

Sebastian raises his eyebrow, and Charles thanks the cold for hiding his flushed cheeks and retorts at Seb's unspoken question, "You know Professor Button's office."

"From the inside, yes. But can I identify it from half a kilometer away from the hundreds of windows and multiple wings and floors of an eight-hundred year old castle?" Sebastian says incredulously, "How many times have you been to the offices?"

"I didn't visit them too often when I studied here," Charles deflects with a half-truth, "only when Max got us both in trouble and lost points for our houses."

To be fair, most hadn't expected Max to get sorted into Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin, whispering about Max breaking records on his O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts, slaughtering his way through the other teams in Quidditch, youngest seeker and a champion for the Goblet of fire. Not Charles though—he knows the same hunger that runs deep in Max about the speed and the race of victory but also of the cats back at his mother's house that Vic writes to him about, the numerous dogs, toads and horses that make up the household.

There were whispers about Charles too, Slytherin green unsuitable for someone always running second; loyalty is a Hufflepuff-ridden flaw and maybe that's the hunger within him gnaws at his edges. He's well past it now since graduation, since Max and he parted ways like they've hit the fork in the road and the chasm Charles will not let go.

Now, Max teaches the care for magical creatures at Hogwarts and transmutation, tracking bowtruckles and billiwigs and all sorts of fantastical beasts in his spare time. Charles wonders if the thrill is enough for Max to keep rejecting Charles's offers.

With Sebastian here, no doubt Max will want to seek answers and work with them, be an Auror beside him, wands drawn and fighting with their backs against each other. Charles must be wicked for being excited to visit a crime scene.

[16scuderia]

might as well be interactive so i’m posting a snippet of my wip from my lestappen pillow talk series 🤫:

He takes longer to reply this time, but when Max sees a video file attached, he understands why.

Charles’ face remains hidden above the camera’s frame, his legs straddling a large bolster as he grinds his hips desperately against the pillow. For the most part, the video is filled with Charles’ pitiful whimpers, his frustrated moans as he drags his cock across the surface in search of friction. Not once does his hands wander to touch though, remaining dutifully flat on his thighs. Max smiles. He can’t help it — it’s nice seeing the fruits of his labour. There’d been a time when Charles had been so impatient, so eager to chase after his orgasms. Max had been quick to put a stop to that behaviour, teaching him the benefits of patience.

Max continues to watch, enamoured. He soaks in each and every gasp, taking sick pleasure at how Charles will speed up, chasing after his climax before tiring out, inevitably failing with a soft cry. Max wishes he could see his face, itching to cup his cheeks and wipe away his tears. He’s so engrossed in the video, he almost doesn’t catch when Charles begins to speak. Almost. There’s a beat of silence as Charles stutters over himself. Then, he hears a quiet but earnest, “Has— Has to be your fingers, Max,” before the video stops.

[saiyanwitcher]

POD returns next Thursday!

Hannah tilted her head, the ghost of a grin forming. “You also didn’t tell me how handsome he is.”

Heat exploded in Charles’ cheeks so fast, he thought he might combust on the spot. “Oh my god,” he squeaked, voice jumping a full octave. “Stooooop. You're like my mom!”

Grinning like a cat who’d cornered a bird, Hannah patted his arm mock-reassuringly. “No, I mean it. He’s like . . . stupidly hot. Maybe it’s the nose—”

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Charles groaned, dragging both hands over his face in absolute mortification.

He could already feel the mental image forming behind his eyes—the one he tried very hard to keep buried in polite company. Max’s mouth, warm and unrelenting, trailing lower with the kind of focus that made Charles forget how to breathe. That damn nose, nuzzling into all of his most sensitive places, dragging across his skin with a possessiveness that had Charles coming undone long before the artificial sun of the rebel ship was up.

“Don’t touch. Just feel . . . “

His tail twitched under the table, curling reflexively as he tried—and failed—to banish the memory.

Hannah, of course, was utterly unbothered.

“I’m just saying,” she said breezily, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the carafe with zero shame. “He’s hot as fuck. That jawline? Those arms? That voice? You lucked out, my guy.”

Charles looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and never resurface. “I’m begging you to stop,” he mumbled into his hands.

[saviouroflord]

Last match of the season. The game rarely ever comes down to this. Max knows Charles is going to be in his head, always is, before a match. They play West Ham today. Fate isn't entirely in their hands, if Man City wins against Liverpool, they will be second. If they tie or lose, they win. He knows Charles hates that. He knows in his heart, Charles will win. Richmond will win.

"Will you be there?"

Max blinks the sleep out of his eyes, Max is always there. He has loved this sport before Charles. He has loved Richmond longer.

"Of course."

Why are you asking? hangs in the air. Charles tip toes around it, refolding the same shirt thrice. Today, Max will be patient. He tries to be, always. Charles rarely ever leaves him wanting. He gives and he gives without asking. For him, Max will wait. Always.

"If we don't-" his mouth clicks shut, Max wants to pull Charles back into the bed.

"If we don't win, will you still kiss me?"

Max frowns at him, "I will, of course, always kiss you."

"No." He shakes his head,

Then again before sitting at the foot of the bed.

"In the audience, at the railings." He stops the abuse on the shirt in his hand, resting it on Max's duvet covered feet, "If I come to you, will you kiss me? Even if we don't win."

[lestappenforever]

650 years late to this because I haven't had any WIPs, but the lovely @crimsonicarus tagged me to post a WIP snippet, and I finally have one now that I've started working on the sequel to "Not Fucking Leaving (When You're With Me)". Because Charles getting a podium in Belgium left me no choice. (Which I don't mind at all because BABY BOY GOT P3!) Tagging @f1writingbyme (you know what I want to see, Ilse), and anyone else who hasn't already been tagged and wants to do this!

Max does keep his promise, but not on the Sunday as originally planned. Because Max has already promised to travel to the Netherlands after the race to be there as Martin Garrix closes out Tomorrowland that Sunday night. 

Charles learns this as he’s getting changed in his driver’s room and he glances at his phone to see that he’s received a text from Max.

Max Verstappen [19:43]

I was just reminded that I’m going to Tomorrowland tonight with Lando

Max Verstappen [19:44]

Think you can be quiet enough for me to keep my promise in a hotel room?

Charles bites his lip as he reads the texts, and the words are enough to make his dick harden in his pants. His heart stutters as he types out his reply.

Charles Leclerc [19:45]

I think that depends on how good you are at what you’re going to do

Max Verstappen [19:45]

That’s a no then

Charles smirks.

Charles Leclerc [19:46]

You’re that good, huh?

Max Verstappen [19:46]

I’m going to fucking ruin you

Charles Leclerc [19:47]

Tomorrow then?

Max Verstappen [19:47]

Tomorrow. And Charles?

Charles Leclerc [19:47]

Yes?

Max’s next text has Charles’ breath catching in his throat as he reads the words.

Max Verstappen [19:48]

If you touch yourself before I see you again, you’re not even getting my thigh

Jesus fucking Christ. 

[f1writingbyme]

So, the lovely @lestappenforever tagged me to post a WIP snippet (Mona, you monster, but I still love you though) and I do have one of a fic I am currently working on. It's long, and it'll be even longer, and I'll probably finish it somewhere in 2030, but here we go anyway! Hope you enjoy. Not tagging anyone, because I think everyone has already been tagged, but as Mona said, please do this even if you haven't been tagged. Share it all with us!

Charles looks at the man on his couch. How can he be so calm under the current circumstances? Someone is harassing him, threatening him. His fucking apartment burned down. How Max is not affected by any of it is a complete mystery to Charles. 

“Hey,” Max says, reaching out and putting his hand on Charles’ arm. His eyes meet his, and Charles is gifted a small smile from the Dutchman. “I am okay, I promise. Does it suck? Yes, of course. Is it going to be a bitch to find a new apartment and buy everything new? Absolutely. But I’ll just hire someone to do it. As for the phone calls,” he gives Charles’ arm a light squeeze. “They will stop eventually. He will grow tired of trying to get to me or I will just get a new phone number, but it will stop at some point. Okay?”

Max’s hand is warm on his arm, his fingertips gently pressing into his skin. When he looks up at Max and sees the determined look in his eyes, Charles knows he really isn’t scared by everything that happened. He’s still amazed by the brave face the Dutchman puts up and he feels himself nod. If Max is not scared, then why should he be scared? 

Max smiles. He gives his arm one more squeeze before retracting his hand. Charles misses the warmth immediately. He watched as Max takes another sip of his whiskey, watching his throat bop when he swallows. 

“You should lock your front door, though. Just in case.”

“Max!”

Max laughs his loud, wheezing laugh, throwing his head back on the backrest of the couch. When he looks at Charles, his eyes are shimmering with a boyish charm. “I’m just messing with you.”

“You’re terrible.”

“You love it, though.”

I love you, Charles instantly thinks, his cheeks reddening immediately at the thought, but as he looks at the man sitting next to him, he knows it’s the truth. He has fallen for the idiotic Dutchman, and he has fallen hard.

[honeyandthunderstorms]

yes, hi, hello. I worked, I napped, and now here I am — providing you all with a chapter 11 snippet from darlin’, I will give up everything. It's a bit of a long snippet, but I hope y'all like it <33 (max pov btw hehe)

“You will not even truly look at me,” Charles interjects behind him, his words spat with fury. “Why should I stay where I’m not wanted? You… you smell as if you’re in pain just from being near me. I will not stay longer than a moment when I know you’d rather be up here drowning your sorrows in liquor rather than be seen with me.”

Max has to grit his teeth so he doesn’t back the omega into the door and claim his mouth again with a growl. His intense longing has grown only in intensity as Charles’ decadent scent swirls around him. Whether the bitter tang cloys, he can still scent out the sweetness there. The sweetness he wants to inhale and lap up until it becomes embedded in his bloodstream. He wants to carry that honeyed vanilla scent with him every moment of every day. He wants to fall asleep with its sweetness tingling his nostrils and he wants to wake up and snort another nose full to ensure it never leaves him.

He’s not a betting man, but he’d bet the taste of him is only sweeter. He’d bet his entire life on it. He can already imagine the taste of honeysuckles from his mother’s garden and the taste of sweet vanilla custard — mixed together into a syrupy slick for him to swallow down. Just for him.

It’s a bone-deep itch — an urge. A craving, some would say. He wants to make Charles fall apart and show him just how much he worships him when words will never begin to describe his innermost thoughts. He could never explain just how he’d been captivated by the omega since they were children. Charles would not understand because Max would not be able to get his yearning across.

The scent of Charles grows stronger as he feels the omega move closer to him. His jaw clenches further, his canines aching from the tight way his jaw had locked. Or maybe, it’s because of his need to claim the rightful omega he sees as his.

“See, there!” Charles snarls, “You’re ignoring me yet again! You are the one who kissed me. Am I not the one you claimed to be ‘irrevocably in love with’? Why can you not say it to my face when I have already admitted my love for you? Are you so ashamed of me that you can not speak it into the universe?”

That’s when Max’s strength and resolve snaps. How could anyone ever be ashamed of Charles Leclerc? He certainly never would be.

He spins in place, stepping forward in fast-paced steps until he’s right in front of Charles. They’re practically nose-to-nose. His lips are only a millimeter away and so daunting. His eyes hold a shocked gleam as he stares back at Max — the green flashing and his pupils dilating. The scent in the air starts to carry a heady ambiance of want. From him or Charles, he can not tell, but his ears pound as he sways closer.

“You are ridiculous to think that I would ever be ashamed of you,” Max growls. “The most foolish omega to think anyone would ever be ashamed of you. How can you not tell how I yearn for you? Can you not scent how desperate for you I am? Can you not see me holding myself back from dropping to knees just to worship you where you stand? If that is what it takes for you to understand, I will do so.”

Max backs Charles up from where he’d traveled further into the room, his back hitting the door once more. Charles only stares in bewilderment, his eyes wide. The bitter tang has almost dissipated within the air, Max only sucking in mouthfuls of sweetness heavy with lustwantneedcrave — Charles’ biological need knowing what it so desperately needs. His own scent rages in the background, the air wet with morning dew and light rain. He drops to a kneeling position, his knees hitting the wood of the floor hard. The sharp pain is background to his desire at being level with what Charles is hiding behind his lovely gown.

“I will show you just how I long for you,” Max’s voice cracks as he stares up at Charles, who is looking down with his eyebrows bunched and his pretty pink lips parted. “You are the only altar I wish to pray at. Worshiping a God that pales in comparison to you seems worthless when I can just worship what is in front of me. You are enough of a Goddess to save my soul should I fall ill tomorrow. I will only thank you with my last breath for allowing me to even look upon you.”

“Max,” Charles' voice is shaky, a tad whiny, and comes out scandalized-sounding. Max shakes his head, squashing Charles’ reply. Everything he says is nothing but the truth. Charles’ beauty and grace rivaled all known beings, including one that some may call their God.

Max reaches forward, hand slipping under the deep red of the gown to first touch the slippers gracing his feet. Satiny under his fingers until he grows bolder to move up, the pads of his fingers grazing his stocking-clad calf. He wonders if they are cream-colored, the same most omegas and beta-women wore. Some wore a pale pink or a bright white. Max thinks any of the colors would paint his milky skin with a glow. The dress and chemise hidden underneath bunches up with the upward movement of his hand and he spots the stark white staring back at him. Impeccably fitted along his toned leg.

“What–” Charles’ voice comes out small and when Max looks up, he can see his chest heaving with his breathing. He only leans forward the same time he lifts Charles’ calf to press a kiss to his shin, delighting in Charles’ sharp gasp. “You, oh. M-Max – what are you doing?”

[chock-and-bates]

pleassseeee share the beholden to no gods series concept (only if u want of course!!) i’m obsessed and so intrigued

ok, but pleassee don't judge me, god 😭

beholden to no gods was originally an interlude to a series exploring exhibition/voyeurism. in which charles and max occasionally let people watch them fuck. i've talked about it before when i mentioned my old wip crumbled cathedrals.

i had installments planned for carlos (that was the wip), oscar, and daniel.

max and charles definitely got off on being watched, (especially max because he loved showing off who charles belongs to), but it was also a way for them to tease each other with jealousy and possessiveness, because their dynamic is always a little fucked even though they're crazy in love.

beholden to no gods was conceived as an interlude to explain how they came together, and i had a few other interludes planned that showed the relationship developing.

at this point i don't have a huge desire to pursue the exhibition stuff, but i'm still fond of the ideas in the interludes, so it's possible there will still be a series! we'll seeeee

anyways- here's a snippet of the section that made me realize i really wanted to write an austria 2019 fic!

(cw: spicy!!! 🌶️ 🌶️ 🌶️)

Two years,” Max laughs while Charles whines above him, squirming in his lap, “Did you hear that, baby? He thinks we’ve only been fucking for two years!”

Carlos frowns, fidgeting in the chair, confused. The unpleasant feeling of being outside of a joke almost threatens to put a damper on his arousal, but the sight of Charles spread out so deliciously is enough to overcome any embarrassment. 

Max grins at him from his place underneath his boyfriend. “Charlie, I think your teammate needs to understand something. Be a good boy and tell Carlos when our first time was.”

Charles releases another pitiful whimper, still held down and stretched on Max's big cock, but he still answers, albeit in a small voice, “Austria.”

Austria? Carlos runs through the various Austrian races in his head, tries to think of one that might be significant before 2022, and then he remembers, but it couldn’t be-

“2019,” Max looks so smug, laying kisses along Charles’ shoulder he talks, “I tried his first season, but he was a little too shy-“

“And you were too awkward,” Charles pouts above him, tilting his head to the side to bare his neck for more of those kisses. He yelps when Max playfully nips at him in retaliation for his comment.

“But Austria…” Max gives a dreamy sigh against Charles' skin, runs a hand along his toned stomach lovingly, “Charlie came and found me after the race. Acted like he wanted to argue, got in my face. Things ended up differently than you expected, right baby?”

A soft moan leaves Charles’ mouth, his back arching as he grinds down as best he can. 

Max meets Carlos’ eyes again. “That was the first night he learned how much he likes my cock in his ass.”

He punctuates the statement with a hard roll of his hips, Charles squealing as Carlos’ eyes fixed on the mesmerizing sight of Max’s thick cock stuffing further inside that pretty, pink little hole.

[catzz089]

can we have a snippet?? 😔😔😔😔😔😔

Well well well... the moment we've all been waiting for. Max POV

Max groaned when he swung the fridge door open and saw the pitiful state of his fridge. All he wanted was some nice and simple cereal and he didn’t even have milk.

He knew drinking would be a bad idea last night, yet something about seeing Charles opposite him, being so gorgeous and flirty and kind, made him shoot back wine like shots, eager to calm his nerves.

It had definitely gone to his head last night. He had the vague memory of pressing up against Charles, kissing him so hard they may as well have sucked each other's soul out.

He wished he’d at least been sober enough to remember it properly.

He could also remember Charles telling him to do it whilst sober though, and while it was a thrilling enticing hope inducing offer, that meant they were actually going to have to talk about it because Max was physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut if he came face to face with that sculpted face and he was not strong enough avoid Charles for the whole day.

Hence, talking.

Which he wasn’t good at. At all.

And he figured he needed to treat himself a little just in case it didn’t work out and he had to flee the country, change his name and get plastic surgery.

So despite the alcohol-induced pounding headache and bleary eyes he grabbed Charles’ hoodie and left the apartment.

---

He dropped the bag on instinct when the first hand grabbed at his arm.

Panic flared through him, instantly calmed by waves of adrenaline kicking his mind into complete tunnel-vision focus. But before he could even lift an arm up to defend himself someone leapt onto his back, knocking him harshly down to his knees.

He thrashed up like a caged animal, desperate to throw the man off, but a sharp sting hit his neck before he was able to get rid of him.

He flew upright, he was surrounded all around. There were so many people. He couldn’t fight them all.

Why did this shit always have to happen to him?

He picked up the bag and swung it at someone's face, the milk split open almost comically, drenching the broad, angry man in it. It would’ve been funny if Max wasn’t immediately hit by another fist from behind.

It sent him careening straight to the ground, where his hands were too slow to catch his fall. He could feel warm liquid pour out of a new gash on his forehead and a pain so blinding that he thought he may actually die coursed through his veins. His vision was clouded with black dots and duplicates when he pressed two shaky arms underneath himself in some vain attempt to get up and take a chance at running, but it all felt so hazy and it just hurt so badly he barely even fought it when the foot pressed against his back, slamming him straight back down onto the cold concrete.

He wanted to fight off the harsh gripping hands, but really the most he could do were some meagre shuffles as new bruises got pressed deep into his skin and he could feel himself getting pulled up to his knees.

His entire head throbbed like it never had before, he clenched his eyes shut to try and keep out the sunlight until a harsh slap hit his face, knocking his eyes back open and wide.

“Has it not hit yet?” One of them murmured.

“It was meant to, you packed the strong stuff right?”

“Of course I did.”

“Injected it properly?”

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”

Max really wished they would shut up. He wasn’t sure his head could take it.

It must’ve been the pain. The thing that was slowing everything down. He wasn’t really processing much. The words were all sort of mixing together, jumbling up in his mind like-

His head hit the ground before he could finish his train of thought.

[stickdoodlefriend]

A Lestappen Harry Potter AU snippet because @sixteenhearts deserves all the good things in the world:

"I say we don't tell Max we're recruiting him," Charles leans on Sebastian's desk bright in the morning when he's sure Seb is still bleary eyed from drinking his ethically sourced Dragon Barrel Brandy all night, " We say it's a consulting role for one of the cases we have."

"Uh huh," Sebastian hums noncommittally, pinching the bridge of his nose as he reads the newest correspondence Rocky has dropped off, his feathers cool and damp from zipping through the foggy morning when Charles pets him.

Though Charles is lucky, he supposes, to have his office on the same floor as Sebastian and high enough that the fog clings like vines to a trellis on the floors below them to let the occasional beam of sunlight filter through the English overcast. Though in the last fifteen years of living here instead of the sea-breezed and sunlit summers of Monaco where he grew up, he indulges in the rarities all the same.

But he digresses.

"Well, actually, no. We don't want to feed into his massive ego, but it's clearly a ploy from Max to keep rejecting offers from the Ministry like this."

"Uh huh," Sebastian flips a page, pauses and squints up at Charles in suspicion, "who has been making offers to Max? We don't have any vacant positions."

"That is irrelevant. Max rejected them anyways. I know you don't believe me, but Max is clever, shrewd, ruthless, a bunch of other stuff. He keeps pretending he is happy teaching at Hogwarts--"

Sebastian raises an unimpressed brow, "Jensen teaches at Hogwarts."

"And we love him for that," Charles backtracks immediately, "I'm just saying that everyone thinks because he is a great Hogwarts professor whose students keep chattering about how intimidating but kind he is--"

"You're taking surveys from his students? Nevermind actually, continue," Sebastian turns back to his letter, perusing its several pages under an official seal of the Ministry.

"I'm scoping out the competition," Charles seethes indignantly, "But the point is, we could use him at the Ministry. I could show him the ropes since he would clearly be inexperienced and take on the senior role in cases of course."

Sebastian mouth turns into a thin line, contemplative for a minute, "We need to go to Hogwarts."

"Wait, really? Now? Okay." Charles springs up to action, fetching his loose overcoat from the chair he had draped it against. He had not expected this to go so well, but Charles should stop underestimating his scheming next time. In the shuffle of his arms trying to find the right sleeves, he looks up at Sebastian, the letter clenched in his bone-white knuckles.

"What's wrong?"

Sebastian swallows, "The Minister of Magic was found dead on Hogwarts grounds."