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There were/are so many rumours and predictions of lestappen as teammates, they already are a team, they may be driving for different constructors, but they have created a team of their own. No one can script this, they are the predestined and the inevitable, they make their own rules.

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🔥🔥🔥🔥

kitty’s got claws

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"It's literally just tying a scarf Max!!"

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Hi darling, saw you are taking prompts. How about a lovely number 16. “I won’t apologise for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken.”

Maybe for the thing we talked about before? 👀 you know, with those rings 👀👀👀🩷❤️

Okkaayy, love, so I hope this is what you were thinking. I left out a few rings but I think it is still good hehe. 😁

Max thought he wasn't the jealous type. Max knew he wasn't the jealous type. Was he possessive? No, not really, at least he never thought so. Was he possessive at that moment? Yes. Absolutely. Was he mad at anyone or did he have any regrets? No, but he sure as hell wanted to drag Charles away and mark his territory for everyone to see.

When he heard that Seb was doing a little return at the Nurburgring, he knew his already obvious plus one just became even more sure. He was about to bring Charles around, not for sponsors or anything of that sort but because the Ferrari driver was his boyfriend. Their relationship might looked unsure from the outside, but that was not the case on the inside at all. He loved and trusted Charles more than anything, and in return he knew just how much Charles was in love with him, how attached they were to one another. So when Seb started teasing and flirting with Charles he didn't think much of it. It was clear that Charles' old, early crush on Sebastian returned when they met again, and if Max wanted to be honest he got it. The blonde man got back his curls, which were longer now, he looked less tired and more like a cute, young DILF than anything. He got it. He allowed it. It was harmless really.

What he was never ready for was the effect Charles bashful, giggling and blushing, almost losing his English had on him while another man was flirting with him.

Seb was glancing at him now and then to see if he was still okay and Max noded all the time. Maybe he was a masochist after all.

Seb was called away and Charles stayed alone, sipping his water fast, trying his best to get rid of the red tint on his cheeks when Max stepped next to him.

He wanted to greet his boyfriend, tell him about a story Seb just told him, but it wasn't an option. Max's hands grabbed his waist, pulled him flush against his chest and kissed him hard and possessive. The surprised noise was muffled by the lips hard against his own, but he didn't protest. It was good to be wanted so passionately by Max.

Even after Seb's return Max stayed at his side, his hands on Charles and it fell more than a kiss on a whim. Max's hands were everywhere and by the end of the afternoon Charles was desperate. Seb's teasing still had an effect on him but nowhere close to the way it did early on. Max's hand was on his lower back, on his thigh, on his shoulder and arm and occasionally brushed against the swell of his ass when they thought no one was looking.

Saying that it was salvation to get back to the hotel was an understatement.

Max was desperate to have Charles only for himself and Charles wanted to be Max's just as badly. He didn't notice when they started to undress each other, it was all frantic, fingers digging into the taut muscles and the soft flesh, roaming each other's bodies, pulling and holding. Closer. Closer. Closer. That was the only thing Charles could think about even when Max pushed his thighs against his chest and pushed into him, pressing his body into the soft mattress. It was maddening. He was sure Max's back would be full with marks from his nails the next day, and he knew he would feel the thick cock pounding deep in him as well. His pleasure felt like it was coming from his bones, consuming everything in its body as Max suddenly slowed down a little.

"Are you mine?" His voice was weak, panting. "Are you mine and only mine?" Max repeated when he didn't get an immediate response.

Charles needed a second to collect himself, lickig his chapped, dry lips. "I am, you know I am, you know I love you." The sweet reassurance washed over Max, coaxing a muffled sound from him.

"I know you love me." He kissed along the long neck, swirling his tongue across the dark spot he left. "But are you mine?" There was something in the question, something neither he or Charles could name in that moment, but they both felt it.

Charles had to close his eyes, because Max picked up the pace, his pleasure suddenly skyrocketing. "Yes." He tried to meet with the desperate trusts. "I am." He whimpered, trying to open his legs even more, feeling Max sink just a tad bit deeper. "I am yours, all yours." He only hoped Max understood him through the heavy breathing. It was hard to hear everything right in that moment, because Max hit his prostate hard for a few minutes now and he couldn't hold it together any longer. He came, his body seizing up, his cock making a mess between their bodies while there was only one word stuck on his lips. "Yours."

Max came fast and hard right after him, it was about furking time.

Charles felt Max pumping him full between the aftershocks of his own orgasm and he felt his cheeks heat up even more.

It wasn't until later when Charles stood in front of the full body mirror, digging his fingers into the dark mark at the junction of his neck with a hiss. "That's very visible, Max." His green eyes found the blue ones through the mirror.

"I know, love." Max tipped his head down a bit while walking behind Charles, circling his arms around the thin body. "But I won't apologise for marking you up, everyone should know you are mine."

After a little huff Charles looked him in the eyes. "Could have chosen a less scandalous way to do it."

"I'd give you a ring, but I didn't bring it here." Max blurted out and it was way too late when he realised what the fuck did he say.

"You what?" Charles chipped, voice high, spinning in Max's arms, eyes searching if he heard it right.

There was silence, and it was perfect.

Charles was stil waiting, eyes frantic to hear the fucking question then finally, while Max was coming to terms with his own words.

"You heard it, baby." Max started quietly. "I wanted to do so for a while, I just never knew how." Admitting it made Charles smile until it reached his eyes, giggling even a little.

"So you basically asked me while we were having sex? Out of all the options?" The question made Max pause a bit before nodding. Yes, he knew it, he felt it when he asked Charles in the bed. They both felt the weight of that promise even in the frenzy of that moment.

"It looks like it." With a small smile Max looked at Charles. "I am not gonna kneel because I can't let you go now, but Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc," he inhaled and he barely heard his own voice from the adrenaline. He saw Charles' face change, from tense anticipation to the biggest happies smile, nodding, tearing up and ultimately pulling him into a bruising kiss. The kiss felt endless, and Max felt his legs bringing him somewhere while he was holding Charles tight, pressed to him.

He only came back to his senses when they were in bed again, Charles in his arms, their naked bodies tangled together in a second post-orgasm haze.

The next day's meeting with Seb was a spectacle. The older driver walked to Charles with the smuggest grinn. Charles was clearly tired, needed to sleep, and looked like he was having the best sex of his life last night, still mentally recovering from it.

"Looks like you had a good night."

Charles shot him a look tugging on the top of his shirt, bringing Seb's attention to exactly where he didn't want it to.

"That looks new." Seb grinned, raising his eyebrows, earning a tired laugh. "You know, the two of you came a long way." He started, his arm around Charles' shoulder detouring themselves from the busy part of the paddock. He saw the cupid bow lips tug into a shy smile, and those supposedly yellow eyes sparkling only the thought of the other boy. "I remember when I asked you if you thought he was pretty."

"Hard to forget." Charles grumbled with a little laugh.

"So what do you say now?" Seb stopped walking, looking at Charles, standing in front of the admittedly taller man. "Is he pretty?" the question left his lips with the biggest teasing grin.

"Who?" Charles' eyes had a glint Seb couldn't really pinpoint.

He rolled his eyes with a laugh. "You know who?"

He never saw it coming, not even when Charles looked at him, his gaze softening for a second in a particular way before the playfulness returned fully. "You mean my fiancé?"

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😍😍😍😍😍

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

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😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

Absolutely in love with these

Adrenaline Rush KISS!!!📸

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👌👌👌

“I swear I’m over you, but if you ever do shit like that again, you’re going to set me back to square one.”

- I don’t know if I want you to hurt me like this, but I’m asking nonetheless…

Please be kind with me Lestappen heart ❤️😘

SCREAM i love this one the most out of all of them, so OKAY. i also have no idea What this is, and it is Not technically correct at all but enjoyyy!!

pairing: max verstappen x charles leclerc | rating: T

"Now, Charles," snaps Max.

"One second," says Charles, fingers tapping a hole through the table. "Just— done!" He snatches the USB from the port with a shake of his hips. Max would like to be ensnared by their sensual shake, Charles is sure, but he only snorts. Grinning, Charles slips it into a zip pocket.

Together, they shoot out one of the windows until it spiders. This is the part Charles hates. But he doesn't have time to psych himself up because—

"Forced entry, eighteenth floor!"

Because.

Eyes closed, he throws himself against the glass. The sound of shattering fills his ears, jagged on his skin even through the texpro. For a while, he is weightless.

Then arms wrap around his waist, drag his body back into itself. He lands on top of Max with a harsh oompf, pain shooting up his funny bone. "Ow."

Max grunts. "No shit."

"Bet you didn't expect to be under me again so soon," says Charles, rolling onto his knees. He can see Max's glare from here, blue bright behind his mask.

"We all know who's the bottom here," he replies, getting to his feet. Charles can't help the grin as Max leads them crawling through the hole in the wall they made earlier. "And stop staring at my ass."

Charles pulls the slat of plasterboard over the entrance. "But your head looks so pretty up it."

"Better than yours."

"You wish," says Charles as he hauls himself into the back of the wardrobe. He layers a Janitor's uniform over his protective gear while Max shrugs on a suit. Charles glances away at one point, just to check he hasn't dropped any stars — never mind the fact they're strapped so securely to his person, it would take an earthquake to jolt them.

"If we die," starts Max.

"I'll play Staying Alive at your funeral," vows Charles.

"You'll be dead too, idiot." He says it like a promise.

"Sorry," says Charles, "our funeral."

Max deigns not to reply.

It's easy going from there. With all of the manpower focused on the broken window and the bodies leading up to it, Charles and Max quietly make their way down the floors, Charles a little ways behind.

"Coming up from fourth."

He pulls out a mop and mops the floor. Gotta stay true to the character. And Bill likes to mop apparently. The tactical gears all pass him without a second glance as Charles presses himself flat to the wall like he's trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.

"Get off this floor," one of them says.

Which— Charles picks up his mop — Bill stays true to his mops, always — and hurries as uncoordinatedly down the stairs as possible.

When he gets to the Audi, there's no one there. There are about three seconds available to not panic, go through every single possible place Max could be when he hears the shouting.

Charles slips into the driver's seat just before Max comes tumbling into shotgun. "Bonsoir, monsieur," he greets, twisting the ignition. "Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?"

"Va te faire foutre," replies Max.

"Your accent is still appalling," muses Charles as he wheelspins out of the lot. "And is that still the only phrase you know?"

"Only one I need," says Max, rolling down a window. "Straight around the fountain. Lewis says you're an idiot by the way."

"He's the one that wanted the fucking thing so bad," says Charles, shoving the gear up before taking the line against the curb. Max twists with it and shoots. Charles hears a bang, grins.

"So you get nothing out of this?" asks Max, settling back into his seat.

"I get you," says Charles. It is meant to be a joke. "And money of course," he adds because he thinks he failed.

"Of course" agrees Max after a few seconds. Then, "What the fuck are you— Charles!"

Charles U-turns on the crossroad, pushes the gas pedal all the way down until he can drive right at the cars chasing them. Max groans. "I hate you," he says, "I hate you, I hate you." But he doesn't close his eyes, instead reaches over into the space between Charles's legs and pulls out his slashgun. "Okay," he says and Charles shoves the handbrake up, back wheels skidding round in a semi-circle.

He can't look because Designated Driver Duty. But the sound of slicing through air, crunch of metal, sudden shouting is enough. "You are so very, very dead," Max tells him when he heaves back against the headrest. "Seb is going to give you the disappointed eyebrows and I am not defending you."

"You would let me go through that?" asks Charles, definitely breaking the speed limit now. He weaves around an abnormally slow BMW — abnormally slow for a BMW that is. They're out of the city, into the backlogs. "How many are—"

"One," says Max. "Yes, you deserve it, and clutch." Charles obliges, instinctively sets his hand on the gearstick even though he has no idea where to push it. It doesn't matter; Max does it for him. Hand wrapped over his, sliding it down into third like a hot knife through butter. "Left."

The car protests a little, and then tilts with it, tamed. It's a sharp enough bend that the large SUV can't make it, goes careening into the side of a halfway refurbished old furniture warehouse. Charles thinks he can see half a couch rolling in the street in the rear view mirror.

"Fuck, Charles—" swears Max, and Charles focuses forward again. Forward, where a massive barn side is coming up on them, looming larger in the night. He makes a wild grab for the handbrake, yanks it up. The wheels skid violently to a stop, car shouting against it. His heart crashes back into his chest like a cliff-face into the ocean. He feels electric, alive like a power line.

In the sudden stillness, his mouth feels unbelievably dry.

He glances to the right. Next to him, Max's grin could light up a city. He catches Charles looking, shakes his head as he pulls his hands back to himself. They're just shy of steady with adrenaline. His head thumps back, breaths heavy. "I swear I’m over you," he huffs, "but if you ever do shit like that again, you’re going to set me back to square one."

Amen, thinks Charles, laughing, the hot edge of Max's grip still breathing like a sear on his skin. A—fucking—men.

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"i like your suit" really max? You're getting sloppy, getting caught flirting on international tv.

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You were both born under the same stars. You don't particularly like to think about that fact often as it does come off far too sickeningly sentimental, yet it is true. Just sixteen days separate his date of birth from yours, you have never known the world without him in it.

There is an irony in those stars, one you cannot help but smirk at. You both share the same star sign; Libra. Libra, you learn, is the sign of balance. Represented by the scales, Libras are obsessed with symmetry and equilibrium. You and he have been things to each other through the years; enemies, rivals, competitors, dare we now say friends?, yet through it all he has always remained your one true equal. It takes everything in you not to laugh out loud when you both set the exact same time as you battle to secure pole position. Sixteen days may have separated your births but it seems that when you race each other, nothing can keep you apart. Not that you mind now, now that you are both are grown and have grown past the petty squabbles of adolescence, now that you understand that you'll never race anybody the way you are able to race him. You have come to love the way you can battle each other and cannot help but crave the high that comes as you race each other to the very limit and push your cars beyond what their creators thought possible.

You're not quite sure if you believe in fate but you do feel as though that the universe likes to point and laugh at you specifically. His name translates to "the greatest rival", which is who he always been to you, he has always been your greatest rival. It's foolish and unrealistic but you can't help but wonder if his mother somehow knew, as she held him for the first time, who he'd eventually become, as if she had any idea that sixteen days later and over 800 kilometers away that other born racer would come into the world and that her baby boy would be his - your - greatest rival. You decide eventually that the universe simply likes its' jokes.

Neither of you have ever done anything by half's. Even when you hated him, you knew he hated you just as much. You share the same convection, the same drive, it's little wonder that you clashed so often as children. Yet, even then, he was the one you wanted to battle, to beat. It somehow mattered more when it came down to the two of you. It still does. Back then you hated being compared to him, just as he hated being compared to you. Ironically now it is you two who are drawing the most comparisons between yourselves. It's only now, now that you've grown, that you both understand and appreciate just how similar you are to each other.

You don't remember meeting for the first time. Sometimes it feels like he just appeared next to you, lining up to take his place on the grid and then never left. You know they'll ask you one day, where did the story start, where did the legendary rivalry begin? You already know your answer. Once there was an incident on a race track called Val d'Argenton. It's an incident immortalized by both of your unique post race debriefs caught on film, it's a story you can't help but smile at when you think of it. Perhaps that was the first time you both saw how similar you were, that you understood that you could push but that he would push back and that you both would do that for however long as was necessary because you both wanted to win so badly. You were both infuriated by each other, he was especially frustrated by you. You wouldn't or couldn't even say goodbye to each other for years. You have to laugh as well when you think back to Austria 2019, your first F1 podium together. This time, it was you who was especially pissed at him. In a fit of anger, you unfollowed him on Instagram and then had to spend the next two hours looking across at him on his private jet as you both flew home. Deep down, perhaps you both are still the kids you used to be. You wonder how your child self or even how the Charles of 2019 would react to the relationship you now have with him, how you not only wave goodbye as you leave the track but how you chat and joke with each other and how you have post race debriefs with each other... You think that they'd probably look at you like you have two heads. Maybe that's a good thing, makes you value how much you've grown more.

Neither of you are old enough to remember the days of Senna and Prost but that's the expectation people have placed on you both for years. Since you were children they have all marked you for greatness. You, the predestined one, while he was the inevitable. You're not one to obsess over the mythos formula one likes to create but, as a Ferrari driver, you cannot help but lose yourself in the story somewhat. Two boys are born sixteen days apart. They meet on a race track as children. They race each other with everything they have. They meet again on a race track, this time they're grown and chasing the glory they could only dream of as children. They'll spend their whole lives racing each other, if they can. You don't seem to mind that perhaps it's a comfort, to have at least one constant in your life. You've never known the world without him in it, you hope you never do.

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Cinematic

“stop looking at me with those eyes”

“what eyes?”

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Soooo good. 😍

Had a breakdown. Wrote as a result. Here the 8th chapter far sooner than expected.

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And they all growl in bed, that's how his brain associated it anyway. Well.. hopefully, the cats growl outside the bedroom door.

i might be reaching but like that 5 second challenge video where they had to name 3 animals that growls... the only 3 animals charles mf leclerc could think of were lion cat and horse??? like this is lowkey lestappen coded because like max is often called the lion right... max loves cats... and charles is the prancing horse...

Oh my gosh! Yessssss, you're right!!! Max, loves cats, Max's nickname is lion and Charles is the prancing horse!!!

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This fic has me melting 🥰🥰🥰

😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️

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I just don’t think Charles is getting enough credit for how good he was this weekend.

Beat RBR in not one, but two qualis by nearly 2 tenths each time

Also beat his own teammate by 8 tenths and then 6 tenths in quali

Held off Checo and the stupid DRS speed of the RB for half the sprint

Beat Max in the sprint who was keeping pace with Charles despite a gaping hole in his car because the RB is again, stupid fast

Held on to the RBs for a respectable chunk of time in the race

Carved out a sizable gap in third place

Recognized Alonso’s tire/overtaking strategy and beat him at his own game, not letting Alonso get DRS until the last lap (and the AM is definitely a faster car than the Ferrari in the race)

Chodium in a car that eats tires for breakfast

Finished over 24 seconds in front of his teammate

And all this in a SF-23 that hasn’t taken any upgrades yet! So for anyone to say Charles is anything less than one of the very best drivers on the grid is absolutely absurd. Give the man the respect he is due.

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Drunk and drowing in this image rn.

P.S. - no, I'm not asking for help, I'm happy to drown with this vision.

I was rereading 'Red Moon' (love all your stories/drabbles!) during the race. Do you have any headcanons (think that's the right word) for after?

Oh MY GOD NONNIE!!! You came at the right time!!

I have one crack-ish headcanon that me and @just-another-carlando-fan came up with right now and it’s very sweet imo.

Baby alpha Max obviously has no idea how to woo an omega right? Because he never had an alpha role model that would teach him (all of family are betas) and the movies make it look so hard like all the stuff and prepping just to be turned down because he didn’t put a lot of thought into his attempts. So when things start getting serious with Charles, he goes to the only other older alpha he respects, which ends up being Helmut, and asks for advice.

So Helmut in his half-senile state suggests slow dancing to Can’t help falling in love from Elvis because it was a hit when he was a young alpha and Max tries it and Charles legit happy cries on their little rooftop dinner date while dancing to that beautiful song bathing in the sunset golds and reds.

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Petition to have a tiny sofa in the cooldown room where Charles can sit on Max's lap.

Charles stole Perez’s seat just so he can sit next to Max. 🤭

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Because this boy would wage a 1000 wars, scream praises from every rooftop, all with a smile on his face, for one talented Lil monagasque, who deserves the world, the heavens and everything beyond. Max has made it his mission to give him just that.