oo how about wag!charles au where one of the other drivers (you can pick) is basically trying to tell charles that he deserves someone who is not cold and not emotionally closed off like max and max overhears and he’s obviously heartbroken so he doesn’t hear charles defending him. charles comes back to find him missing, goes looks for him and then reassures him that he is the most perfect alpha and he wants no one else.
Hi @33-16 ❤️💙
😭😭😭 Max! Our poor boy 😭 he does his best to keep his personal and public life separate because there are moments that are reserved just for him and Charles and no one else. I just picture Max running off before he gets the chance to hear Charles defend him—and Charles gives one hell of a spirited defense, telling George Russell to his face that:
"Just because you don't see Max making public declarations or kissing me in front of TV cameras, it doesn't mean he's cold or emotionally closed off." He glares at the Mercedes driver, emerald eyes spitting fire. "How dare you presume you know anything about our relationship when you and Max aren't friends and all you've ever done is speak badly about him in front of the journalists and news cameras." Another glare—this time, George has just enough self-awareness to look down with embarrassment. "I'll tell you this much: Max makes me happier than I've ever been. We look after each other, love each other, and make each other better. So the next time you want to make a stupid judgmental call based on your own biases, I suggest you take a long walk off a short cliff because clearly, you have too much time on your hands." The Omega snaps, voice loud and firm and laced with fury.
Without another word, Charles turns on his heel to seek out his Max—he needs his Alpha's scent enveloped around him, those strong arms wrapped around Charles, and those soft, full lips pressing kisses against the brunet's mouth and jaw.
It takes a while, but Charles manages to flag down a few FIA officials who confirm Max headed off in the direction of his motorhome. The Omega races over and eagerly knocks on the door.
Except.
Silence.
Charles frowns. He knocks again and this time, he hears slow, reluctant footsteps coming towards the door—was his Alpha hurt? Did something else happen? God, Charles wants to drop a bucket of cement on the head anyone who dared make his Alpha so upset when Max opens the door and—
Red rimmed eyes, dried tear tracks, messy hair—as if Max had been tugging at the dark blond strands for hours on end. Charles's heart breaks in half. Max can't look him in the eye, he's staring down at his feet, shoulders slumped. He looks...defeated.
Completely and utterly defeated.
"Max? Mon cœur? Oh chéri, please tell me what's wrong—I'm here, I've got you." Charles reassures, rushing to embrace his Alpha.
For a moment, Max just stands there, arms limp and heavy, before—
The Alpha pulls him in close, dragging Charles into the motorhome and slamming the door closed. Max takes deep, desperate lungfuls of Charles's scent while he holds onto the Omega tight enough to bruise.
"Max...?"
And the proud Dutch Alpha breaks. He tells Charles everything—how he overheard his conversation with George, how the Brit had called Max cold and unfeeling and Charles hadn't disagreed. How Max felt like his heart had been ripped out because schatje, I love you so much, I promise I'll do better, please—please don't leave me.
And if Charles thought he'd been devastated before, seeing Max so small and sad, that's nothing compared to now, when the Omega can feel his heart being ripped apart in real time.
"That's not true chéri, I didn't agree with Russell at all." Charles promises. He leans back so he can cup Max's face with both hands as he gazes into hurt blue eyes.
He tells Max everything he said to George, how he'd snapped at the Mercedes driver so furiously (and so loudly) several F1 employees had started walking over, as if afraid a fight might break out. "He's so wrong about everything he said, mon cœur," Charles says, voice fierce and insistent. "You are the sweetest, most caring, most devoted boyfriend anyone could ever wish for. When I'm with you, I feel so cherished and loved and seen. You know me chéri, you see every part of me...and somehow, you love me anyway." Tears begin to fall from Charles's own eyes and that's when Max leaps into action, mouth coming down to kiss those teardrops away.
"Of course I love you, schatje," his voice is rough from crying but it's no longer hopeless—the fire is back, the passion and ferocity. "I am so proud of you Charles. I just hope you know I'm not trying to hide us. I just...I can't stand the thought of anyone trying to intrude on our relationship...on our love. I just want to protect you, always."
"You do, Max, you always do." Charles reassures. "I always feel safest in your arms, mon amour. Right here," he emphasizes, snuggling closer against the Alpha's chest. "I know you are not trying to hide us, but I think, maybe, we can reveal our relationship on our own terms? No one else gets to dictate how we feel except us."
Max leans down, their foreheads pressed together. "No one else but us." He agrees.
oooo please write the big final confrontation scene for the actors au, the angst potential is there
Actor AU Part 1
Hi @33-16 and 🎬 Anon!
Ahhh okay part of me wants to make this a full blown oneshot but until I have time, here's how I'm envisioning the big confrontation scene:
After days of avoiding Charles like the plague (and ruminating on every moment they'd spent together, wondering if any of it was real), Max is finally forced to confront the beautiful Monegasque actor after Charles literally shows up (uninvited) at his temporary penthouse. He's clutching a bottle of gin, his eyes are red-rimmed from crying, and the first thing he does when he sees Max is slap him right across the face.
The Dutchman is so stunned he just stands there frozen in place while Charles barges inside, angrily wiping at tears. He slams the bottle down on the nearest table, whirls around, and comes face to face with a furious Max.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Leclerc?" He snaps. There's no room for kindness—not anymore. Not after Charles labeled all those precious moment they spent together as fucking improv.
"You don't get to speak to me like that." Charles's voice trembles, his eyes are suspiciously shiny, and even though he's angry, hurt, and humiliated, Max's heart still aches at seeing the other man upset. "You don't get to ghost me for days and then speak to me like that. Like I mean nothing to you." His bottom lip trembles. "I thought you were different. I thought—I thought you liked me. But you didn't, did you? You...you're just like all the others. Took one look at me and decided I'd be a fun little experiment, see what it's like to kiss another boy, hide in him in the shadows, and then drop him once you're bored." He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "But no one—not even the worst date I ever went on—managed to hurt me as much as you did."
The words flow from his lips like water—it's a dam bursting open, days of heartbreak coming Max's way, flooding his senses until the Dutch actor feels like he's fucking drowning.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" He finally interrupts. He crosses his arms, defensive and confused and trying his utmost best to stamp out the stubborn hope that's clinging to his bruised heart like stubborn ivy.
"Oh it's like that, is it?" Charles's expression turns mean, his voice cutting like a knife. "Going to play dumb, Verstappen? Fuck you. I can't believe I thought you were any different. Should've figured you would be shit. Shit like all your movies bombing in the theaters, huh?"
"You're drunk, Charles." Max's voice is flat, jaw clenched. "I'm calling an Uber and you're going home. Or maybe you'd just like to give me the address of the other actor you're doing improv with? Bet it's exhausting fucking so many men and then pretending like you want to date me. Sorry for being a bore."
Jagged. Sharp like broken glass.
Max never meant for these confessions to be spoken out loud but around Charles, he can't fucking help it. The pretty brunet has always managed to pierce through Max's armor—ever since that first read-through when Charles rolled into the building hungover and beautiful, teasing Max about taking everything so seriously on a Sunday.
"Unlike you, I can be professional any day of the week." Max snapped back, flustered and frustrated by this pretty boy actor who can't seem to keep his own calendar straight.
Charles giggled. "I made it on time, didn't I?" He threw his jacket onto a nearby chair, gazing up at Max through long, dark lashes. "Besides, I wouldn't have stood you up, Maxie. You're much too handsome for that."
And then the cheeky bastard winked.
Winked.
And Max had to turn away to keep from shouting something stupid. Like: How can anyone be so talented and so fucking infuriating?
"Well, you're here now." Max said instead. "So let's get to work."
"Mmh," Charles caught up, so they were standing side by side. "I don't think it'll feel like work, Maxie. I think we're going to have a spectacular time."
His eyes had glittered like sea glass, beautiful and bright, and Max had been forced to use every bit of thespian training to keep himself from blushing.
The memories of their first meeting flood Max's mind, each moment feeling like a punch in the gut.
"Y-you thought I was fucking other men?" That lilting Monegasque accent, always so intoxicating to listen to, now breaks with hurt.
Max only realizes the full extent of Charles's heartbreak when the brunet blinks and fat tears roll down both cheeks. "How could you even consider that?" He whispers, his voice raw and broken in a way that sends shame running down Max's spine.
"What was I supposed to think?" He manages, even though his heart is screaming at him to fall to his knees, to beg Charles for forgiveness, to tell him he's sorry for everything—that he doesn't want to be a job. He doesn't want to be improv. He wants this—he wants Charles—for real. "I thought...Charles, I thought it meant something to you. The calls. The dinners. The kisses—"
"Of course it meant something to me! It meant fucking everything. I let you do things to me that I've never allowed anyone to do because you were my boyfriend—"
"Boyfriend?" He stutters—and time freezes. The air vanishes from the room.
"Ouais. Boyfriend." He angrily throws that word back, using it more as a weapon than an admittance. "But I guess I should've known better. Slutty little Charles Leclerc, bet he's fucking everyone. Bet he gives everyone little care packages and kisses their chest when he wakes up. Bet he calls everyone mon cœur and asks them to come to dinner with his maman and his brothers. B-bet stupid little Charles Leclerc lets everyone fuck him raw b-because he's such a fucking s-slut."
Each sentence eviscerates the muscle and chambers of Max's heart. He bleeds out, mind sluggish, until the weight of Charles's confession hits with all the force of an F1 car.
Charles, his beautiful, unattainable Charles, thought they were dating.
As soon as that epiphany hits—as soon as it shocks him back to life—Max is moving. He's half-tripping, half-sprinting over to where Charles stands, small and vulnerable with tears still falling from those devastated eyes, and immediately drops to his knees.
"Charlie..." He whispers and fuck, his chest feels too full. The hope is suffocating and freeing and it lacerates as much as it heals. "Please, schatje—"
"Don't call me that." Charles bites down hard on his lower lip. "You don't get to call me something so sweet, not after everything you've done."
"I'm an idiot." He plows on, stubborn and bull-headed and too terrified to let go. "I thought—Charlie, baby, I thought this was just a job to you."
Green eyes widen—shock and realization setting in—but Charles refuses to budge. Instead, he steps back. "How could you ever think that?"
"Because you told me it was improv. That you wanted to film us...making love...and use it for the film." Max fights the urge to lower his head. He forces himself to be brave. "I am in love with you. I fell in love with you weeks ago, Charles. And I was going to ask you out on a date—a real date, no subtext, just me asking you out because I don't know what subtlety means. And then the improv. I...it was my fault. I shouldn't have avoided you, I should've communicated and asked you what you meant. I should have told you how I felt—how I am feeling. Because you, Charles Leclerc, you are my missing piece. You are my heart, you are the person I cherish the most in this world and instead of proving my devotion, I made you feel humiliated and hurt. Because I'm a fucking idiot."
"Yeah you fucking are." Charles's voice cracks, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as his teary eyes blink down at him. "You hurt me, Max. You hurt me more than I can possibly say."
"I know. Fuck, I know, Charlie. And you don't know how sorry I am—you don't know that I hate myself for ever hurting you, for making you feel unworthy and small when I'm the moron who couldn't tell you how much he loves you. But Charles, schatje, if you give me a chance, let me apologize. Let me win you over. Let me prove myself, please."
"You think you deserve anything after this? You tore out my heart and threw my love in my face like it was nothing, Max." Every sentence is designed to pierce and cut and injure.
But Charles isn't turning him away. He's standing here, forcing Max to see the very wounds he inflicted, and the Dutchman will not flinch. He will look upon the hurt he inflicted and he will walk over broken glass if it means he can begin to mend those wounds.
"Why should I give you another chance when all you've done is hurt me?" Charles asks in a whisper. There is fury there, that much is undeniable, but underneath that Max senses something else.
Something that latches onto the small cracks of hope in his heart.
It is the smallest sliver, but Max has always been opportunistic.
Buried beneath the accusation and rage, there is the faintest hint of curiosity—as if Charles himself has no clue of how Max might acquit himself but he's curious enough to allow him to try.
And that's good enough for Max.
"I won't insult you by asking for forgiveness." Max knows he hasn't earned it, knows he'll spend his whole life trying to make up for the mistakes he's made. "But if you'll allow me, I want to beg you for a chance, liefde. Just a chance."
Charles glances to the side, contemplative, before he meets Max's eyes again. "A chance to do what, Max? Tell me. Because right now, I think I hate you almost as much as I loved you."
The word "loved" almost cleaves Max's heart clean in two—past tense, gone now, no more—but he can't turn away, not now. Not when those emerald green eyes soften, not when Charles is still here.
"A chance to earn forgiveness. A chance at consideration." He remains on his knees. "Just the chance that you might one day look at me and let me court you. Properly this time."
"Court me?" He shakes his head. "Like what, a damsel in distress? Because I'm not going to be your perfect princess. I'm going to remain exactly who I am—and if you won't kiss me in public, if you won't hold on my hand on the red carpet, if you won't love me the way I love you, then you're not worth the chance."
For the first time since the night started, Max feels the faintest trace of a smile tug on his lips. Charles Leclerc, a damsel in distress? Never. He looks at him, this passionate, hot-blooded, whirlwind of chaos and beauty who could love as fiercely as he could hate. "I will never want you to be anything other than who you are, Charles." He lets his shields, whatever remains of them, crumble to dust.
Lets the truth shine through in his eyes.
Because around Charles, he has always been defenseless.
A pause.
Silence in the air.
And then—with Max's eyes watching, drinking in every move, every action, every breath—Charles nods. It's faint, barely noticeable, but for Max it's more than enough.
nooo nina we need to know whose name he called out :((((
Hi @33-16 💙❤️
Original drabble here
The young Omega takes a deep breath.
And one name leaves his lips—
He turns around, oh so slowly, coming face to face with amber eyes, light brown hair, and the familiar face of Oscar Piastri looking at him with the softest expression. It's all tender care and gentle concern, his hand moving from Charles's lower back to rest on his hip, his touch gentle.
Charles's fingers slip from Max's grip.
The Omega places both hands on either side of Oscar's face and memorizes the slopes of curves of the young Alpha's face.
"Oscar...I'm sorry." His thumb caresses the strong line of Oscar's jaw—the touch of a lover, the touch of goodbye.
Understanding fills those eyes, amber and warm and pained, as Charles allows himself one last touch before stepping back, moving so slowly as Oscar clutches onto him for a brief moment—
Before he lets go.
"So this is it?" The Aussie asks, voice wry and neutral but Charles knows better.
He knows Oscar better than the young Alpha might like.
"Thank you for being my sunshine." Charles smiles, even as a single teardrop runs down his cheek. "But I have to let you go now."
"You don't." He interrupts, the calm shattering as Oscar makes one valiant charge forward.
Once more into the fray, letting the knife sink in deep.
"You don't have to go. Come away with me, Charles. We can go anywhere you like, or we can stay right here."
"We can't." Charles exhales as he leans back.
He never falls. Max is there, his chest is strong and broad and so very familiar. Arms that have held him through tears and tantrums and apologies wrap around his waist.
The scent of cedarwood, bourbon, and blackcurrant fill the air. It envelops him in that way that makes Charles feel wholly owned—wholly claimed.
"You deserve someone who'll give you their whole heart." Charles rests against Max's body, one hand coming to press against the forearm locked around his waist. "And you'll find them one day. Someone who'll look at you and they'll know." He promises and it is a promise—one day, Oscar is going to find his someone, the person whose heart has always been tied to his, even if the thread got a little tangled along the way.
Charles is sure of it.
Deep in his chest, he can feel the golden thread that ties him to Max—it's inevitable and predestined, the way they belong together, through all the storms and anger, Charles has never doubted it.
Max is his.
Under the soft glow of the Parisian street lamps, he sees the shadow of understanding flash across Oscar's face—the first true expression of pain—before it's gone. Neutralized and made invisible by the McLaren driver they called the Iceman come again.
The Aussie nods at him, eyes never leaving Charles's face, as he drinks in the emerald-eyed Omega. The red of his ballgown, the soft pink of his cheeks—
And then he walks away.
❀❀❀ ❀❀❀
Max's arm tightens as the rumble of the McLaren comes to life. He watches as Oscar drives off, the tail lights fading as the distance grows.
In his arms, Charles turns around so they're face to face and chest to chest, Max's arms unwilling to let go for even a moment.
The Omega opens his mouth to speak but Max beats him to it.
"I love you." The words spill out without prompting—without hestiation.
Those sweet doe eyes, the eyes that Max goes to sleep dreaming of, widen in surprise. "Do you mean it?" He demands suddenly, one hand coming to fist Max's suit jacket. "Because if you're only saying this as a thank you then I promise, I'm going back in there and marrying the first billionaire I see—"
"I love you, Charles Leclerc." He vows. "I fell in love with you the day I saw you walking across campus, struggling with your textbooks."
"You...what are you talking about? You didn't know me until I signed up for the sugar agency." He scoffs.
His sweet Charles, always so confident and arrogant and so determined to be right.
His beautiful boy.
"I knew you before then." Max corrects gently, lips curving into a gentle smile. A smile that shouldn't have been possible on a man as powerful and imposing as him. "One of my companies is based in Nice and I would visit it every other month. It was about three years ago, after a deal went sour, that I got out of my car and started walking around the nearby university campus. You bumped into me." He chuckles, watching the way Charles's face shifts into one of confusion. "You were dressed in that pretty white sundress with the lemon pattern. And you were carrying a little mountain of books in your arms. I think you were rather annoyed when you ran into me," one hand comes to rest against Charles's cheek, "you looked me right in the eye and said, 'well monsieur, the considerate thing to do would have been to let me pass but I suppose you couldn't be bothered, could you?' and then you flounced right off, hips swaying and your curls sticking on your forehead." Happiness, warm and true, floods his body at the memory. "I went back to Nice every week after that, just to catch a glimpse of you, schatje."
"You...why didn't you talk to me? Find me and buy me a coffee and ask me out on a proper date?" He accuses but Max sees the way Charles's eyes are shiny with tears. "Why did you make me think I was a convenient choice, why did you let me sit there in the dark wondering if you liked me, why did you make wonder and cry myself to sleep because I wanted all of you and you—"
"Because you are the single most precious thing in my life."
The walls shatter, crumbling to dust in the face of Charles's tears.
In the face of the bitter reality that had Max been one step slower, had he hesitated even an inch, he would have lost Charles.
Max lets the shields drop. Charles will see him tonight—all of him, every cowardly, lovestruck, insecure piece—and the Alpha will hope and pray that even with all his faults laid out before him, Charles might give them another chance.
"Because I am in love with you and I don't just want some of you, Charles. I want all of you, always. Forever." His fingers clamp down around the Omega's waist—his touch is not gentle or kind. It is all-consuming, a jealous and furious kind of possessiveness that Oscar would have never even considered but one that Max embodies as easily as he breathes. "I want you as my wife. I want to marry you and mate you and raise our pups together. I didn't want you to choose a life without me. I want to be it for you Charles because you are my world. You are everything I want and everything I could live for." His thumb, rough and calloused and decorated with old scars, press down against the Omega's delicate jaw. "I'm a monster who wants every second of your time and every last drop of your love. How could I tell you that and expect you to stay?"
Charles lets the confession soak into his skin—every last word, every dark desire—and he knows.
He should be afraid.
He should be terrified. He should chase down Oscar's McLaren and beg the Aussie to take him away—far, far away from Monaco and Max and the mad revelation that's spilled from the older Alpha's lips.
Instead, Charles feels heat fill him—it courses through his blood, a rush of passion and adoration so deep it cuts through the marrow of his bones.
Because this is Charles—he's never been as kind as people make him out to be, and he's never claimed to be as innocent as people assumed. Standing here, with Max Verstappen offering up his bruised and battered heart, Charles Leclerc holds all the cards.
Every last one.
And when Max looks at him, those ocean blue eyes so dark with love and obsession, Charles knows he's made the right choice.
Because more than love, Charles wants to be the center of someone's world. The beginning and the end—
"Do you love me?" Charles commands him to answer.
Max doesn't hesitate. "I more than love you. I am yours. Yours to break, yours to love. Every part of me, Charles." He swears this, a knight on his knees.
Charles smiles, dimples on either cheek, as he melts into the Dutchman's arms.
wmim max and charles dancing together in the snow and max dipping charles into a kiss while osc and ollie cheer them on!!
happy holidays nina!! <3
Hi @33-16 and Anon! 🤍☃️
Awww thank you so much! Wishing you both a lovely holiday season as well! 🎄🎁❄️
This ask was so cute that I couldn't help myself and turned it into a bonus chapter in "what's mine is mine" 🥹 I just love our little family so much, especially when it's Oscar and Ollie supporting their dad and their Charlie 😭❤️
what's mine is mine - chapter 5: christmas special
fernando was super close to jules as well, so i’m sure for him it’s quite sweet to watch charles grow up, come to f1 and go through life’s milestones. vv sweet🥺
I honestly don't think they're close at all but I will admit that little side hug is very cute 🥺 anyway I will always approve of anyone who hugs charles, he should always be held and petted 🙂↕️
hii, hope you're doing well. soak up the sun is one of my favorite lestappen fics, such a unique dynamic but so incredibly well developed. the malibu and roadtrip fics are other all-time classics. this is a little author appreciation and thank you for all the cute little fics. i don't know if you plan to but if you ever decide to write again, me (and lots of others) look forward to reading your works!
awwwww thank you very much, this is so sweet <3 <3 <3
aw all the cat pics are making me wanna get a cat too, spookje is absolutely adorable <3
If you have space in your life for a cat I couldn't recommend it enough! <3 Obviously having a cat isn't just all fun and games and it's responsibility as well, and you need to find a cat who's a good fit for you, but it's also just having a silly fluffy lil buddy around the house and that's great 😭💕
