#trophy!charles

[nottivagos]

(It's been a while since I did one of these, hasn't it?) Hello, welcome to Notti's "Not So Innocent" Notebook where I write some filth to make your Monday a little bit better! | 18+ mdni pls and ty

an: so i am a huge advocate for the submissive charles agenda, and the new partnership photos have me feral. i've been wanting to write charles in a mafia setting for a WHILEEEE now, and i thought, why not bring him alive now? (need a song to soundtrack whilst reading? listen to this!)

“Do you deserve me after that stunt you played today, Charles?” The question hung heavy in the air as your stiletto heel rested against his forehead, your leg acting as a barrier between you and your needy lover.

Charles gulped whilst on his knees, trying to crawl over to you helplessly. Your intense eyes fixed onto his face, hyper analysing every subtle change in his facial expression. The intensity of your cold eyes on his own wide ones made the expensive suit he was wearing suffocating. He’d seen that look in your eyes before, as the same shiver crawled down his spine whilst blood rushed with overwhelming excitement to his already quickly hardening length.

“Well?” The question was rougher, more demanding as it held a bit of grit behind clenched teeth. Impatient, even. Charles bit his lip in hesitation, his palms resting against the expensive rug below him became clammy as his ears pricked hot with the invasion of embarrassment mixed with burning arousal, which then made his cheeks flush a dark crimson and his chest tighten whilst he stayed in his place, in the large suite looking out onto the vast harbour of Monaco. 

“Ma chérie,” he mustered meekly, throat dry as emotions surged around his body, a pool of fire churning in his stomach whilst his green eyes slowly met your unwavering gaze, locking onto you like a strong, pulling magnetic force. 

“I-I can explain,” Charles stammered, croaking pathetically as he fought the growing desert in his mouth, “please, amour. Let me come closer.”

The plea made you snort in amusement, lips forming into a torturous smirk as you applied more pressure onto Charles’s forehead, flexing your leg straight and pushing him away in response, which allowed a small whimper to leave the man’s lips.

“No.” You responded simply, arms crossed over your chest unamused. “You don’t deserve to after today,” you added, observing his wide eyes and flushed expression.

The stubbornness broke Charles. He revelled in your disinterest you were showing in the moment, and the strong-willed personality you’d got, drowning in the small ways you were hardened in your approaches to matters whilst being undermined by men who thought you were in a field not made for women to play in. 

After a moment of ogling, you caught his hardly subtle glance in between your legs, as you watched them sparkle in realisation that you weren’t wearing any panties underneath the lavish silk of your evening dress that draped lazily over your curves in intoxicating ways. The sight was even more thrilling for Charles, as he yearned to come closer, just to have the privilege of touching your bare pussy, which glistened on display.

“Ma beauté,” Charles groaned in response, as he watched you adjust yourself whilst also sitting on the floor, wiggling your ass so you could spread your thighs slightly outwards more. “Oh, lord,” he breathed out, his breathing hitched at the sight, mouth slightly agape before his eyes fixated onto yours, the eye contact a silent yearn for you to give in.

“Do you want to touch me, is that it, Charles?” You purred out, head tilting to the side as a wolfish grin formed broadly across your face, fire burning behind your eyes. “You're giving me that look again,” you added, making Charles freeze upon impact of the sultry syllables leaving your lips.

“Hmm, that's what I thought,” you mumbled lowly, eyes fixated on his slight changes of expression, before slowly moving your leg away from his face, down onto the floor with such smooth grace. “Come here,” you ordered sweetly with a swift movement of your finger.

In that moment, a spark let off in Charles’s mind, as if he was short-circuited to follow your every command. He crawled over to the other side of the room towards you, situating himself in between your legs, as you lured him in with that sickeningly beautiful smirk you always had when he followed your instructions ever so easily with no question asked.

“That's better,” you giggled softly, content due to his submission, hands coming to grasp and tug at the lapels of his suit’s blazer. Charles’s eyes stayed glued on your own eyes as they sparkled with glee, hiding the simmering irritation of what had unfolded during the evening underneath.

“Now,” you began, nose grazing his own as you pressed yourself into his front, “Why don't you tell me what you were doing with that lady, hm?” You asked, your voice dropping a dangerous octave lower.

Charles froze again. The woman that was speaking to him at the party flashed before him. He recalled the way she flirted with him, the way her voice murmured dirty nothings into his ear, touching his arm ever too friendly as he had tried to get you a drink from the lavish event's bar.

“She— I wasn't doing anything,” he protested with wide eyes, his hot breaths coming in pants as they blasted across your face.

“Sure you weren't,” you scoffed, unamused. “Do you think I'm stupid, Charles?” The question was as sharp as a stab through Charles’s heart, cutting deep with no mercy.

Before Charles could protest, you pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him. “Don't talk,” you whispered, soft eyes glossing over his facial features. Your spare hand came to wrap around his tie still around his collar, tugging him closer to you. “You're mine. You know that don't you, Charles?” You murmured into his ear, the words pooling so smoothly like honey, “always mine, too. Only allowed to be pretty for me.”

Charles’s breath hitched again, catching in his throat. Blush burnt furiously into his cheeks now as his mind became hazy from your possessiveness, the words like a drug, as all the excitement surged through his veins, reaching to his now hardened cock, sadly confined in his dress pants.

“Tell me that you're mine, Charles.” You commanded, lips dangerously close to his own as he felt your hot breath fanning across his parted lips. “And then maybe I'll kiss you.”

“I'm yours, mon cœur,” he replied, “always yours.”

“Good boy,” you praised with a smug smile, pulling his tie as your lips crashed against his own. A pathetic moan from Charles died in your mouth, as your tongue fought for dominance whilst you kissed him with such passion, possession resurfacing as your hands came to claw through his curls, scraping his scalp as you kissed feverishly.

His clothed erection rubbed against your bare cunt as you continued to make out, a small whimper leaving your lips in response. Hot, open-mouthed kisses followed as you trailed your lips across his jaw and torturously slowly down his neck, nipping and sucking at the flesh whenever you pleased, causing goosebumps to form in their wake.

Charles groaned hopelessly, the fact that your bites would leave bruises all over his neck drove him crazy as you continued with your barrage of nips, sucks and swipes of tongue over the sensitive skin. “So good for me,” you mumbled against his skin, teeth piercing it slightly, “can't wait to see these bruises tomorrow.”

He continued to rut against your now weeping cunt, clothed cock angrily hard against the hole as his hips stuttered with their movements. Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, nails digging into the clothing as he dry humped you with increasing passion.

“That's it, Charles,” you breathlessly praised into his ear, your throat becoming dry and raspy in the process. “Just like that, you're doing a great job.”

The praises drove Charles forward as your lips locked together again, if so, even more passionately. Your hands moved from his shoulders to his cheeks, cupping his face as you kissed him with an increasing intensity of passion and lust. Tongues swirled over each other whilst wanton moans echoed around the large suite, but you two were uncaring as Charles chased his imminent release desperately.

The coil in Charles’s burning belly snapped quickly— almost instantly, even. He groaned loudly as cum shot out of his cock, the cloth of his underwear serving as a barrier between him and your slick hole, the sticky sensation and uncomfortable feeling in his boxers as his cock softened brought him back to reality as you looked up at him, eyes half-lidded and panting.

“That…” you began, trying to collect your breath as you heaved slightly, the apples of your cheeks scorching with a crimson blush, “was amazing. Fuck, Charles, you were so good.” You praised again, peppering his face in chaste kisses.

“Does this mean that we're good now, mon trésor?” Charles asked between kisses, kissing back with the same affection. “Trust me, I wasn't doing anything with her—”

“I trust you, Charles,” you whispered gently, brushing your thumb against the apple of his cheek. “Now let me come and fuck you properly. I think it's only right of me to do so,” you giggled, hands lovingly coming to his shirt’s buttons, fumbling with them as you tried to strip Charles as fast as you could, ready for a night of affectionate love making. <3

[toddsmind-neilssoul]

anderperry tweets because in my mind, they're boyfriends <3

[caprifiles]

do not let anyone or anything distract you from the fact that max actually had to return the tablet for 3rd place in sprint to charles because of his penalty

and pls don't tell me that rbr admin didn't take an opportunity to make a tiktok about this whole situation (like it was done in spa when george was dsq ??? i believe)

i mean the one time when a lestappen tiktok would be reasonable and appropriate and still you didn't do anything with it...

[lhpics7]

congrats charles but this trophy 🤔

[never-looked-so-good]

📷 @/scuderiaferrari

[chaichaispouts]

THEY'RE SO RIGHT??!

[artemispt]

Carlos being a gentleman and waiting for Lando to pass

[alexturntable]

Monza GP 📷 Alex O’Connor

[once-and-future-loser]

YOU interpret Max being sarcastic (and a little rude TBH) about the MTV Chestappen Couple Goals Award as his frustration with the media and excessive publicity requirements in F1.

EYE interpret his reaction as frustration that everyone else wants him to get dicked down by date his teammates and rivals BUT THEY won't put out despite his clear signals.

We aren't the same.

[charles-jpg]

to love is to endure | charles leclerc

[lestappen-on-top]

Max receives a red trophy, and Charles receives a blue one, don't tell me this wasn't planned 🤭

[crumbsssscookie]

You (don't) own me

Summary: Bound by an arranged marriage he never wanted, Charles resents you - until a situation forces him to realize that perhaps you're not marrying him solely because of politics.

Warnings: violence, blood, murder, Charles is kidnapped, reader comes for him, a bit suggestive at the end

Pairing: mafia heir!Charles Leclerc x mafia boss!reader

Word count: 1.3k

AN: i don't think i'm the only one who was inspired by the new Chivas promo and those pics screaming mafia. you're still getting mafia!charles but i thought i'd take it in a slightly different direction 🤭

the cover art features a female reader but the fic can be read by anyone since there's no description of reader's physical features

______________________________________________

Charles always knew that he would stand at the top of a crime dynasty one day. After all, his father Hervé was one of the most respected mafia bosses in Europe. He always dreamt of following in his father’s footsteps and leading their family to a prosperous future. But fate, or his father in particular, had other things in mind. 

He wasn’t meant to lead; he was meant to follow. He was meant to become your husband. Was meant to strengthen his family’s standing in the grand scheme of Europe’s biggest crime families. When he’d found out that he was practically a bargaining chip in politics, he rebelled against it. Threw tantrums whenever the topic of you and your family came up. Fought his parents tooth and nail about, what felt to him, being given away to the highest bidder. But to no avail. He had to marry you and your fathers would see to it.

When he met you for the first time, he’d given you the silent treatment, hadn’t even looked you in the eyes or greeted you. Your father had growled something about him being disrespectful, but you’d just waved it off. He thought to see hurt flashing in your eyes, but you had slipped back to a kind and warm smile before he could even think about it.

It wasn’t that he hated you. No, he wished it were that simple. He wished he could despise you, find something in you that was repulsive, unbearable. But you were none of those things. You were everything he should want. You were a couple of years older than him. Around Lorenzo’s age. The only heir to your father’s empire, already leading most of it at your young age. You were the epitome of regality and it made the front of his jeans just a little tighter. But the way you carried yourself with effortless confidence only fuelled his frustration. Because you weren’t his choice. It was never his choice.

You never let his cold demeanour deter you though. In the months and weeks leading up to the wedding you tried everything to get to know him. Even when Charles refused to acknowledge your existence, turned his back on you in public, or left the room the second you entered, you never stopped trying. You showed up to family dinners with gifts tailored to his interests, learning about his favourite wines, cars, and even the books he read in secret when no one was watching. But he remained unmoved, locked behind a wall of silent defiance.

Yet, as the wedding grew closer, something inside him started to shift. He tried to ignore it, tried to convince himself that he still resented you, but the way you still made a real effort to get through to him, how you wanted to see him although he’d only met you with rejection, also terrified him. 

He caught himself lingering on your praise whenever you caught him playing the piano, felt a strange pull in his chest every time you brought him another piece of hard-to-find sheet music. But to admit that he was moved by you, that he felt the need to worship the ground you were walking on? That would mean giving in. To you. To this arrangement. But you didn’t own him. Nobody did. He refused to submit to you, didn’t want to give your fathers the satisfaction of thinking he wanted this marriage, even if his body betrayed him every time he even so much as smelled a hint of your perfume.

It was also the reason he had gone out for a drive that one fateful evening. Needing to breathe air without you in it, needing space. The streets of Monte Carlo blurred past him, turning quickly into the winding roads of the French Riviera as he let the roar of the engine drown out his thoughts. He didn’t see them coming. He didn’t hear them coming. 

He only knew they were coming when it was too late. His car rammed off the road, bodies swarming the scene before he could do anything. He fought, of course he did. His fists colliding with flesh in the process but there were just too many. A sharp blow to the back of his head sent him spiralling. The world turning black before he could hit the ground.

He woke up to agony. Slumped down in a chair, pain radiating from every inch of his body, his hands tied behind his back and the stale air burning in his throat. His lip was split and his nose most certainly broken. He couldn’t make out much in the dimly lit room he was held in, but he could hear his captors talking amongst themselves. Cheering. Laughing. Their boasting voices confirming that he was taken to send a message. To his father. A slow, painful death for the son of Hervé Leclerc while they could still get to him.

They took their time with him, wanting him to suffer before they dumped his body somewhere he would be found quickly. A fist to the gut, a boot to his ribs. Time lost all its meaning, the sensationless bliss of unconsciousness pulling him under like the currents of the Mediterranean. He could feel the cold seeping into his bones and taste the metallic taste of blood coating his tongue whenever he came back to. He was mostly numb by the time they started mocking him for being worth more dead than as a ransom, the only thing keeping him at least halfway sane was the thought that he’d never be able to apologize to you.

The laughter of his captors filled the room, their amusement at his helplessness slicing through his pride like a blade.

Suddenly the laughter stopped.

The silence was deafening.

A sharp crack, bone breaking, a strangled cry of pain. Shouting. Gunshots. The heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. Another one. Then another. Silence.

When he opened his eyes all he could see was you, standing in the door. Dressed in black, a gun still warm in your hand, blood splattered across your cheek, eyes blazing with a fury he’d never seen before in you. He might’ve gone insane, but you were breathtaking in your rage. Dangerous. Lethal. With the precision of a predator you went on to untie him, only allowing yourself to relax once you made sure there were no more threats around. Your focus now entirely on him, you knelt in front of his slumped figure.

“Charles,” you breathed, gently touching his bruised face. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

He stared at you in disbelief.

You had come for him. Not his father, not his brothers. You. 

Even after all he had thrown at you to keep you away. After his constant rejection. You were here, saving him and apologizing to him for not getting to him sooner.

He wanted to open his mouth, to tell you how sorry he was for ever doubting you but before he could even mutter a word you pressed your lips onto his. Soft and careful. Cautious but exploring. His body protested, but he leaned into your kiss without thinking.

He finally let himself want you and it felt better than anything he had ever felt before.

He didn’t know how much time you spent there, him holding onto you for dear life but when you pulled away and finally led him out, stepping over the bodies you had left in your wake to get him, a heavy calm settled into his chest. You had torn through them like a storm, swift and merciless. The blood on your hands a testament of your feelings for him.

That night, after he was all patched up again, Charles let himself fall apart in your hands. You touched him with reverence, whispering against his skin that he was safe, that he was yours. He had never been worshiped before, never been adored so completely. Every kiss, every careful touch, was a promise. A vow that no one would ever hurt him again.

And for the first time, Charles didn’t just accept it. 

He believed it.

As the night stretched on, he surrendered to your love, to the warmth of your embrace, to the realization that he had never belonged to anyone. 

Until now.

[livetogether--diealone]

disaster middle child

[rb9]

one of these days, when the safety car is supposed to come in, i want bernd maylander to say fuck that i wanna go racing

[never-looked-so-good]

📷 @/selenxu

[isawthesainz]

scuderiaferrari A special day, a special trophy 🏆