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#i adore these tags so keep em coming

lumi077 · 2 months

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X-Men HCs

A/N: my hyperfixations are not very hyperfixating rn. literally they’re changing so fast. But take some nice little relationship headcanons, and the next Chapter of Winters’ Servants is coming soon!!

Characters included: Logan (Wolverine), Scott (Cyclops), Kurt (NightCrawler), Jean

Warnings: potential OOC, nothing else really. kept it nice and light.

Logan (Wolverine):

Logan would absolutely, if you use them, stretch out your new hairbands for you. If you express that you dislike using them unless stretched, he’ll offer to wear them on his wrists for a day or two till they’re stretched to your liking. It could be the most girly hair ties and he’ll proudly wear three on each wrist. When asked, he’ll happily tell them “Just stretchin ‘em for my woman/man/partner”

Scary dog privileges? Scary dog privileges. He adores making you feel safe enough to wear the most skin revealing or feminine clothing. You want to wear something revealing/very feminine but tell him you're scared? He’ll instantly assure you and tell you to wear anything you want. If someone says something, he won’t hesitate to shut them up before you even hear.

There’s going to be a point in your relationship that you’ll realize he absolutely doesn’t care about any of the gross stuff you do. Burp, Fart, don’t shave? He really doesn’t care in the least bit. Definitely the boyfriend that will go, unphased, into the bathroom while you're on the toilet and brush his teeth or shower without a care in the world. If you are comfortable that is, and he secretly preens when he realizes that you're comfy enough to do that stuff around him lol.

I wholeheartedly believe that when he realizes he wants you to be his forever partner, he’ll gift you his dog tags. His past is very personal to him, because he could never remember it for a good part of it. His dog tags are only second to him getting down on one knee.

Speaking of getting down on one knee, sorry for all the people who want it to be a surprise, but he won’t make a big deal and will tell you about his plans beforehand. No surprise engagement, and no public one. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he wants to make sure you’re ready and want it too. He doesn’t put much on marriage because it doesn’t change much, and doesn't want you to feel pressured to say yes because there are people there. He’ll love you the same married or not, but he does note how pretty you look with the ring he bought you on your finger.

I personally believe he would be more likely to get in a committed relationship with another mutant. I just think a lot of the X-Men would want to be able to relate to their partner and have their partner relate to them, and Logan is going to live a long life so…I can't truly see him with a normal person.

If you are apart of the X-Men, while he won’t baby you or anything, he finds himself keeping an eye on you the most. There have been a fair amount of times that you find yourself having a Logan shield on the field, and even more often if you are susceptible to projectiles.

Dates are a norm at this point, Fridays are always the day he takes you out. It’s usually the same place, but he thinks it’s nice.

Flowers are also a norm, if you mention you like them.

He doesn’t do much on Valentine’s day because he already does all the normal valentine’s day stuff it weekly or bi-weekly. Does get cheat food so you guys can eat it and watch stupid rom com movies though.

Scott (Cyclops):

First and Foremost Scott is such a golden retriever. Anything you want, he obtains quickly and with 0 thoughts of you getting him something in return. He just wants to see his partner happy and healthy, with a smile on their face as often as possible.

He is very big on PDA, likes to hold your hand, or slip an arm around your waist, put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, etc. Overall he just likes touching you, and just because you're in public doesn’t mean anything.

Adding on to his liking of PDA, I feel like he’s possessive. Like in the one X-Men movie, when Logan goes into the past and stops bad shit from happening and goes to touch Jean and he blocks him? Yeah he does that with you but with everyone. He likes people knowing your his and what’s better than you two being attached at the hip in public?

He likes when you wear his things as well, not so much for people knowing you’re his like mentioned above but just because you're adorable in it. Want his sweatshirt? He’s giving it to you even though it's negative 5 out. His cologne? Just take the whole bottle, even though it’s brand new. He’ll get another one!!

When he’s on missions and away, he gives you so many shirts and even a pair of sweats. Sprays the stuffed animals he got you with his cologne, same with your pillows. He will expect the same if it’s you going away for a long time. Or you’ll come back to him sleeping on your side of the bed where it smells the most like you, his face stuffed in one of your pillows that has one of your shirts on it.

He is very vocal about being your boyfriend, and you being his partner. Everyone in the world knows, yet no one asked. He’ll gush about you to whoever will listen, the rest of the team is so done but they do admit his devotion to you is adorable.

All the ladies and gents and nonbinary pals who want an over the top surprise proposal, this is your man. It’s super romantic, he pays for your nails if you wear them, getting your hair done, and a new outfit. And you can’t even tell it’s because he wants to propose because he does this all the time. Then he takes you to your fav restaurant and pops the question.

Make no mistake though, he has to be 100% sure that you want him to propose to do so. He’s so attuned to you and your likings he gets your dream ring without having to ask everyone close to you first. Which also assures him no one can spoil the surprise.

He is one of the few ones who probably doesn’t care if you're a mutant or not, because his love is 100% blind. He would probably want a mutant partner, but once he falls he falls hard.

He also won’t baby you if you’re in the X-Men, but if he happens to laser them first? Not his fault.

Kurt (NightCrawler):

He is a very shy partner at first. But once he falls for you, and you make it obvious you have fallen for him it all goes out the window. He is a completely different person around you, confident and flirty. He is just so in love.

Teases you almost constantly, he’s a teaser with everyone but he loves to see you blush and squirm from his words.

Loves if you run your fingers through his fur, and almost emits a low purr when you do. If you brush it for him, especially if he doesn’t ask you but you WANT to, he swears he is going to marry you one day.

He takes you places you told him you wanted to go to when you guys were in the talking stage. Paris? Done, let’s get some baguettes for back home! The Bahamas? Pack a bathing suit, and make sure to bring the detangling brush.

He loves non sexual acts of intimacy, like taking baths together!! Your fingers feel like heaven on his scalp when you massage the shampoo and conditioner in his hair. He also loves touching your body, he’s always careful with the fact he has claws but he would never dream of hurting you.

Big on cuddling and all that stuff in private, but I feel like he would want to keep it behind closed doors. Not because he doesn’t love you, but because he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands on you otherwise.

Long missions with him are never a problem, he’ll just teleport to you wherever you may be and spend time with you before heading back.

He’s your call bird, and the gossip you two are able to share with one another? It is divine. He seems to know everything, and you know the most obvious stuff but he always makes you feel like Sherlock Holmes when you tell him things he already heard and was going to tell you about. Which is why he always makes you spill the tea first lol.

For marriage and proposing, I can see him accidentally proposing on a mission. Tensions are high, and he’s worried that one of you won’t make it home to the other. The thought alone makes him dread the upcoming battle, but he grabs your hand and looks into your eyes and states with all the conviction in the world “We’ll get married after this.”

You brush it off, after you both survive the battle, that he didn’t mean it. He just wanted you to know how much he loved you. But oh how wrong you are when you walk into a room with all your close friends and family, Kurt in the middle down on one knee and asking you to marry him. Your face was priceless, and lucky for him everyone took pictures.

He definitely carries around a photo with you wherever he goes, and when he prays he takes it out and not only asks that God protect him, but you as well because there is no life beyond you. Even if you’re not religious he’ll still do it, just for the peace of mind.

Jean:

She’s the black cat of the relationship for sure. I mean, she has a lot of issues but she always makes you her first priority.

She keeps tabs on you constantly. What’s your mood, why? She’ll talk to you in your mind when you’re anxious to calm you, and let you know that she’s there with you. She’s probably an anxious persons’ best friend. You don’t even have to talk, she knows what you mean and changes accordingly.

She is big on communication for sure. If you do something that bothers or hurts her feelings she will sit you down and talk to you about it. And she has this certain way of doing that doesn’t make you feel guilty. She’s just letting you know what she does and doesn’t like and won’t tell anyone else. These things are very private to her. And she expects you to do the same, and her feelings are never hurt by it.

Jean’s type of love is selfless. She would put herself in danger tenfold just to keep you safe. Mutant or not, she would be the one to baby you if you’re a part of the X-Men as well. There’s always a kind of bubble around you, that not many but you notice. Hence, people think you’re indestructible because you’re the only one who came back uninjured for the fourth time.

She wants to be independent, but also loves when you do stuff for her. She will never ask, but her heart warms so much when she sees you did something for her because you wanted too and not because she asked.

She plans your dream proposal. She is almost a roommate in your own mind, she knows what you like and don’t like.

Small extra blurb: imagine giving telepathic hints that you want a proposal. She thinks “Why are they broadcasting their ring si-ooooh. I see.”

She is so gentle with you, almost afraid that you’ll break and it’ll be all her fault. The way her hands gently caress you or how she holds your hand is so incredibly gentle.

#xmen #xmen x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #scott summers #scott summers x reader #Cyclops x reader #kurt wagner #nightcrawler #nightcrawler x reader #kurt wagner x reader #jean grey #jean grey x reader #xmen headcanon #lumiwritings

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hihimissamericanbi · 3 months

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FAVE HP SMUT CREATORS

Ever since I got that lovely anon asking for the best smut I've ever read, it got me thinking about some of my favorite smut creators in general.

So here is a very non-exhaustive list of fan-fucking-tastic smut writers and artists I've come across in the HP fandom that weren't mentioned (shamefully) in my last batch. Feel free to add to the list! We must keep the people fed.

xoxo go take a sip of cold water girl

WRITERS

@spookymoonie

Lord Espooky came into this fandom guns a-blazing with their kink headcanon a day for Wolfstar and it has spiraled from there. They GET IT. He has a super well-organized masterlist pinned to his tumblr ft tons of different kinks, fic lengths, scenes, etc. Go. Now.

@fiveht

The definition of IYKYK. Daddy kink isn't super my thing, but Five makes me enjoy it. If you vibe with age gap daddy Remus and pretty boy Sirius, their Adore series is a must-read. They also have a stellar A/B/O Wolfstar fic plus podfic and write some Marvel too!

@greenvlvetcouch

An absolute legend in this fandom. Wolfstar, Jeggy, Rosekiller. Gritty, chewy, embodied sex.

@emeryhall

Emery writes sex the way some people breathe. Like it's just part of the narrative. It's SO punchy. And also she is the queen of Crack Smut.

@kaaaaaaarf

Patron saint of Wolfstar hatefucks. mic drop.

@cancerravenclaw

We snagged MK over to Wolfstar from the clutches of Dramione. Her series "mk's kink exposé" could also be called "celine's kink exposé." I'll just leave that there.

@wolfpants

Everything they create is magic, but they are especially known for rare pairs and Dronarry.

WRITERS AND ARTISTS

@aspiring-artist-em

The queen of Lesbian Wolfstar. Both art and fic. Also queen of humiliation and pain kink and Walburga psychological trauma. ye be warned.

@upthehillnsfw / @upthehillart

I am afraid no one is ready for this art. Truly. Tons of different ships, positions, acts. I gasp every time. And their Pansmione fic is epic (which I have talked about before).

ARTISTS

@industrations

I highly recommend getting on Indi's Patreon so you can enjoy their NSFW drawings, mostly Wolfstar and Jegulus, occasional Rosekiller. Too many iconic moments to count.

@waxingrunes

The officially-sponsored artist of Five's Adore series. Look, their work is nothing short of indulgent. Shhhh don't worry about the physics just let it happen. And by It I mean Remus' big dick hands.

@basiatlu

By beloved. The one. The only. Bosh's drawings are so ALIVE. They leap off the screen. Her Drarry is nothing less than iconic. She also dabbles in other characters/ships like Wolfstar and Blackcest. Siriusly, you can't go wrong.

DRARRY SMUT

OKAY, Drarry people. There are so so many excellent Drarry smut writers it is impossible to name them all. Here are but a tiny handful I have pulled from my bookmarks. I'm happy to rec specific fics if asked :)

@cavendishbutterfly, @bixgirl1, @l0vegl0wsinthedark, @shiftylinguini, @kbrick, @fluxweeed, @academicdisasterfic

I'm tagging those other creators from older asks because I can't put this list out there without them on it <3

@crushofdoves @we-are-swearwolves @tenthousandyearsx @theresthesnitch @lqtraintracks Quietlemonhush @cuddlebugsirius

#celine spills #celine's library #smut recs #hp smut #wolfstar smut #drarry smut #jegulus smut #HI FRIENDS i love you all #celine's flirting again #fic recs #hp fic recs #fan art #hp fanart #wolfstar art #drarry art #jegulus art

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mysteryshoptls · 7 days

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SR Azul Ashengrotto - Luxe Couture Vignette

"Please come this way"

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Azul: …Now, now, don't say that!

Azul: I would be honored if you would come by the Mostro Lounge to come see my photo with Eric-san.

Vil: I'm staggered. You would not only use my father, but also myself to increase your reputation?

Grim: Oh hey, if it ain't Vil and Azul. What're you guys talkin' about?

Azul: We just happened to come across each other over here, so we were merely chatting about plans once we return to campus. Have the two of you been shopping?

1. I bought some clothes for myself.

Azul: You bought clothing at the Crystal Galleria? You must be a better shopper than I thought.

2. I bought some gifts for everyone back home.

Azul: A wonderful sentiment. Keeping people in your debt is very valuable.

Azul: I myself just finished purchasing some cosmetics. After this, I plan on perusing some tableware.

Grim: Huh, tableware? Don't really matter what gets used, to me.

Grim: The food 'n drinks're waaay more important than the plates 'n cups.

Azul: I fully believed that would be your response, Grim-san.

Vil: I absolutely adore that sort of dedication. The more opulent the tableware, the more sophisticated the mealtime becomes.

Vil: Weren't the plates, cups, and cutlery at the restaurant we dined at yesterday utterly sublime?

Grim: I don't remember a thing about 'em.

Vil: ...Right, I was a fool for even asking that in the first place.

Azul: The golden rimmed white porcelain plates at that restaurant was indeed spectacular.

Azul: Decorated in both matte and glossy gold, these surely were high-quality wares. A rare sight, indeed.

Vil: Well, now. You're well informed, Azul.

Vil: It may be interesting to shop for tableware with someone who actually knows a thing or two. I'll join you.

Azul: Why, certainly. Would you like to join us, [Yuu]-san?

1. I'd like to. 2. I'm definitely interested.

Grim: 'Kay, then I'll tag along too, then. But anyway, do they even sell stuff like that here?

Vil: Of course. Fine ceramic wares are yet another major product of the Fairest City. There are also many antique shops.

Grim: Uh-huh. So it's not just make-up 'n clothes 'n food, huh.

Azul: It is said that there were 3 primary factors that led to the development of those fine ceramic wares in the Fairest City.

Azul: The first factor was due to the nearby mines.

Azul: The neighboring mountain range had an abundance of high-quality clay, for which artisans from all over began to come for.

Azul: The second factor is the development of pharmaceuticals thanks to knowledge passed down from the Fairest Queen.

Vil: That pharmaceutical science was then used to develop a diverse array of pigments, and that allowed for the field of colors to become what it is today.

Azul: Indeed. It's just as you say.

Azul: And the final factor is the sense of beauty that every Fairest Queen-loving inhabitant of the Fairest City carries.

Azul: Thus, the potters and sculptors who were raised with a heightened awareness of beauty themselves brought their ceramics to an entirely new level when it comes to works of art.

Vil: Only the residents of the Fairest City would find ways to elevate beauty in fields other than fashion and makeup.

Azul: We've arrived. I hear this shop carries a rather large collection of antique tableware for sale.

Vil: Have you already done prior research?

Azul: Yes, indeed. I must admit I have been looking forward to purchasing new tableware.

Grim: Woah! There's a ton of sparkly dishes and stuff!

Vil: What sort of tableware are you planning on purchasing, Azul?

Azul: I believe I'd like to find teacups, saucers, and a matching teapot.

1. What about this golden tea set?

Grim: Yeah! The shiny gold color is so cool! Azul: I see they allowed gold to oxidize and used that to create a pattern for the design. I must admit it is extravagant and definitely draws an eye. Vil: An opulent design. However, I feel it may not suit the Mostro Lounge.

2. Look at this pink tea set!

Azul: I see it is a set of teacups with a frill molding. The flower pattern along the rim is so wonderfully subtle. Vil: A rather cute design. However, I feel it may not suit the Mostro Lounge.

Azul: Fufu, I agree completely. Perhaps now we can look at the wares that had caught my eye?

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Azul: This is the one I am looking to purchase here.

Grim: This one, huh? It's just a borin' looking white cup with a tiny bit of blue stuff on it.

Azul: That dainty and subtle touch is intended to be its charm point… It seems you fail to comprehend that, Grim-san.

Azul: This bright white porcelain shows not a hint of translucency… Does it not seem to be the pinnacle of class?

Vil: It certainly does have a refined beauty about it.

Azul: The elegant design carved out of the rim of the teacup is called a "scalloped rim."

Azul: And consider this wave-like handle curled along the side… Even the minute details are so stunning.

Grim: A handle? What, you gonna steer somethin' with this cup, then?

Vil: Obviously the handle is where you hold the cup.

Vil: But, Azul. These cups and teapot are a vintage set.

Vil: Is there any need for you to use such an extravagant tea set in a café that caters to students?

Azul: Indeed. I consider this a necessary investment.

Azul: Just because my customers are students does not mean that I intend on compromising my standards.

[Fairest City – Queen's Palace]

[camera shutters clicking and screaming]

Fans: KYAAAAAAAAA! VIL-SAMAAAAA!!!

Reporter: If I can run an article on Vil Schoenheit, then there's no doubt that both magazine sales and website traffic are gonna go through the roof!

Reporter: Alright, now I just gotta hop this barrier so I can cover Vil Schoenheit up close…

[Grrk…]

Azul: Oh, my, it is dangerous to attempt to climb the barrier. Please take all photographs from the designated area.

Reporter: You little brat, don't get in my way! [Azul starts pushing] Urgh, what strength! He's pushing the whole barrier back towards me…!

Azul: If those instructions cannot be followed properly, I may have to take appropriate countermeasures…

Azul: For example, I may be inclined to ring up your place of employment and file a complaint at the highest levels.

Reporter: Okay, fine, just get out of my way, then! I can't even take a picture with you like this!

Azul: How wonderful that we've reached an understanding. Vil-san, please come this way.

Vil: Thank you… You were awfully efficient in handling that.

Azul: When you've made as many deals as I have, it's not uncommon to encounter troubled clients in need of extra firm handling.

Azul: I'm just glad I was able to put the mediation skills I've accumulated to good use.

Vil: Not only are you handling the press well… But you are doing a fantastic job as my escort.

Azul: Well, it also is not uncommon for me to host prospective business contacts personally, either.

Azul: Ah, we are almost at the staircase.

Azul: Right this way. If you wish, my hand is yours to take.

Vil: Well, then. I shall accept it.

―A few days later

[Mostro Lounge]

Octavinelle Student: Welcome!

Azul: Oh my… If it isn't Vil-san! You've come, as promised! I'm so elated.

Vil: Excuse you. I don't recall ever promising you anything. However…

Vil: I was merely thinking back to how you handled yourself previously. I do expect exceptional service today as well.

Vil: Business seems to be going well… Are you using that tea set you purchased back then?

Azul: I am. Right now… The guests at that table are enjoying the tea served in it.

Deuce/Epel: AHAHAHA!

Vil: …There is no way those two even remotely understand the worth of those cups.

Vil: Neither would the rest of these customers. Do you still think that it was worth selecting that specific set?

Azul: Absolutely. I vow to serve drinks and meals on quality dishes that I have personally selected.

Azul: That is something that I will never compromise as the proprietor of the Mostro Lounge.

Azul: You yourself would never touch clothes or cosmetics that don't suit your design or aesthetic taste, yes?

Vil: So, just as I carefully concoct my personal brand by being particular on how I fashion myself…

Vil: You look to enhance the Mostro Lounge by careful consideration of the tableware and table linen.

Vil: I think that fastidious approach of yours is just as spectacular. Perhaps I have judged you a tad harshly.

Azul: Why, thank you. I fully believed that you of all people would understand, Vil-san.

Azul: However… I cannot deny that at times I would like to share that appreciation of the tableware's elegance with someone who actually understands their worth.

Azul: That being said, Vil-san, allow me to prepare your order on my absolute finest plates.

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #azul ashengrotto #vil schoenheit #deuce spade #epel felmier #twst azul #twst vil #twst deuce #twst epel #twst grim #twst yuu #twst translation #twst tapis rouge #mention: eric

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chronically-ghosted · 2 months

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i'm swingin' blind and you're stunning me without any gloves

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 9K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: the night continues while the two of you dance around the inevitable. dieter's restraint is foiled by dreams of a water bed.

warnings/tags: depictions of drugs, age gap, cum eating, piv sex, not actually incest but close, concerns about getting old, reader is at least 18 (by how much is up to you), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), hand jobs (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, squirting, the barest hint of overstimulation, oh and SMUT.

🤍AO3 Link

🤍Series Masterlist | Prev | THE END

🤍Masterlist

“Do all movie stars have six empty bedrooms they don’t use?”

“They’re not always empty . . . I mean, it’s good for parties. Gives people space to get out of the chaos if they want, or if they need a place to crash. Keeps the energy, uh, flowing. Keeps the vibes good.”

He uses the joint to take the place of having to explain that the room you just passed was in fact used as a revolving door for anyone who wanted a bump only two weeks ago. The second floor stretches out into the darkness, the nasty weather outside beating against the windows. He keeps a slow steady pace, the high making his insides comfortably warm as you wander in and out of rooms, like a less frantic, totally-fuckable version of that Scooby Doo gag. He’s quite sure he’ll never be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons the same way.

So far, you’ve been content with asking rather inane questions, filler questions that he suspects you’re hoping reveal more than he’s giving. The response to the question being more important than the answer itself.

So no one lives in these rooms? No.

Do you ever use these as anything else other than bedrooms? No.

What’s outside by the pool? A gym.

A gym with full length mirrors that he used to adore snapping selfies in, in his younger cop show days, and without much prompting, would admit to masterbating to on occasion.

You’ll always be your own greatest critic so fuck ‘em.

You come out of the last bedroom, smirking faintly as though someone had told you a particularly naughty secret, humming faintly to yourself. He never much cared for giving tours but given that you walked ahead of him and gave him adequate time to ogle the backs of your thighs, he could think of worse ways to spend time with you.

“Mhm hmm,” you mutter to no one in particular. The carpet is plush, but that is the only thing you could say you really enjoyed about the style of the house. Everything else, especially the almost clinically clean air to it, makes it feel like a hotel, as if Dieter is mold growing in someone else’s house. Again, these are filed as things that helped fill out the picture of the man your uncle had become, if not the man he wanted to portray.

“So where do you sleep?”

He had been lulled into such a stupor of quiet fantasy fueled by his warm high that he didn’t even think twice when he pointed down the hall.

“God, it just keeps going, doesn’t it?”

Turns out the path to moral degradation isn’t a straight line, but a curved slope. One he finds himself on, going down round and round and round, the longer he watches your legs, the curve of your ass, the bright smile as you quite obviously tried to get a glimpse of the old Dee. But that's the thing about drugs that he finds he so actively craved – of course there is the euphoria, the chemical sensations, the wires of your brain plugged into different outlets and restarting the whole system. But he's found that’s when people tended to be their most honest, most unpolished and they weren’t afraid to be like that.

There was a lot of talk around the ego and the ID in his early acting classes. Who was your character when their ego had been pulled back like strips of skin?

But as he got older, the question he became more obsessed with was, who were the people around him when they weren’t being paid to like him?

You, of course, are different from all that. You hadn’t built up an ego quite yet. You hadn’t built up the mechanisms required to survive the world because you hadn’t needed to. Sure, you could deflect and get what you wanted by batting your eyelashes, but there are times he felt ugly in the skin he had built. Like somewhere along the way, he had tried on all these hats and now they had all attached themselves to his head and he couldn’t tear them off if he tried. His costume didn’t fit– his face wasn’t even visible any more.

And who exactly had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after his beautiful, carefree niece, a single breath away from getting so hard it hurt, in this massively empty mansion? What version of himself wants to snake a hand into those shorts and effectively ruin you for anyone else – wanted to grip you so hard there’d be bruises and tears in your eyes when you came?

Which one of them is he willing to show you?

All of them. None of him. The ID.

You glance over your shoulder, curious that he hadn’t answered you.

“Yeah,” he sighs, smoking between his two fingers again. “Could get lost in a place like this.”

You pause in your inspection, eyes soft because of the drugs or the low lighting or something else, and take his hand. “Lucky I’ve got you then.”

His mouth is instantly dry in a way that has nothing to do with the weed. He offers you the joint and you smoke too, eyelids drooping, allowing him another second of looking.

And then another smile breaks across your face.

“Fuck,” your laugh turns into a cough. “Did you ever get that stupid fucking waterbed you wouldn’t shut up about? I remember you swearing the first thing you’d buy when you were rich and famous was a waterbed – which I thought was so fucking cool because I’d never heard of a waterbed before because I was seven and it sounded like something totally made up — so of course, someone rich and famous could have one.”

You’re still holding hands, your palm dry and warm, when he laughs too. He takes the joint back from you, eyes narrowing as he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Turns out moral degradation is a fucking cannon ball.

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?”

You squeeze his hand, eyes bright, before almost sprinting down the hall to the room on the right. He follows you, struck by the notion this is the first and last time you’ll ever enter his bedroom. This has to be the end of something.

He hears a grunt and a groan and he can’t help but smile. He saunters into the room, leaning up against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his robe. You are face down on the mattress, hands under your chest.

“This is not a water bed,” you grumble, the sound muffled.

Once again, Maria deserved a raise just for making his bed.

“No, it’s not,” he says slowly, as he edges a teasing tone into his next words. “Look, I did get a fucking water bed, alright? Just about a century ago when they were still a thing.”

You ease up onto your elbows and glare at him. “Can’t believe you got rid of it. What a waste.”

And then you’re sliding back onto your knees, hands planted on the covers, and for just a second, he swears he can see the outline of your cunt through the material that could hardly be called shorts.

His knees actually buckle for a second before he stands up right and physically has to close his eyes. Looking away wouldn’t have been enough.

But you don’t see all of this. You’re frowning down, as if glaring hard enough will bypass physics and liquidate the mattress.

“What happened to it? The water bed, I mean.”

Just as he’s gotten his heart rate back under control, your question throws everything into a spiral again.

Do not fucking tell her about the hookers and the brass pasties. Or the cock ring. Definitely do not mention the cock ring.

“It, uh, popped.”

You smirk over your shoulder. “It was a sex thing, wasn’t it?”

The question lingers, Dieter unable to make a coherent word that didn’t sound like take your pants off right fucking now, so he swallows and shakes his head. By some minor miracle, you shrug and don’t push it, sliding off the bed and completing your assessment of his life by regarding the book collection against the opposite wall.

It’s bigger than you expect someone like Dieter to have, but its placement in the house – almost hidden in his private bedroom – suggests that its volume is not there to impress. It’s his personal collection and, judging by the bent spines, books he’s actually read, perhaps several times. There’s a small desk next to it, crouching in the corner and littered with sheets of paper that look like they were torn from a sketchbook.

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted you to see less: Dieter, full of vices, or Dieter, bratty actor who only acted in the first place because he couldn’t cut it as a real artist.

Your hands run over the sketches, eyes annoyingly unreadable, and just as he’s about to leap forward and scoop all of the sketches into the trash, you move on. Your interest is caught by some of the books. You make noises that are both outside of the realm of approval or disgust and he finds himself nervous. Book reading is about the last thing on anyone’s mind once they’ve reached the final destination of The Bedroom, so he’s never worried about what someone might think. But this isn’t just someone, it’s you.

His mouth opens to make some quippy remark, when you gasp and lunge forward, grabbing something at the back of the shelf.

“Holy shit, that’s you!”

You hold up a picture of his high school’s production of Othello and there he is fifteen and smack dab in the middle of the cast.

“Oh fuck, I forgot that was there,” he groans, dropping the nearly gone joint into an ashtray by the side of the bed. You’re practically glowing with excitement and he rolls his eyes as he takes it from you.

“Jesus Christ, look at that kid. Has no idea what kind of dumbass he’s going to grow up to be.”

Three years after that photo was taken, he had left in the middle of the night for Hollywood. Of course, just as he had finished packing up his piece-of-shit Chevy, Enrico caught him. Exploded in his face and scolded him in his old man ways for leaving without saying nothing.

He kept this photo because it was the last thing that reminded him of home and yet so distant it didn’t hurt as bad any more.

“I think he did spectacular for himself,” you grin at him. “Who knew The Dieter Bravo was such a softie for the old days?”

He smirks at you, finally sick of you kicking his ass all night. There is a line between fucking you and out sassing you, one he could live with. You aren't fucking ready for that Dieter.

“No way,” he rubs the bottom of his lip with his thumb, artfully contemplative, and purposefully distractingly hot. “Just keep it around for the spank bank. Ms. Lemons was a babe.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leans across you to put the photo back. “Oh yeah? I gave my first blow job in that blackbox.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did!”

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy what?”

“Jeremy . . . Barnes.”

“Pssh, fake name, fake boyfriend, fake story.”

“He was real! I just . . . can’t remember his last name right now.”

“Blurs together with all the other guys you’ve blown, right?”

You bite the corner of your mouth, your smirk so tight he can almost picture your toes curling. Not that he’d dare break eye contact with you now. Now that he’s got you practically pinned to the bookshelf, photo forgotten and something that’s been slinking around for the past three hours finally rolling on its back and exposing its belly.

He knows The Look, he practically invented it, and he can’t quite remember why it’s not okay to get that from your niece and someone twenty years younger than him. Right now, the portion of his brain that can sort that’s fucked up and it’s not that hard to refrain from being a fucking creep is filled with smoke, a sort of hissing sound there that is not unlike a shaken soda begging for release.

And dear God does he want release. But he’s willing to edge it just a bit longer, scrape that muscle as gingerly as he can before touching it where it needs to be touched.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you say softly, meekly being cowed for the first time all night. Fuck, do you have to make it so easy?

“That’s right. You don’t. Because if it were any good, you’d remember it.”

He puts a hand above your shoulder to stop himself from sinking into you. Weed made the world feel plushy, moldable – and he just wants to lounge in the dip of your bottom lip. You look so different from the girl who showed up soaking wet at his front door.

Your breathing hitches the closer he comes, your eyes fluttering as you watch his fingers dig into the spines of the books.

“What’s his first name again, darling? Do you still remember that?”

You gasp, loudly, as if his itching fingers had finally sunk in between your legs, but you’re sliding away from him and pulling out something from the shelf. Something white and something he should have fucking hidden better.

“Oh my God, is this my senior yearbook?”

You’re wandering over to his bed, leaving Dieter reeling, his own spell so alarmingly effective he is caught beneath it too. It takes him a moment to blink as he realizes maybe this is where you reneg and decide you don’t want to fuck him after all.

“It’s not as weird as it sounds –,” he begins, heart in his throat, and hands safely in his pockets as he joins you near the bed. You still haven’t looked up as you flip through the glossy pages.

“Sure, sure.”

“Look, your dad sent it to me and I didn’t even open it,” he says honestly. The package was delivered on the Tuesday afternoon when he woke up so hungover he actually thought he might die, and couldn’t bear the thought of not recognizing you in the class photo.

Funny how that all fucking worked out.

You hadn’t leapt off the bed, called him a dirty old man, and ran away to call the police. Which are probably good signs. So, slowly, he sits down next to you, halfway on the bed and halfway off.

“He sent it just a few weeks ago. I didn’t really think much of it at the time,” he says quietly. So you had been on the high school’s newspaper staff, as well as being the captain of the journalism club and ran the book club. You were on the volleyball team and co-Secretary of the student body government. Here, he spent all night trying to find out what kind of person you are when half your life is waiting for him upstairs. “But maybe he sent it as, like, some sort of . . . fond reminder.”

You snort, your thumb tucked under your chin as your hand touches the memories on the page.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. He was guilt-tripping you.”

So your dad definitely still remembered the fight all those years ago. Dieter grimaces. His gaze slides from the stock pages, to your knee, down the crease of your thigh.

“You know, he would have made me your godfather if–,”

“If you weren’t such a fuck up. Yeah, he told me that too.”

You finally look at him and find him nearly out of breath, eyes wide as though he had been struck by a sledgehammer right to the chest.

“Actually, he told me if I came around more.”

Your face crumples, the flippancy gone.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry.” You cup the back of his neck with your palm in a soothing gesture and it stirs something within him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It is what it is.” Deflection, distraction, escape.

You smile gently, thumbing his curls as your eyes roam his face, seeing right through his bullshit.

“You know, you kinda became the cautionary tale around us growing up,” you murmur, gaze searching his face. “Not sure why, though. Since you’re, like, a gazillionaire.”

Not worth it. None of it’s worth it.

“I get that. I get why he didn’t want me around. Probably best that I fucked off and never looked back.”

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though he had said something that didn’t make sense. You stop combing his hair and run your thumb over his ear.

“But I don’t think you are,” you say slowly, as though you didn’t need to explain. “A cautionary tale, I mean. I think you’re . . . an inspiration. No one in our town ever fucking leaves, but you did. You got the fuck out and lived your dreams. And that’s pretty cool.”

There’s not any hope for me, not if you knew all the fucked up shit I want to do to you.

Don’t look at me like that.

When he looks around for some self control, something to pull himself out of the pit he’s dragging you both in, there’s nothing. All eroded.

Moral degradation is a smooth fucking shot.

The yearbook drops from your lap, clatters to the ground as he takes your face with both his hands, his rings pressing into your cheeks, and kisses you so hard his lips knock against your teeth. The force of it rocks you flat against the mattress, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, grounding you to him – don’t take this back, don’t let go – and his tongue runs against your bottom lip once before your mouth opens without hesitation. He can feel that, that desperation, that eagerness to let him in, and he groans into the hollow of your mouth and you take it, you match it, just like everything else he'd given you this night.

Your tongue rises to catch him, to guide him, to show him the places you need to be touched. He’ll get there, you little thing, so he nips your upper lip and you gasp, your body tightening beneath him. He grins – there’s so much you have to learn.

His palm drifts away from your jaw, thumb gentle as it coaxes your cheek to the side, before he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and then a quick bite– all eased by his tongue. Your fingers dig up into his hair, clutching him to your chest as there is anything, anywhere else he’d rather be in the world. As if anyone could pry him off you.

He dives back into your mouth, air rushing out of your nose in a silent moan, and your knee hooks out around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your lap. You jerk back –

“Dee, you’re – holy shit –,”

Your hips brush up as if you had somehow gotten it all wrong the first time. As if he isn’t rock hard above you. Your eyes widen as he smirks down at you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s all you. All you do to me.”

He chuckles, dropping his head to your chest, breathing deeply, head spinning from kissing you so thoroughly. He inhales, nose rubbing against the soft material of your shirt, ideas of peeling it off you with his teeth. Your scent, it’s all at once intoxicating, mesmerizing, and . . . familiar.

He groans, almost nuzzling your chest.

“Fuck, this smells like that nasty deodorant from 711 I used to buy ‘cause I couldn’t afford anything else.”

You slowly open your eyes up at him, a distantly embarrassed smile curling up the corners of your mouth. You look hazy, blurred, lips flushed and pink from getting them sucked and bitten. Had he not just licked your entire mouth clean from spit, you might have blushed.

Your fingers curl gingerly around the back of his neck. “Well, you never forget your first.”

His mouth falls open. You had successfully knocked him back on his ass for a second time that night.

“Shut the fuck up,” he husks, a grin breaking across his lips as the hand at your shoulder pulls gently at the sleeve. “This is my shirt? This has got to be older than you are.”

A small part of his brain, the part that definitely would object to fucking his pseudo-niece, goes warm at the thought that some part of him still lived in that neighborhood, was still there for all the important moments of your life.

That is until the very active part of his brain lumbers in, quashes all gentle feelings and promptly wrestles for control of his mouth to ask you flat out if you ever touched yourself while wearing it. Not that he didn’t want to know, but if you said yes, he would have come right there on the spot, perhaps so hard his dick popped off. So he did not ask you that, but he did satisfy that part of his brain by molding his hand around your hip, so he could feel the cool fabric on the back of his hand, and your warm, plush skin against his palm.

You like her being drenched in you, don’t you?

You swat at his chest, rolling your eyes, oblivious to his rapidly darkening thoughts. “It is not older than me, but if it was . . . would that be a problem?”

You pick at imaginary lint on his shoulder, hips rolling just enough to indicate it better not be a fucking problem, and a smirk on your face that reads innocent and filthy all at once.

Dieter shakes his head, grinning as he inches his wide palm up your hip, across the thin flesh of your ribs and –

Does not find a bra.

You had not been wearing a bra the entire night.

Your smirk deepens, your back arching into his palm, as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, then over your tightening nipple. You moan softly, eyes fluttering, when he pinches it deftly. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding from the pleasure of watching your mouth arch open.

It’s like you had been given a list of all the things that turned him on and you are crossing them off one by one. Like you had skinned him and read all his little nasty thoughts written on his ribs and made them your own.

Like you were made for him.

He leans forward, the bristles of his beard and mustache rough like matches against the shell of your ear, his voice so weighty it could have been another physical thing he intended to drive into you, intended to rub against you to make you keen with pleasure.

“It’s not a fucking problem, you little brat. Only problem is gonna be if it keeps me from watching those pretty tits bounce while I fuck you.”

There it is. Out in the open. As if all his flirting and touching and tongue between his teeth hinted at something else besides you spread out under him. Half delirious from being so hard, he grins as he bites the bottom of the shirt – his shirt, Jesus Christ – and pulls it up and he ducks his head under the material and presses a sucking kiss into the valley of your tits.

He likes giving head from underneath the sheets because, yes, it was hard to breathe. It was hot and stifling and everything smelled of sweat and sex and eventually his brain was forced to make a decision about what motor functions to hold onto and he made it focus on sensations until he was sure he’d be swallowed up by the cunt under his mouth or impaled by the cock in the back of his throat and if that’s how they found him dead, he’d be absolutely fine with all of it.

Dieter Bravo – died doing what he loved. Giving immaculate, delicious head.

The heat under the shirt is nowhere near as intense but it’s enough to make him flush with want. He licks the sweat gathering underneath your right tit, holds it on his tongue before he lathers both his spit and your sweat over your clearly-painfully tight nipple. Every touch of his makes you stutter and he can feel you unconsciously rubbing your hips up against him.

“This isn’t going to end up on Youtube or some shit, right?” You ask above him, your voice rough as though your throat is dry. “You don’t have cameras filming this, right, Dee?”

He chuckles with his nose rimming your left nipple. Do you have a voyeur kink? He muses vaguely.

Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of that mirror.

“No, baby, it’s not going on Youtube.” He runs his warm palms up the curves of your side as he tugs his head out from underneath the shirt. “All the videos go directly to a password-protected server in the Cloud.”

“Dee–,” you groan as he lunges forward and kisses you hopefully so hard it knocks those silly thoughts from your brain before pulling back to grin helplessly at you.

You cannot physically describe how impishly adorable he looks with his hair mussed, his lips pink and twisted in a smirk – you cannot really do anything at all, really – but your hand slides up from his shoulder, across his warm neck and settles into his cheek. The last bit of brown is swallowed by a swelling blackness as you rub your thumb across the bottom of his lip. This thing that has been eating at you the longer you’re around him edges you on, daring you to push him just a bit further because it knows you’d just love what he’ll do. It knows more than you, but it’s not exactly smarter than you. It’s just simply fascinated by Dieter Bravo.

Your own mouth parts, your eyelids growing heavy, as you swipe across his lips one more time before sliding your thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Eyes never leaving yours, his tongue greets your thumb, massaging the pad before licking around it like he’d swirl off the top of an ice cream cone. He sucks gently and you can’t fight the noise that comes out of you. Almost shocked, surprised that you can feel this aroused with all your clothes on and just his tongue. He drags his tongue across the back of your knuckle and the groan is louder now – you want to bite into him – and he pushes his hips into the mattress.

“C’mere, baby girl–,”

Dropping your thumb, he dives in again for your mouth, this time the back of his hand grasping your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you as if forgetting there was another way to relieve the tension in his gut, the spark that's fanning smoke like a brushfire into every place your skin, your spit, touches his.

“Take– this– off–,” He pants between the hot presses of his mouth to your jaw, your neck, the spot beneath your ear that makes you keen in a new way. His hands are scrambling over yours to get the shirt up and over your head, desire almost making him panic that everything is going too fast but not fast enough – he wants to be inside of you in every way that matter – he wants you to smell like him – to breath his same air –

He’s not so much kissing as opening his mouth over your skin, his teeth and tongue and lips fighting over themselves to get to you first. He wants to linger, wants to take his time but the pressure – he deliriously thinks he can smell you – and only when his fingers clamp down on the waistband of your shorts – he has half a mind to punish you for walking around in these things, making his sanity unwind in the hallways of this fucking place, until the only truly sane thing to do is fuck you and fuck you good – the thought is so strong, almost violent he pauses.

He looks up to the devastation he’s left in his wake – bright, purple spots on the inside of your breasts, under your ribs, the small swell of your stomach, your chest heaving – and he watches your face. You realize he’s stopped moving, slowed in his volcanic thunderous roll down to the clutch of your cunt, and you meet his gaze. You swallow, mouth too dry to form words, so you splat a hand on his shoulder.

"No robe. I’m not – not going to let you f-fuck me in a bathrobe.”

He grins. Of course, you would sass him after a make out session so intense he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants. But he obliges, pretty much willing to cut off a finger if you continue to purr at him like you are.

“Excuse you, this is lounge wear.” He leans back onto his knees and shrugs himself out of the green robe. Your eyes flash to the triangle on his forearm and he’d be fucked to admit he didn’t get it entirely for the look in your eyes right now. Chicks always dug the tattoos. Your tits bounce as your breathing hitches.

Not Daddy’s girl, his smoke-heavy, lust-soaked brain chants at him, not Daddy’s girl.

God, he’s so hard it hurts.

He goes back down, dropping himself between your legs, arms tucked up under the backs of your thighs. He mouths the inside of your thigh – a distraction as his hand, like some sort of fucked up, horny magician performs a slight-of-hand, “iiiis this your clit?” – rubs you over your shorts. You are soaking wet and he’s fighting the urge to just dig in there, suckle you through the wet spot. He hadn’t actually made someone come that way before, but now seemed like an excellent opportunity to try.

“You know, for someone who has to couch-surf, you talk a lot.”

He noses the rim of the bottom of your shorts, allowing a full gaze down to your ass.

“Sorry if I’m sick of fucking boys who look like their mom dressed them.” You are breathless, shaky, unwinding at the seams and you know exactly what to say to dig right into him.

He bites the soft place at the back of your thigh and you groan.

“I thought you couldn’t remember any of them before me,” he purrs, watching that damp spot grow darker the longer he talks, the longer he holds off on touching you where you and him and the entire fucking world knows you need to be touched.

Maybe you ran your mouth too, when you were nervous, overwhelmed. Maybe you laughed too loud when you didn’t know what else to do, and maybe you gave him shit because the second words stopped coming out of your mouth, you’d have to sink into whatever he was giving you. You’d have to kneel to the white lighting between your legs. Maybe you were afraid there wouldn’t be white lightning at all.

Families share similar insecurities, after all.

He waits until you open your mouth again before hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts.

“Hmm, there’s actually a fairly long list of guys before you. Guys who–,”

He sucks the skin just an inch to the right of your hip bone, just before the patch of curly hair, he sucks it into his mouth and bites so gently he knows that your brain nearly splits in half from the hairline fracture between pleasure and pain.

You gasp and you’re already arching off the bed. He breathes across those coarse, damp curls and inhales.

Girlsex.

Girlsweat.

It’s like there’s acid corroding his brain, eating away at the clamps holding his sanity together and he’s gonna go fucking ballistic if the acid doesn’t get to him first. But he wants the burn. He wants the chemical smell.

He wants . . . to put his dick into something.

But first –

You’re pliable. Easy to move as he scoops your shorts off your ass – Oh, fucking Christ, there’s her entire backside, isn’t there? – over your thighs and he hurls the shorts over his shoulder. He inhales–

God, this pussy is going to kill me, he thinks or maybe says out loud before he tips forward into that black, fluttering hole. When he licks you, you both moan.

He remembers specifically doing planks for as long as he could to build up the upper body strength to languish here for hours.

Well, at the time, here wasn’t here here, but if everything before this was practice, then he was ready for the Olympics, dick as hard as a goddamn gold medal.

He swipes up with his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling like frosting was going out of style. Frosting, that’s it. That’s what you reminded him of. Fat, sweating, sweet frosting. And there was the cherry on top.

He guides your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as if to pull himself deeper into the wettest goddamn pool at the fucking YMCA. He sucks once and your hands fly into his hair. You’re making sounds that somewhat resemble his name, but they’re too high, too pitchy, too airless to be anything coherent.

He wants to tease you about all the boys you mentioned. Wants you to go back on your word, beg for him to believe that there was no one else before him. If there was, it didn’t matter because this is it. This is the best you’d ever have.

Even when you left him, you’d never forget –

Disgustingly, he slurps up one lip of yours into his mouth and you cry out, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard that it hurts and sends another rush of blood into his weeping cock. He mouths up before teasing your clit again – around it but never on it – before diving back down and lapping up your other lip.

“Dieter–,” you garble as if you know it’s filthy. He can hear your breathing tighten in your chest, feel your thighs clench around his ears, and he swears if he gets out of this with hair in tact, that’s the most he’s going to ask for –

And he french-kisses your clit.

You come, gasping, writhing, back arching off the mattress and he bares his forearm across your stomach, reaching up to pinch your nipple.

Settle down. We’re only just getting started.

He’s got to control himself but staring up at you, your face flushed with pleasure, he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do next.

You are naked underneath him. Naked and heaving and he licks the dampness staining his mattress just to have your taste in his mouth again. This is going to be a problem, if he can’t think straight without his mouth on you.

Oh my God, duh, fingers.

He pulls himself up the length of your body, and his hands sink into your hair. His fingers curl around your ear as he makes you look at him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s an echo of what he asked earlier. You’re still warm but your breathing has slowed. Your eyes are open, even if they’re fighting to stay open as if you are concussed.

“Good. Great.” You mutter, hand falling to his chest and tangling with his shirt.

“You wanna keep going?”

Your eyes open wider as if someone rang a dinner bell and you’d been walking on hands and knees, starving for weeks. You swallow thickly, nodding frantically, and the hand leaves his chest, winding down between you and, before he can stop you, slides under the material of his sweats and strokes him.

Your hands are like velvet.

Fuck, then what’s your cunt gonna feel like–

Do not fucking come right now.

“Oh, I see,” you huff, a smirk curling your mouth up, as if you had won some unnamed battle. You roll your shoulder to go aaall the way down his cock and stroke him. You think about licking your hand, but the precum leaking out of the tip of his head at a truly flattering rate is enough lubricant to keep your hand from sticking. “I can’t walk around without a bra on, but you can walk around in these thin fucking sweatpants and no underwear.”

He grits his teeth, dropping his head to his chest, trying to breath through the freightcar rattling down his spine.

“It’s my house, you little cocktease,” he pants, gasping as you run your thumb against the vein underneath his shaft. You pump him again and again and he groans low, with his eyes shut to keep them from rolling back in his head. “I can– yeah, right there – do whatever I want. Move your hand. I want to stick my fingers in you.”

His words aren’t so crass they make your ears red, but it’s the unrestrained need in his voice. You slowly withdraw your hands and you go wipe the threads of him on the mattress as he sits up to take his shirt off.

“Don’t. Just– gimme a second.”

He yanks the tank shirt over his head, setting down in between your legs again and blinking like he’d forgotten where he was. He takes your hand, licks your palm as clean as something as dirty as this could ever get, and then penetrates your hole with his middle finger. His tongue slides in the crevice between your ring finger and your pinkie and when he adds a second finger below, you both can feel the moment your brain is wiped blank and your body twitches along with it.

“Mhmm, good.” He pulls you down closer to him, fingers plucking your strings like the finest guitar. Your knees are spread wider than when he had half his body down there. He’s watching you practically drown his hand in the wetness seeping out, his other hand holding or balancing your knee.

He hovers above you, watching you roll and writhe and beg. His forearm is strained, his hand must be soaking, and he thinks your face contorted in pleasure might be permanently burned into his brain. There is still some part of him that knows that’s wrong. He shouldn’t have the faintest idea of what you looked like, high and blissed out of your mind, while his fingers stroke and dig and pluck and rub to drag you higher and higher –

The pad of his middle finger brushes something spongy and you nearly slam your legs shut over his arm, if it weren’t for his free hand pinning you open.

“Dee,” you croak, head shaking, “that was – you can’t–,”

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice so wrecked. He needs to memorize that exact spot, save it for when you don’t have enough sanity left to push back. It’s scary, he knows, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you thought he was going to let anything bad happen to you.

“Look at my thumb. Baby, look down.”

You wrench your eyes open, past your quivering chest, down his long forearm, down to where the black bullseye on the meat of the space between his thumb and palm is winking at you.

He’s stroking you with his thumb on your clit and the bullseye winking up at you. It’s eye-fucking you and that’s enough to break you. He wants to drink whatever drips out of you as your body locks up, head thrown back, and you come. You break through and his hand curls around your knee, gently, as he watches your body crescendo for the second time that night. He sucks his fingers, almost pensively, as if he is going to carve something out of you. Remake you. Split apart your atoms and rebuild you whole. Sex as an act of re-creation.

He kneels his way out of his pants, cock pounding red, leaking, the hot center of where his want for you is infecting him like a sickness.

Slowly, he drags one of your knees over his shoulder, half of your body hovering just above the mattress.

He wants to ask if you need it rough or slow. He can’t be gentle right now but he does have enough awareness to keep from hurting you. But maybe you, like him, like a little bit of pain.

He wants you on top, wants to see you sing for him, but he knows your legs are jelly. He knows there’s a white static hum in your brain and he’s so grateful for the pleasure of it.

He rubs the top of your thigh and noses the back of your ankle up by his ear.

“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he asks quietly, before kissing that spot below your ankle.

“Are you clean?” He’s so fucking broad and his rings pinch your skin when he pushes too hard and he’s asking for your comfort. You also want to feel every inch of his cock and you beg him to say yes.

He nods, suddenly irrationally thankful of Paul’s monthly mandated screenings. You get the clap once, and your fucking manager never lets you forget it.

You huff, realizing you’re so close your cunt can almost taste it. “I-I’m on the pill. A-a-and I’m clean too.”

As if he had ever denied you anything, as if his willpower hadn’t barely lasted four hours, you tense at the anticipation of his cock.

He’s just as warm, just as ready, so he grabs your other ankle and draws it next to your other one against the back of his neck. He sinks back just a bit on his ankles, fingers spreading you and grabbing himself and then–

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you and getting sprayed with a hose of fire all at once.

“JesusfuckingChrist, you’re tight.”

He edges deeper as he sits up right, going slow not because he hadn’t unwound you properly but because if he went any faster, he’d obsess over the idea of getting rug burns on his dick.

“Dieter, oh God–,”

Hands leaving your ankles to wrap around your thighs, he rocks his hips back and drags out his cock just as much as the both of you can handle before thrusting forward. Again.

Again. He can’t seem to fill you enough. He wants to be bigger, thicker, girthier, if only to plug you up more.

But, fuck, your cunt is better than your hands but only because it’s so warm and wet and throbbing and he swears his heartbeat is in his ears.

He thrusts almost lazily, dipping his head to kiss your shin before dropping it back, your toes brushing his hair. His hands greedily squeeze your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles.

It’s like he has to recover from the shock and sensation of fucking you. It’s too good. It’s too much.

He’s inside of you.

If there’s a relief fund for grilled cheese, he’s going to have to donate every red cent he’s ever owned.

Your hands clench the sheets, mouth open and, yes, beautiful tits bouncing with every thrust. It’s not them hovering above him, begging to be bitten, but it’s close and he smooths his hand down from your thigh over his chest, down your hip and he kneads your breast.

“Oh, fuck, Dee, fuck . . . you feel so fucking good.”

I want to die in this cunt.

“So good, baby.”

It’s back, that pressure that connects the backs of his eyes, to the back of his gut, all the way to his pussy-soaked cock. This time he lets it build, lets it dangle out of reach, and his thrusts become faster, hurried. You jerk beneath him and let out a full whine as if he had spanked you.

He fucks you some more this way, just to feel that tightening in his gut, before he pulls your legs off his shoulders and you whine again, this time out of annoyance.

He has the where-with-all to smirk.

“What, baby doesn’t like it when I take away her toys?” He pants, almost feeling light-headed. You scowl at him but don’t push back in the least as he turns you onto your hands and knees.

“It was just starting to feel good, you a-ahh–ss–,”

He jerks his hips into you without warning, fully seating you on his cock and your head drops between your shoulders.

“If you weren’t such a brat, you’d be kind of cute,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb over the knots in your spine, the sensation of your cunt sucking him in almost detaching him from this plane of existence. He knows you like to be teased, with his words, with his fingers, his mouth. He wants to give you everything – anything – he’s so pussy-obsessed he can feel it like ozone in his mouth.

He never wants to stop fucking you. He’s being unstable about it.

“You like that I’m a brat,” you say and push back with your hips. The sensation does make him stutter and you take it as a win. His rings sting as they squeeze your hips.

He’s sliding down that pressure, winding himself up so tightly in it he wants to stop breathing –

He starts pumping faster. The sounds that echo in that room are like music to his ears.

The sheets ruffling as your hands clench around them. The jolt of the bed as it lurches back and forth.

Your moans as he fucks every thought out of your head. “Fuck, you’re so big. It’s not fair.”

The wet slap of his thighs meeting yours.

And it all narrows down, the universe closing to a single focal point– all of it runs right to his cock rubbing up inside your cunt like it owns the place.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, head down. “Please – please fuck me harder, Uncle Dieter.”

With a growl that surprised even him, he drops forward, one hand anchoring himself to your hip and the other coming up around your throat. You gasp as his fingers dig painfully into your skin. He pulls you both up right, nose in your ear and teeth tight in his jaw.

He punctuates every word with a particularly brutal thrust that gnaws at something truly devastating inside you.

“Don’t – fucking – call me that – while – I’m inside – you–,”

You turn your head, flush with his and the hand that’s on your throat slides up to your cheek and he holds you there, pins you there as his cock pounds the daylights out of you.

“Say my name.” He husks. There’s something cataclysmic happening inside your cunt and he has the launch codes.

You can’t remember feeling so full before. So up your eyes and your mouth and your ears and your heart – God, maybe there really hadn’t been anyone before him.

“Oh, fuck, Dieter,”

“No, honey, my real name.”

Your eyes flicker open and something in his chest roars. He’ll kiss you after this. He’ll kiss you so hard you end up on another fucking planet.

“David.”

The sweat on his temples mixes with yours and he wants to smear himself in your fluids. This close, his beard and mustache rub roughly against your skin and you wonder how long the burn will last after all this. You’re clenching his arm, clenching his lower back to you, you think you’ll make him bleed in half-moon cuts of blood.

“All of it. All of it, baby girl,” he whispers to your cheek, your jaw. “Say it. I need to hear it. I need to hear it from you.”

Your fucked-out mind spins, clutching at the memories of the past, to a name you hadn’t heard in a decade, while the man you’ve known all your life threatens to undo your sanity. You lock eyes with him, the precipice of something so large and looming, you can’t wait to be crushed by it.

“Davíd Moralés.”

And that bastard’s cock intentionally pushes against that spongy spot and you shriek. Honest to God, yell, as you come, with Dieter wrapped up against your back, sweat streaking both of you.

“Get down,” he hisses suddenly and almost throws you off him. You land on your back, your entire body pulsing as one single organism, and he grabs his cock in time to aim it at your chest.

He comes, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, as he sprays you with white ropes. It’s warm on your tits and you shudder through your aftershocks. You feel like you’re sinking into warmth as he keeps coming, your inner thighs drenched and dripping, and finally, he leans away and collapses on the bed next to you.

There’s ringing in your ears.

You feel swollen all over, your nerve centers humming and firing and crackling as though someone whapped you over the head with a 500 volt electric baton. You want to keep sinking, keep drifting, keep existing in this warm, non-corporeal form. Everything feels so good here.

You had no idea you, or anyone else for that matter, could come that hard.

“Holy shit.”

You can’t help but grin through the short huffs of breath you swallow down in gasps.

You want to sass him but it feels a bit like spitting in the face of God. “Yeah. Holy shit.”

He sits up on his elbows, glancing over his side at you, the begrudgingly fantastic cock between his legs as deflated as you are.

“Are you okay? Fuck, sorry, I got a little crazy there at the end.”

You shake your fist loosely, with your thumb and pinky finger extended. “I don’t hear customer service calling. In fact, I think the line has been permanently disconnected.”

You both laugh softly and his eyes roam over your face. This is why he only saw vampy women. It was easier to wake up to something almost over-the-top hot, than this. Than you, with your beautifully flushed cheeks, plump lips, and eyes that searched only for him.

His gut twisted painfully. Okay, you nutted so hard you’re pretty sure your dick isn’t going to work for a week, now wake up. Wake up and smell the fucking arrest warrant.

Uncle Dieter. You're his niece.

What the fuck were you thinking? Where could this possibly go?

Instead of inspecting the small-starting-to-grow painful throbbing in his chest, he sits up and pleasantly inspects the mess you both made all over you. You follow his gaze, smirking as he intentionally smears his cum over your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, and that thing you did at the end, where you made me–,”

“Yeah?” He grinned wickedly, almost begging you to use your words, but you had been so good for him. He’d save that for later. “You liked that?”

“At the risk of sounding desperate, yes. A thousand times yes. But totally unfair and totally cheating.”

He snickers and leans down to your thighs. “Yeah, okay, Ms. I’m Not Wearing a Bra.”

The smell of you is intoxicating and it’s drenching your thighs, the sheets below you. Maybe he could strip the bed before Maria came – oh, fuck, what if it’s in the mattress?

He hauls those thoughts out of his mind, his dick twitching uncomfortably, as he bends forward and licks the inside of your thigh.

“Oh my God, Dee, you can’t possibly be –,”

“Relax. I’m not. Just wanted to clean you up.”

He licks the drying liquid from your skin – you hiss, so very overstimulated – dragging his tongue up, never breaking eye contact with you as he slinks up your body, shoulders rolling – “Dee, wait, you’re gonna–,” and licks the cum off your chest. His own cum.

“Oh, fuck, that’s nasty,” you murmur, eyes transfixed on his mouth as he swallows. He chuckles, finally deciding you’ve had enough for one night, and he leans forward and presses his lips on your temple.

“I’m not ready, but it sounds like you might be.”

He reaches back to the floor where his shirt was so casually discarded. He gingerly wipes your thighs, your hips, your stomach and chest. There’d be time for a proper wash later, but right now he thinks he’s going to pitch forward into unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds. His limbs are heavy, his eyelids are heavy but he can’t stop smiling.

You grin at him as he tosses the very used shirt back onto the ground and gets up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. You roll onto your side, after unpeeling the bedsheets like you had done it a thousand times. When he comes back, you rub your face against his pillows and he realizes if he’s going to hoard the sheets, then he’s going to have to do the same to the pillowcase.

“I’m not gonna wake up and find you mouthing that shirt, am I?” You ask, a smirk already cradling your lips. He huffs at you as he hands you a glass of water. You take it, gratefully, only vaguely aware that he probably did that kind of thing all the time with his other conquests.

That thought threatens to sour your good mood so you put the glass back onto the bedside table and curl deeper into the sheets.

He climbs in behind you, and rubs his nose over your shoulder and up into your ear, his hand spread across your hip.

“Only if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t mouth your tits.”

He’s purposefully being sexy, being teasing, but there’s a question there. A request. A quiet ask that for all his thick dick swinging, doesn’t have the cojones to verbalize.

You smirk at him and roll back slightly to catch his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and squeeze once.

“Baby, I couldn’t stand up right if I fucking tried.”

He grins, eyes warm. “Wow. Even if you fucking tried?”

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Even if I fuck-in’ tried.”

But despite all his not-at-all begging, he wakes up alone.

He wakes up in broad daylight – the storm had passed. Too bright light streams in from between the gray curtains, illuminating the one thing he never wanted to see: your side of the bed empty.

His heart clenches so fast he thinks he might be sick. There’s real nausea as he stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants on from last night. He’s about to rush down the stairs, frantically flipping over everything in hopes of finding a note, even if it told him to fuck off.

You’re twenty years older than me, you fucking creep.

Just wait until my dad hears about this.

I never want to see you again.

Just as his mouth dries up till his lips crack, he sees something on the other side of the bed that makes him freeze in his tracks. It’s your phone, plugged into the wall. He goes over and taps the screen. The battery has only 15%.

And then a post-storm breeze rattles the patio door handle and it opens slightly. He sees your barefoot through the cut in the door frame.

Holy fuck, you’re still here, just outside.

Heart now jettisoning into his throat, he opens the door to a truly spectacular morning. His patio looks down to the freshly-washed Los Angeles, the sky a cobalt blue, the air cool and faintly smelling of rain. People run and lead their dogs through the streets and for a minute he thinks he can hear the ocean.

But what makes it truly spectacular is you. Curled up at the small table in one of his white shirts and those sanctimonious shorts. You’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand and you’ve got his favorite book, Eco’s The Name of the Rose, lying flat beneath your fingertips. But you aren’t reading. You’re looking at him.

“Well, hi there. Did you dream you missed a flight?”

He blinks. “What?”

“You just, sort of, rushed out here, looking like you forgot something.” You frown. “Is everything okay?”

He swallows and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your lap.

“Yeah, fine, fine. All good. Fine.”

You turn back to the book, staring at it as if it was giving you a pep talk. Then you shut it and turn back to him.

“So, um, last night . . .”

Here it comes. I regret it, all of it. You drugged me and took advantage of me. I can’t believe that you would–

“Was great.”

He swears he hears his blood rushing in his ears. You smile at him, but clearly uneasy. As if you are the one second-guessing it all.

Fuck, Bravo, put on your big boy pants.

He pulls out the other patio chair and sits down next to you. He clasps his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. His rings clink together. He nods, trying to catch your eyes.

“Yeah. It was fucking fantastic. I mean it. One for the books.”

He waits for you to say but.

You wait for him to say but.

Neither of you do. You grin and put your coffee on the table.

“So, in the events of last night . . . surprisingly, I forgot to charge my phone.”

He doesn’t want to touch you because he thinks it might spook you so he runs his gaze over your lovely knuckles, your wrist.

“Sounds like, then, you might need to stay awhile.”

You swallow, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. You duck your head and he follows you and your breath fans his face.

“Guess so.”

If he tells it, he says he kissed you.

If you tell it, you say you kissed him.

Doesn’t matter though. Doesn’t matter that the coffee grows cold and he ignites something in you that you didn’t know existed.

When he finally pulls away, he’s still smiling.

“This might be a bit weird, but . . . wanna see my other kitchen?”

The End

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #f!reader #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfic

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solarnomoon · 8 months

Text

get a guitar - lee heeseung

your boyfriend every third thursday/best friend not boyfriend/(not-so) secret crush, heeseung, gets a little too tipsy for you.

pairing >>> heeseung x male reader

tags >>> college au, alcohol consumption, confessing feelings???, misunderstanding, slight angst, fluff, comfort, (not super) drunk hee, suggestive content

author's note >>> i have a few things to say. first, this was inspired by drunk heeseung hello he's adorable ･ﾟ･(｡>ω<｡)･ﾟ･ and second, i rly liked riize's debut song! and ik, it's supposed to be fun and innocent, but it's fun to think there's more to it!

the rattling of your bedside table was not uncommon for you to be awakened by, but was what uncommon was the fact that as you open your eyes to silence your phone from the blasting alarm, there was no light that peered through the curtains, causing you to groan at being woken up so early.

you reach for your phone and see who dared to wake you from your slumber, and after your eyes adjusted to the bright light, you immediately pick up seeing sunghoon’s name. you figured it was important as sunghoon has never once called you, the reason being as he hates calling and only texts, dms, hell, even replies on twitter.

“hello?”

“h-hey y/n!” the voice that rang through was not sunghoon, now keeping in mind that technically, sunghoon had still never rung you. “what’s going oonnn!”

it’s not like you didn’t recognize the voice though, “sunoo? not much, but it’s fucking… 1:30 in the morning, what’s up?” you slowly sit up, rubbing your eyes after flipping the on switch for your ambient lamp next to you.

“heyy, so, basically we all went out as you know, and oh em gee, you have to look at the pictures we took, they are SO funny…” you hear someone else’s voice in the background to tell him to focus, whom you can only assume is jay. “sorrryyy, anyway we called because your little lover boy over here is like, a little like, too fucked up.”

“heeseung? and he’s not my lover boy.”

“notice how i didn’t say a name~” the guy over the phone just giggles, you letting out a sigh after hearing that heeseung might’ve gotten himself in trouble. “anyway, his roommate has his fuckbuddy over, probably getting her pregnant. he’s so fucking irresponsible with condoms, agh, i hate him!” the sudden outburst from sunoo makes you snort, the love-hate relationship they have is probably one of the most entertaining things you’ve seen in a while.

“it’s okay, sun, tell me how much you hate ‘lix later.”

an audible gasp is heard through the phone, with sunoo adding, “ugh, i hate that you’re friends with that stupid australian!”

“felix is not a bad guy, sunoo, and you know this too.” you take this opportunity to tease him back, “plus, you’re just jealous that he’s not fucking you instead, don’t lie.”

“not the point y/n. the real point is, can seung stay at yours? i know your roommate is out for the weekend, and none of us have space for him.” he pauses for a few seconds, then jay tells him to ‘tell y/n the other thing!’ sunoo lets out a noise of agreement, then continues. “he also has been asking about you all night. like, i mean literally talking about you every moment of his life. so i think it’s time to just give him what he wants…”

“he’s been asking about me?”

“uhh, when is he not? seriously, when are you guys gonna get together?”

“you know he doesn’t like me like th-“

this time, sunoo lets out a sigh, interrupting your sentence. “i don’t wanna get into this with you, we’re coming to your dorm.”

“but i didn’t say you c-“ and with that, your dorm room opens wide open, with heeseung holding on to jay’s shoulder to keep himself up. “-ould come."

after jay puts him down onto your chair, sunoo and jungwon walk in the room as well, with jungwon giving you a wave while sunoo gives you a hug. "he's your responsibility now, y/n. we couldn't get him to go anywhere else to be honest..." jay admits, his hand reaching to the back of his neck.

"it's... fine, just go have fun and enjoy the rest of your night. i can take care of heeseung." at the sound of his name, the guy looks over to you, mouth forming a wide smile when he recognizes your face.

"hey you, just the man i was looking for!" heeseung stands up from the chair and practically jumps into your bed with you, hugging you by the waist while his lower body stays on the floor. you nod to the other three, signalling them to leave, with jungwon and jay giving you a sheepish smile. sunoo on the other hand just wiggles his eyebrows and does the "salt shaking" motion, then leaves with them, shutting the door behind him.

you place your hands on heeseung's head and angle his face as to look at him, immediately feeling the warmth of his cheeks. as he looks up at you, you notice that he has a natural red glow, presumably from the alcohol he had consumed. "jeez, how much have you drank?"

he puts his fingers into a pinch, "a little bit." he removes his other hand from your waist to match the pinch, "just a little, a little." he puts his hand into a motion as if he's drinking a cup, signaling to you that he drank (as if you didn't already know that...) "actually, i drank a little."

"yeah, heard you the first... and second... and third time, heeseung. do you want some water?" you lean over to your bedside table to grab your water bottle, but when you try to hand it to him, he pushes it away. "you don't want?"

"i only want it if you drink it first!" he grins at you, confidence filling his voice all of a sudden.

"dude, how can you drink it if i drink it?"

"easy, you just pour it from your mouth into mine."

"what are you fucking talking about?"

heeseung gets up from the floor and sits next to you, leaning over to have his head on your lap. "it would be really easy like this, you just pour it into your mouth and then drip it into mine..." he wraps his arms around your waist again, putting his face into your shirt. "or, you could just kiss me with the water in your mouth."

you thought you heard him wrong, with the fact that he muttered his last sentence into your shirt, but after asking him to repeat it, you realize that what you heard was what he said. "...heeseung, i thi-" a muffled whine interrupts your sentence, and for a second, your heart squeezes, nervous that whine was one out of pain (definitely not because you liked the way it sounded coming from him). "heeseung?"

another whine erupts from his mouth, but before you could ask again, he answers, "stop calling me that, y/n."

"dude, you know that's your name, right?"

the movement was so quick that you didn't even know his drunk self could manage it, but in the blink of an eye, the positions had changed to where you were sitting in his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist still, but his face laying on your back. "but that's not what you call me."

"what are you talking about, seungie?" and with that, you could literally feel the muscles on his face form a slight smile, his face pressing harder into your back. after that, he removed it, putting his lips oddly close to your neck.

"that's my boy, much better..." his lips graze the bottom of your ear, before moving to the side of your neck, planting a small kiss. "so much better."

the minute you felt his lips on your skin, your instinct was to push away, your pulse quickening, and the area on the back of your neck tingling like sparks. "hey, don't fucking do that!" you looked back to scold him, but the tiny pout on his face made you soften up. "just... you can't do that kind of shit... not when..." i'm practically in love with you, you had wanted to say, and although heeseung was drunk, you couldn't take that chance of him remembering in the morning and prematurely ruining the friendship.

you knew it was bound to happen. it was only a matter of time before he found out himself or your feelings had grown immense amounts to the point where you couldn't take it anymore. either way was a lose-lose situation, but even knowing this, you couldn't lose heeseung as a friend, or a sort of fake lover the way he had treated you.

in fact, it was how he had treated you that made this impossible. he clung to you like a fucking leech. you and him were rarely seen without the other, and everyone around knew that if you invited one, you had to invite the other.

he'd play stupid horror games on roblox late at night with you, running halfway across campus the minute you said you were too scared to continue, and he'd hold you in his arms as you slept until dawn.

he'd invite you to his dorm and watch rom-coms with all of your favorite snacks, ramen that he had cooked for both of you guys, and heated blankets, massaging your back as you watched together while you laughed at the stupid jokes, periodically asking you if those pick-ups lines would work if someone used them on you.

he'd pick you up to go to a fancy dinner date, paying for your entire meal, then afterwards, bring you on a drive to the scenic areas and talk deep conversations with you as you guys admitted shit you never had before, discussing innate and learned fears, future plans, and why the earth revolved around the sun.

if you guys were dating, heeseung would be the absolute perfect boyfriend. he brought you to theme parks, county fairs, arcades, family meetups, holidays, pretty much everywhere. you couldn't imagine life without him, he was a staple to your life, and everyone knew you guys were practically inseparable.

but you and heeseung weren't dating. you had done all of these things in the past few months out of pure best-friendcy. and yet, you didn't want to lose this intimacy with him.

"not when you what, y/n?" heeseung leans to the side so you could see his face, curiosity floating in his eyes as he gazes at you.

"...not when you're drunk, heeseung."

"i'm not fucking drunk. and didn't i tell you to stop calling me that? it doesn't sound right coming out of your mouth." heeseung strengthens his grip around you, pulling you closer into him, as if he let go, you would fall out of his life for good.

"heeseung, you have to let go, you drank too much and you don't know what you're doing," before you could even realize it, your voice had started raising in volume and desperation little by little, "and it's like this isn't normal best friend behavior and i feel like i'm trapped in this fucking bubble of keeping to myself because i don't want to ruin us but i can't just leave you because you're so fucking important to me and i just!" you hold your breath, not knowing what to say next. "i just think it's unfair..."

you didn't even realize you were crying until heeseung was wiping the tears away with his hands, leaving small kisses on the top of your head. "hey, hey, baby..." heeseung whispered, making you even angrier. you turn around in his lap, hitting his chest.

"heeseung! don't even fucking call me that right now! that's part of the problem, you don't call your best friend that! stop fucking playing with my feelings!" you then grab his shirt and cry into it, muttering the last part, "if you wanna play with something, play with that stupid fucking guitar you have, not me..."

he chuckles softly at your sentence, but before you scold him for laughing at a time like this, he gently presses his lips against yours, encapsulating you into a slow, loving kiss. instead of fighting back, you lean into him, allowing yourself to be taken by his soft lips, kissing back with just as gentle of pressure, not wanting to be overwhelmed by a feeling you have dreamed of since you met the man.

as he pulls away, he wipes the tears stained on your cheek with his thumb lovingly, leaving his hands on your face. "you've been wanting to say all of that for a while huh? i feel like that outburst has been building up overtime." you just nod, not knowing what to say. "y/n, i swear to god, we've been dating. maybe not officially boyfriends, but dating." the confusion on your face must've been extremely evident, because he squishing his eyebrows together in retaliation. "you... you know i'm like... in love with you right...? right?"

"huh?" you sniffle, the tears stopping from the perplexed feeling overtaking your sadness. "you've never asked me out!"

"yes, i did! remember, at the park, when we had a picnic and i brought strawberry soju and the whole charcuterie board. i asked you that day, i remember what i said because i wrote it down. i said 'y/n, can we take this to the next step?' and you were like, 'yes!' so i thought you knew!"

oh.

you have never felt so fucking stupid in your life.

"that's what you meant?! i thought you meant to the next step of the stairs we were on!"

heeseung just looks at you blankly, mouth ajar. after a few moments, he just laughs, the sound so loud it reverberates through the room and even rumbles the bed. "n-no fucking way! is that why you randomly picked up the fucking blanket and moved it up to the actual next step?!"

"'cause that's what i thought you meant!" you exclaimed, the anchor in your heart that you didn't even know existed being relieved the more heeseung talked.

heeseung embraces you, placing another kiss onto your lips for a second, then just hovers in front of them, looking into your eyes. "then let me make it explicitly clear. y/n, i'm so fucking in love with you. please let me be your boyfriend."

you respond to him with a kiss of your own, allowing yourself to be overtaken with the absolute relief from the dredge that had been weighing you down on your guys' relationship for weeks upon weeks now. "yes, heeseung. i'd love for you to be my boyfriend."

he just smirks, hands moving from your face down to the hem of your shirt, wanting for you to take it off, which you gladly comply with. "fucking good. been wanting to kiss you, strip you, make you mine for weeks now, but you never reciprocated, so i just thought you weren't ready..." he takes your shorts off with efficiency, not wanting to waste any time with you.

"oh yeah? aren't you still drunk, heeseung?"

"was never that drunk to begin with, just wanted to get that water thing to work, but this..." placing his hands on your thighs, he spreads your legs and pulls you closer, "this is so much fucking better."

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen angst #enhypen x male reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen heeseung #heeseung #heeseung x reader #heeseung x male reader #male reader #solarnomoon

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thecuriousquest · 4 months

Note

hi! can i request a nsfw dabi x reader fic where the reader is a captive and dabi finds out she has an oral fixation? thanks!

Oral Fixation

I STUDIED THIS IN ABNORMAL PSYCH!!! I knew it would come in handy one day!

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, kidnapping, oral fixations, smoking habits mentioned, finger sucking, finger fucking (vaginal), clit play, tit groping, oral sex reference at the end, Daddy kink, light degradation, minor mentions of blood

Master List

Request Rules

—————————————————————————

Dabi knew about your sweet tooth and smoking habit well before he nabbed you. He wanted to make sure he knew everything there was to know before bringing you home with him. It was his way of trying to make sure you were comfortable. To accommodate your preferences, he got you a giant bag of Jolly Ranchers and your usual pack of cigs.

When he did bring you back to his shitty little apartment near the League’s base, he noticed you had more habits than candy and smoke breaks.

You tend to chew on the knuckle of your pointer finger whenever you’re in deep thought. Dabi honestly thinks it’s adorable watching you leave little tooth indents with every nibble. He catches you like this more often than not, and he’ll grab your wrist and drag your knuckle away from your mouth, tsking at you slightly when you bite down hard enough to draw blood.

Watching scary movies helps give you something to focus on despite how Dabi holds you closely to his broad chest, keeping you securely in place. He sticks his hand in the popcorn, taking a mouthful. When he tries to offer you some, he sees that you have your fingers stuffed in your mouth as you suck on and bite your nails.

Now that he thinks about it, he rarely sees you without something in your mouth. You’re either smoking, sucking on candy, or chewing on your nails and knuckles.

The cobalt flame thrower traces the back of your hand lightly with the pads of his fingers, encircles your wrist with the softest of touches, and withdraws your hand from your mouth. He caresses your jaw, simply letting himself be familiar with the outline of your chin. Fingers grazing upwards, he feels you flinch from an unexpected jump scare on the screen.

“Shhh,” he soothes you while he drags his thump across the plump skin of your bottom lip.

Your gasp is soft, and your eyes dart up towards his luminescent blues. You can’t help but think how he’s eyeing you like you eye your jar of sweets.

“Dabi?” you try to ask him what he’s doing, but again, he hushes you.

His thumb slips inside your parted lips, finding the cavern wet and warm. Your breath is so hot on his digit that it drives him to explore the toothy cave even further. More fingers follow soon after, his pointer and middle finger to be exact as his thumb drops back to your plush lips.

“Give ‘em a little suck, doll face.”

You seem hesitant, a little unsettled by his order, but you end up giving in. His two fingers fill your mouth as they push down on your tongue. You find yourself relaxing against his chest, lids feeling heavy as your gaze drifts to his scarred wrist.

With his arm still wrapped around your shoulders so that you can comply easier, he shifts you until you’re completely sitting on his lap.

It’s so fascinating how this relaxes you. You’re basically limp against him. He spreads your legs, and you only try to move away from him once before he hits your gag reflex as a warning.

You settle back down, sucking on his fingers and watching the screen contently while Dabi unties the jaw string on your sweat pants. He works them down to your ankles with one hand before doing the same with your lacy panties.

With heated fingers, he works your clit in a circle. You hum softly, soothingly into his fingers as you suckle them like honey.

“This what you like, doll face?” Dabi questions as his pinky finger teases your slit.

The tv, the sucking, the pussy play, it makes your head feel fuzzy. All of the blood and gore taking place in the movie is enough to make you uneasy, but the tension your captor is building in your cunt has you squirming for different reasons.

Drool seeps from the corner of your lips as Dabi pumps his fingers in and almost out of your mouth. Your cheeks hollow and full, hollow and full with every suck you give. Droplets of spit drip from your chin, catching on the pyro’s hand.

“Yeah, Daddy likes this too,” he whispers with such primitive desire into the shell of your ear.

His heavy hand move up under your shirt to paw at your tit. Your breasts pop free as he pulls your shirt up to reveal the beauties, squeezing the supple flesh. He watches the stark whites of his finger prints turn to a pretty red with each harsh grip he leaves behind.

You whine on his thigh, trying to hump into his jeans to relieve the pressure he left behind when he started feeling your tits. Unable to say anything with his fingers stuffed in your mouth, you can only cry and mewl with each wriggle of your hips.

“Aw, does someone miss Daddy playing with her pretty pussy?” He draws you in even closer to him, so close that you hunch in on yourself to accommodate the position. You spread your legs even further for him, placing your feet on the edge of the couch cushions so that you can let your knees fall open like the wings of a butterfly.

You nod your head, leaning your head back on his shoulder. His finger trails back down to your puffy clit. Your wanton slit weeps for his attention, yearns for his ministrations.

Vision blurry with tears, one blink leaves a wet trail down both cheeks.

“Don’t cry, doll face. Daddy’ll give you what you need. Don’t you worry that dumb little head.”

But you can’t help it as even more tears fall when his hand returns to your sensitive cunt because it just feels so damn good. You’re wet for him, just like your mouth. Your breasts bounce with each panting breath, with each moan and sob released from your chest halted at your mouth by Dabi’s fingers.

And he can hear you through the finger gag, he can hear you crying out for daddy.

He can feel you scream against his knuckles as you open your mouth, can feel your body twitch and shake as his fingers become coated with your sticky, milky juices.

You roll your eyes back into your head as you slump against his broad chest. And just before you think you can drift off to sleep, Dabi grabs your chin gently and turns your head towards him.

“Hey, don’t nod off just yet. Daddy has somethin’ else for you to suck on.”

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bucknastysbabe · 4 months

Note

hi cal! i love your page sm. i wanted to request more chubby bucky (i’m so obsessed & haven’t seen him in a min) also make sure to take care of yourself and have a good day/night 🩷

HI!!!! Sorry I’ve been such a spazz and awful about my page and askbox I’m in my new era blah blah but YES! CHUBBY BUCKY! Thanks for the well wishes I’m trying to practice ~self care~ and ~time management~ mwah mwah much love. So let’s say this just in the same universe as Poolside Blues!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW: body dysmorphia, obsessive thoughts, negative body talk, Muscle chub Buck, Bucky’s shit self esteem is saved by sunshine gf, holiday weight gain, Bucky being a stubborn mf, switch!Bucky, reader has empathic projection, horny texts, body worship, WE LOVE SOFT PARTS AND STRETCH MARKS ROUND HERE, teasing, sub space, daddy kink, pnv!sex, cuddles and fluff, Bucky is just a big cuddly tiger kitty

“Bucky if you stare at the scale any longer I’m going to break it. Holidays are over, you can get back to being in the gym twenty-five eight.”

Bucky eyed his petite girlfriend, frowning from the doorway to the bathroom. He palmed his stupid fucking gut and sighed, he actually had to suck in to see the number! This is why Bucky hated the holidays. Besides being cold. James Buchanan Barnes very much disliked the cold, one could assume why.

He could handle the residual un-moveable pudge leftover from Hydra’s ever consistent tinkering with his bodily functions. But then it all started with Halloween. Wanda and his girlfriend loved to bake. So he’s getting force fed cookies. Then they need to decorate, go to functions, give out candy. No time for gym.

Bucky grumbled and stepped off the scale, padding to his closet. He grumbled more, “Stupid turkey holiday.” Great yes, the holiday known for feasting. Pumpkin spiced everything in his vision. Bucky had a weakness for pumpkin, his ma made good spiced bread. He took a short vacation with his lovely little angel to the mountains. He tried to rationalize that hiking and marathon sex would make up for the amount of food he had ingested.

Tony Stark of course had a grandiose Thanksgiving celebration. Bucky tried to keep it light, he did, he really did. But every refusal got sad eyes or downright offense. The former winter soldier was belly up by the end of the night, all gym plans out the window.

Christmas fared no better. His best gal absolutely adored Christmas. It was the first holiday she’d experience not as an asset to Hydra, just like Bucky. So instead of RUNNING or LIFTING, the Brunette was shopping and ice skating. He’d already gone up a size in clothes December 3rd to be exact. Bucky correctly guessed he would go up another post-Christmas.

He’d whinge and rant to Steve, the blondie listening and telling Bucky to chill— it’s not like anyone thought it was bad. Bucky exasperatedly shouted, “I’m like a goddamn balloon! I don’t need to be on missions like this! I’m going to Bruce, jerk.”

“Punk.”

Bruce didn’t help either. Just said once he got back into a routine it would come off and he’d be at his regular weight. Refused to give Bucky Ozempic either. Some kinda doctor he was, his patient was obviously distraught.

“Are you dressed yet?,” she hollered.

“Give me a second!,” Bucky pouted.

He was going to pout today. Go to gym, get anger out, and pout. So he shimmied on some catastrophically tight basketball shorts and the biggest shirt he could find. Luckily it covered him up. May or may not have been a panic buy. Bucky cursed some more sitting on his bench to lace up his shoes, stupid gut getting in the way.

Red faced and irritated he snarked, “Happy now princess? I’m going to the gym, nothing is stopping me, I will be going to work out.” She grinned and watched him grab his bag, slapping a round ass cheek on his way out. Bucky shuddered at the wobble. Her familiar rasp rang out, “Nice ass baby! Go get em!”

He was too old for this. Technically his girl was ten years his junior if you took off the cryogenic time. He loved her dearly, always bubbly, somehow remained optimistic after all she’d been through. But the little freak liked Bucky’s pudge, loved it. Always grabbing up on it.

Bucky took the stairs to the gym. He needed it. The brunette thought with a smirk that if he had a nickel for every time he had to remove her hands from his ‘handles of love’ he would’ve been a millionaire back during the Depression. He grimaced at the feeling of his chubby tummy and thick thighs.

Finally. He’d made it. Gym time.

Not a soul in sight, Bucky could just relax and get his frustrations out. With a fuck-ton of a cardio and some toning exercises— really didn’t need any muscle to bulk him out more. He felt a bit peaceful for once, a strange bravado coming over him. The soldier stretched his unused muscles and did a bit of breathing exercises.

God, he already felt lighter. Maybe. Maybe he would take a picture and see if the camera made him look different. Bucky’s therapist already hammered him about his ‘body dysmorphia and negative self-image’.

Taking a peak about and tying his hair half up, Bucky propped the camera at a flattering angle and yanked off his shirt. He refused to look in a mirror for the holidays unless he was clothed. Fiddling with the inane controls, the man finally had the thing on a timer. He pulled off his shirt and tried to pose, straighten up his back again.

The flash went off and he ran to the phone, hit send, then sat down on a nearby bench to look fully. The brunette had to keep his ‘body positive!’ thoughts at the forefront. His chest and legs looked good. Face didn’t look too puffy thanks beard.

Disgust picked the earlier bravado up and hulk smashed it. Buck’s eyes were glued to his rounded belly and fat hips, a muffin over those horrid shorts. There, oh my god, there were stretchmarks on him? Bucky never had stretchmarks! Not the red kind! But there they were— mocking him. Ragged lines on his hips and sections of stomach.

He deleted the picture, feeling horrid. He should run more. But not before the pings blowing up his phone. She was strange and texted in 5 different messages that could’ve been sent in one singular text.

“Babbbbyyyy omg you’re so hot”

“Fuck, I’m getting all flustered in this debrief.”

“Look at that pretty body. Wanna lick those pretty stripes, tiger.”

“I’m so horny lmfao get your ass back to the room in 30. I’m gonna fucking ride you so goddamn hard.”

Bucky blinked a bit, feeling himself perk up. He still was a overblown balloon, but at-least the weirdo he loved enjoyed it. “Tiger huh,” he murmured, scratching at the sensitive marks. Bucky had a time limit now, snatching his gear up and stuffing it into a bag, hustling down the stairs to his room.

“Hey Buck,” Sam’s voice was a blur as Bucky entered his room. He smirked a bit hearing a muffled, “Weird ass.” The super soldier kept his mind on the prize— getting the daylights fucked out of him by his girls. Nope he wasn’t going to pay attention to the chafe on the inside of his thighs one bit. Okay...maybe he’d powder the area after the shower.

All he had to do was wait now. Wait. Not get nerved about his very naked body. He felt like a pile of exposed lard but it’ll be okay. Yep. Bucky would be fine. Pussy would fix his problems. As long as she played nice and didn’t tease. That rendered Bucky into a teary, babbling mess. Either he was always a masochist or Hydra made him into one but God— sometimes when she got mean he saw stars.

The door busted open, Bucky feeling relief at her grinning face. She gently closed it behind her, stripping easily while throwing her panties at him. He caught the material, moaning softly as she growled, “See what you did to me in the middle of that debrief? Had to cut it short my pheromones were so bad.”

Bucky inspected the panties, eyes fluttering at the slick wetting the cloth. He gripped and inhaled, hand flying down to soothe his cock. A lithe body crawled to the end of the bed, the soldier flushing as she seated herself in between his thighs. Keeping him in fucking missionary, her manicured nails spreading him a bit. He gasped, body jolting at the exposure.

Her perky tits heaved as she groped at his thighs and slid down to get handfuls of his round ass. Bucky threw his head back and moaned, “W-What are you up to?” Earlier mentioned pheromones were making his body keyed up and sensitive, pupils likely swallowing up blue eyes. She leaned forward, taught body against his cock.

“Mmm- I don’t know really. You just looked so delicious,” she kissed his belly and cooed, “I know you’re upset with yourself right now, Buck, you’re fucking gorgeous. Holiday weight or not. But I’ll even go to the gym with you, know I’ve been a distraction.”

Bucky slurred a name, hands reaching for her waist, she was so sweet. He sighed, “I enjoyed you as my distraction, best disss-traction everrr. Fuck you’re makin’ me horny babydoll.” She crawled up his bigger body to plant a kiss on Bucky’s swollen lips before sliding back to her place. His cock leaked when she giggled, “I know, poor baby’s all achy for me. But I wanna do something first.”

She slid palms up and down Bucky’s muscled arms, soothing him a little. Then the she-devil gripped his chunky love-handles and shook, watching with poorly-disguised glee. Bucky whined, “Baaaby, stoppp, it’s awful!”

“Think of them as tiger stripes, they’ll fade out when you drop weight,” she dug under where his belly hung a bit and traced at his most sensitive stretch marks. Bucky let out an indecent noise, thrusting up into her sweet touch. The fellow avenger cooed, “S’that feel good tiger? Need some lotion. Pretty boy.”

Bucky outright whimpered when her hand wrapped around his weepy cock, already slick from copious pre. She slowly moved her hand, praising him. Pretty boy, smart, handsome, good, kind, helpful.

He was going to bust a nut before anything happened. Bucky barked, “B-babe, stop! Stop!” Her pretty brows knitted together, hand jerking away as she asked, “What’s wrong bub?” He panted, “Gimme a second, w-wanna fuck you so baaaad.” She gently stroked the outside of thick muscled thighs, padded with love in her opinion.

“Thought I was going to ride you?,” she asked, face beginning to flush.

Bucky shook his head, managing to push himself up to get face-to-face. His soft body filled the tight space between them, making her whimper now. Bucky used one hand to caress the side of her face, the other massaging her pretty tit. Long lashes fluttered, her lips falling open.

Score. He managed to somewhat fumble through the pheromone fog.

Bucky rumbled, “Nuh-uh, all this talk about my body and you don’t want me to pin you down and fill your pretty pussy up? Hm sweetheart?” He punctuated the sentence with a deep kiss, the sweet thing easily giving up to him. It was fun when she played mean but Bucky had more experience— he could play his girl like a fucking fiddle.

“C’mon,” smack, “use your,” smack, “words baby,” smack smack. She didn’t want to stop kissing, sucking on his bottom lip as he pulled away. She blushed, embarrassed on how fast the situation had flipped. His girl whined, “Yeah, c’mon fuck me, fuck me full daddy.” He grinned and laid back, strong arms pulling her atop him.

She squealed, eyes widening. Bucky purred, “You know what to do, Daddy’ll let you on top.” He bit his swollen lip again watching the tip of his clock get swallowed by molten heat, the pair of them shuddering in ecstasy. Her little hands planted on his chest, panting and whining at the fullness. He’d get to work, holding that pretty waist and fucking up into her tight cunt.

It wasn’t long before she was crying out and laying atop his body, gasping, “Y’feel so good! Ah! Soft and oh god s’fucking hard!” Bucky sucked at her neck and thrust into her with downright pornographic slaps. He grunted and gasped, legs wonderfully getting another workout.

He murmured into her ear, a hand stilling all that writhing the poor thing was doing, “Yeah doll? Daddy fucking you good? Feels good to lay on Daddy and get your pussy pounded huh?” She sobbed, clenching and spilling tears on his neck, “Yes daddy! Yes! Don’t stop, fuckfuckfuck, s’rubbing my clit! I love you Daddy!”

Bucky’s eyes crossed for a second. What?

The evil flab that curses his very existence is a free clit rubber? He moaned in delight. Bucky changed their position some to milk out that new fact. Might as well abuse it before it’s gone. His baby was clinging to him now, mewling his name, pussy spasming sporadically. Bucky tilted her head up, melting at her pretty eyes. He rasped, “Come for Daddy baby, know you’re close, let go babydoll.”

He was grinding the tip of his cock into her soft spot while cooing at her. She hiccuped on a sob, the entirety of lean frame tightening down on him. His baby was a lot stronger than she looked. He could feel her core clamp and soak his cock, sending Bucky reeling into his own orgasm with a hoarse shout. He whimpered at the feeling of his balls drawing painfully tight, emptying all he had pent up.

They laid in a pile of sweat and spend, probably love. She was still subbed out, nuzzling into Bucky, only making a soft noise when his soft cock slid out. The brunette guessed it was his turn to return her earlier favor. He felt like the man of the hour. Crazy little kitten thought her geriatric overweight cyborg assassin was hot. Even with the holiday pounds.

So he pressed little kisses, rubbed her back, waxed poetic nonsense of his love for her. Bucky was a lover boy back in the day, just a little rusty, not like his Babygirl was on planet Earth right now anyways. She murmured into his neck with a dopey smile, “Tiger.”

Once again, crazy fellow asset saving Bucky’s wavering self-esteem. How lucky was he?

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #chubby!bucky x reader #chubby!bucky #fluff and smut

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leathermouthproxies · 1 year

Text

Proxy boys with afab sub reader smut headcanons

This was on Ao3 first so follow me there to keep up with my full length fics. Anyways here's my headcanons from hardest to softest doms.

Masky

Names he likes being called: Sir. Pretty much insists on it in bed

Names he likes to call reader: pet, kitten or puppy, whore, doll, little girl

Kinks: Brat Taming, bondage, weapon play, pet play, likes seeing you wearing tail plugs, so anal, CNC, size kink, predator and prey play, squirting, choking, breeding, huge sadist, impact play, will smack you if you're ok with it, having you hump his leg or boot

Tits or ass: Ass Fav position: mating press, your knees behind your head

Giving or receiving head: RECEIVING

He loves being completely in control, overstimulating you, humiliating you (he loves seeing you all flustered), degrading you, forcing you to squirt over and over, just completely using and destroying you, also loves seeing you wear things that claim you as his, like a collar or a necklace with his name on it. Likes playing little games with you, tag, hide and go seek, grabbing you from behind when you don't know he's there, gets a rise out of you being scared.

“Little whore loves getting fucked stupid huh?” “Aww did stupid forget how to talk? Come on kitten you've only cum 3 times I know you can give me some more.” "You know how happy Tim will be when I breed our baby into you? He loves seeing my bimbo be his domestic little wife." "I bet the neighbors know my name"

This man is literally a demon possessing Tim like how can he GO FOR SO LONG

Tim usually fronts for after-care. If Masky ever stops on his own his aftercare consists of him bringing you water, pulling you up on his chest, and praising you, which makes you flustered, which makes him hard, which then usually leads to round 2. Or 3. Or 4. Or until Tim fronts and sees you as a puddle of drool and tears and raspy moans under him.

Brian

Daddy. HUGE daddy dom

Princess, darling, baby girl, pretty, little girl

dd/lg, recording (exhibitionism), will ask for pictures or videos of you masturbating if he's out of the house for more than like. An hour. Has definitely asked Tim or Masky to record them fucking you for him to watch, so voyeurism, squirting but like not in an AGGRESSIVE way like Masky, praising, marking, bondage, having you grind on his leg or knee, mirrors, freak ass hoe for sure has a mirror across from and above the bed, lil bit of choking but again not as hard as Masky does it, creampies (seriously these guys love to cum inside you better get yourself an iud), edging

Tits

Standing (mans takes advantage of the operator strength), missionary, really anywhere that's not in a bed, kitchen counter, couch, car, against a tree in the forest, just in any position that he can pop a titty in his mouth or leave a hickey on your neck.

Honestly its 50/50 with oral, thinks you're adorable when he eats you out but also loves when you gag on his cock

Loves being completely in control but not in a forceful way like Masky, more in a “I want to see you melt under me” kind of way. Honestly he's so good at making you melt that you're not as bratty with him as you are with Masky. Still kind of bratty tho. While Masky likes forced orgasms, Brian loves edging you until you're begging and babbling. LOVES to praise you, loves when you're good for him, doesn't like to punish you but will turn into a hard dom if you get bratty or cum without permission.

“Such a pretty baby, gunna milk daddy's cock dry princess?” "Oh, were you close? I'm sorry baby girl, let's try that again." "Wave to the camera darlin', you know the other boys love when you look 'em in the eye." "Are you cum drunk already angel? That's okay, just let your daddy take care of you. You're so cute when you're all fucked out like this" "daddy's little princess"

Masky can fuck for hours but Brian loooves foreplay, he can toy with you for hours

Hoodie's the king of aftercare but Brian’s a close runner up

Will clean you up or carry and hold you in the shower if you want, make you go pee, bring you water or tea, wrap you both in a blanket, make sure he didn't cross any lines, be super soft with you, kiss kiss kiss kiss kISS

Toby

Listen to me

Hear me out HEAR ME OUT

I know we all think toby is a sub

And YES he looks like he gets pegged.

But I am telling you. I AM TELLLINNNG YOU.

This is not the case.

My boy is UN FUCKING HINGED

Cool with anything you want to call him, but his favorite is when you scream his name

Toby canonically comes from German ancestry and idk if the creator went further into that but I like to think his mom and dad are German immigrants, and toby has been to Germany to visit family so he can speak fluent German.

Bro be babblin’ shit out. Engel, babe, schätzchen, slut, sexy, schnucki, cum dump, mein angebetete, bunny, schatz, sweetheart, mieze, I mean he has tourettes so he really just calls you whatever comes to mind, accidentally called you manic pixie dream girl unironically one time and Tim still makes fun of him for it

Marking, biting, being bit, blood play, honestly probably period sex, he's a freak man fr, weapon play for sure, face shots, he would cover your entire body in his cum if he could cum that much, loves experimenting, having power over you, manhandling, VERY rough in bed, usually just from being over excited and not knowing what hurts people

Definitely accidentally blurted out that he would eat you if he could one time Was hot in the moment but he had some explaining to do during after care

We love our little cannibal don't we folks

Tits guy but loves shoving your face into the mattress and pulling your ass up into him, shower sex, again willing to try any position once

Loves the taste of you and will eat it like a demon but HUGE fan of getting some sloppy top. And I mean SLOPPY. He loves when you drool and gag

This guy just loves sex. Loves seeing you squirm under him, loves using you like his sex doll, probably calls you that too. Mans gets excited and VOCAL.

Toby also doesn't stutter in the original story but you know what? Eat my ass we have all headcanoned a stutter. It just lessens when he's confident- ie: making you his bitch. Although he still has tourettes and apparently disorganized speech as a symptom of his schizophrenia.

“Ich-ich möchte d-d-den, um, rest mein-n-nes lebensss mit dir vvver–rbringen” "hey y/n- pretty baby gonna make you scream tonight- hav-ve you sssseen my sch-ch-etch book“ "Ich w-w-w-erde dich für immmmer und ewig lieb-ben.” “JESUS-god-FUCK youre sssexy” “toby its 9 in the morning.” “Du siehst verboten gu-gut aus” "whore whorrre wh-h-hore yes fuck perfect whore aren't you?" "Your blood tastes so good." “Y-yeah, du liebst diesen schwanz in dir, nicht wahr hure?”

Sorry it's all German I just feel like he gets so in the moment that he kind of goes out of body and doesn't even realize what he's saying

His after care is kissing you all over your entire face and then conking the fuck out on your tits. Will more than likely wake up hard and ready again. If he doesn't pass out after the kisses he will open ubereats and ask what you want LOL

Hoodie

Ok Hoodie and Tim are on the same level of dom-ness but hoodie is more protective so he goes first

One thing he and Brian have in common: daddy. Hoodie also likes sir

Hoodie is usually non verbal but will talk sometimes when he's feeling particularly passionate, usually in a very monotone and even tone

When he does talk he calls you sickly sweet names

My love, precious, perfect

Collars, long makeout seshes, stomach bulging/ size kink. Tummy shots. Tummy. Shots. Loves putting you in pretty dresses OR his hoodie. He doesn't really have a lot of kinks, he just loves making love to you for hours. That's right you're not getting fucked when you're with him you're getting made LOVE to

.Feet. LMFAOOOOO

Usually tried to keep it on the downlow but one time while he was fucking he had your feet on his shoulders and. Suddenly he had a toe in his mouth before he could stop himself

Toby heard about it and now one of his tics is "foot boy" One time the guys were staking out a target in a mall when Toby looked at Brian and instantly yelled "FOOT BOY FOOT BOY". Tim laughed so hard he cried. They had to leave.

Brian hates Hoodie so much.

Anyways

Dude is EXTREMELY gentle with you, seriously treats you like you're made of glass. Also if this were a cartoon his eyes would turn into hearts every time he looked at you

He usually likes when you're on top, sitting on his lap while he told you close

But he will also HAPPILY oblige with anything you ask forAs long as you feel good that's all he wants

This guy

This fucking guy

Will eat.

For an eternity if you let him.

I am serious sometimes he eats until you safeword, like you RARELY have to safeword with any of the boys and the only time you ever had to with Hoodie is when he eats you out to the point where you literally feel like you're going to pass away. It’s kind of rare for him to not listen to your “ok I can't take it anymore”’s but sometimes he just can't get a hold of himself, it's like he goes out of body. Will end everything and go full aftercare mode for the safe word though.

He just loves to love you, he's the most protective, will carry you anytime you let him, always wants to be touching you, will do anything to make you happy even if it's not necessarily a good idea

If he witnesses someone be mean to you he WILL kill them of you don't explicitly tell him not to

Masky has to wait for Brian to front or send Hoodie out of the house to fuck you

This rule was made because one time Hoodie fronted while Masky was doing some impact play and Hoodie heard you scream. Hoodie almost choked Masky to death. It was a whole thing. It also turned into a 3 way. Anyways.

Point is you ask for the moon he'll bring you the whole solar system Thinks your whimpers are the cutest shit in the entire world, LOVES your soft little quiet moans

Again, really doesn't talk much, keeps things short and simple if he really has to speak

You think the longest sentence you've heard Hoodie say is when you asked if he could get some snacks while he was at the grocery store and while putting his shoes on he deadpan replied "I would eat a lightbulb if you asked me to." You took that as a yes.

But sometimes he says little worships and sweet nothings during sex

Now HOODIEHE is the king of aftercare

Goes super soft, again acts like you're made of glass, will gently lay you back down on the pillows, clean you off or carry you into the shower, again make sure you pee (ladies always take a girl-piss after sex), get you ice if you have bruises (usually from the other guys) hold you close and cover you both with the blankets, one of the rare times he talks is to ask you what you need from him, and again he will give you ANYTHING

He's so girl coded

Tim

Tim and hoodie have a lot in common actually

Again, daddy

I'm sorry they're all daddy af

Bear, teddy bear, handsome

Honey, doll, baby, darlin’

Just loves sweet lazy sex, but also not really because he loves spanking LOL

Not really a kink but him and hoodie love seeing you in pretty little dresses and skirts, tights or knee high socks, loves pulling your skirt up and plowing you Loves seeing you do lil domestic things, LOVES fucking to music, worships your body, literally thinks you have the most perfect body, gagging, spanking, loves when you dress up for him, lingerie and the occasional costume, definitely likes when you have a toy in you while you go about your day, either plug or vibrator, back shots

Honestly probably goes for anal when him and Brian dp you, so definitely is into you wearing plugs

Thighs and ass

Bro looooves your thighs

Asks you to smother him with them like once a day

69ing, getting his face sat on, fucking while you guys are on your side, again soft and lazy

He can drill you into the mattress if asked but prefers it soft

Mans EATS.

Remember how I said he loves thighs and ass?

This is exactly why he wants you to sit on it face Also why he likes 69ing, you're usually focusing on him while you're sucking his fat ass cock so you don't notice when you accidently settle to much and put all of your weight on his face which is EXACTLY his plan

He has had to tap out a couple times from almost suffocating

Anyways

Tim is obsessed with your body, wants it against him all of the time.

Cuddle. Fucking. MONSTER.

Toby and Hoodie are clingy 24/7 but Tim really values alone time with you and takes full advantage by being all over you. He also takes the protective roll when Hoodie's not around. He loves his little wife (doesn't matter if you're not married you're his little wife)

Also I don't think Tim is really as shy as a lot of people make him out to be

"Come sit that pretty ass on my cock, doll" "so soft and warm up against me baby" “Are you wearing all this just for me? Come give me a twirl, hun’” “please PLEASE just one chance I am on my knees BEGGING” “TIM I DON'T CARE IF YOU'LL GET HEALED I'M NOT BREAKING YOUR NECK WITH MY ASS”

Like I said Tim usually fronts mid fuck (well, is it mid fuck if you've been going for like 3 hours?) for Masky and kind of panics when he sees you SO fucked out It's kind of hot but he knows your ass is dehydrated

"Oh fuck, you good??"

Definitely felt really guilty the first time he saw the state Masky put you in before you assured him you fully were into it

Will clean you, probably untie you, get you ice and painkillers, and then make sure Masky didn't cross any lines

Masky is actually really good with consent, making sure things are okay before trying them for the first time, making sure you remember your safe word, but Tim still doesn't trust him

But with Tim's soft sweet sex aftercare usually isn't needed He just gives you sweet kisses and then asks if you're hungry <3

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kairiscorner · 8 months

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heyooo, it's 🫐 again! i'm in the middle of class rn and i had an idea for student!reader as miles' classmate and them giggling over notes and doodles in class. this then gets the both of em caught by the teacher and what happens next is up to you, ate >:))

HI !! OMG, wait ang cute MMRHRRFNJFNMMM having art class today's got me thinking of some shit, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS <333

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

doodles on the margins. – miles 1610 x gn!reader

being miles' seatmate is a massive blessing, yet... also a massive curse. the curse being that neither of you could keep your pens, pencils–even brushes, be it paint or calligraphy–away from the others' clear notebook pages or clean scratch papers. you both would always come home with littered designs and doodles, expressing your feelings to each other out on the margins of your notebooks and the corners of your book pages.

in art class, you both took the liberty of expressing your feelings and viewpoints out to the world, like how your teacher defined what art was; it starts with an idea, and then becomes a beautiful flurry of colors, words, movements and all. you were both giggling as you drew on his notebook's margins, with your knuckles brushing over the side of his hand as his fingers would make contact with the back of your hand as you both ran the tips of your pencils over the once clear and spotless pages.

"what is that?" miles asked you in a hushed voice, accompanied by the ringing sound of his chuckle. you pointed out that your cute little blob of a creature was a fat frog, that looked utterly adorable. miles shook his head as he doodled a spider crawling down the margins next to the frog. "i know frogs don't look that goofy." "that's because you've never met my frog before, miles." you said with a giggle as miles asked you in a whisper shout, " you have a frog?!"

"yes, mr. morales? would you and your friend like to, um, make our art class a biology class?" your art teacher spoke up, asking you both with a confused smile about what you two were discussing. the two of two of you froze up and widened your eyes as the whole class turned their heads and darted their gaze your way. "u-um... just expressing our freedom of opinion... through our creative minds!" he said with an awkward smile as the art teacher nodded and smiled wider. your teacher walked over to you two and asked to see miles' notebook, but with the two of you reluctantly showing them the doodle covered margins of the notebook.

the teacher looked through it, and unexpectedly, their smile widened as they saw all the little creatures and people you two drew. they handed it back with a mutter of 'how creative' under their breath. the teacher then clasped their hands together and announced a surprise assignment: to fill the margins of their art notebooks with as many doodles as the students can fit. "i'll be looking forward to your output, you two." they said with a soft voice as you two bashfully smiled and thanked your art teacher and hurried off.

you both breathed a sigh of relief and slight confusion. "so... guess we have our work cut out for us now?" you asked miles as he nudged your arm with his elbow with a crooked smile. "ganke dmed me, he's telling me he won't make dinner for us tonight because we inspired the teacher about homework." miles said with a sigh as you faked a disappointed groan. "well then, text him back that i'll treat you out to a nice dinner and date to the art museum nearby? let's pretend curfew doesn't exist." you said with a wide grin as miles chuckled back. "oh, well... okay then, who am i to say no?" he asked you as you gently took his hand in yours and he held your hand back and walked down the halls with you–smudged ink stains and pencil marks on the side of both of your hands as you two walked down the halls.

tags !! @ii01vq @toneystank-3000 @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @onginlove @meowmoraless @solecitoszn @maxoloqy @lovefrominaya @conitagray

#earth 1610 miles morales #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #earth 1610 miles morales x you #earth 1610 miles morales x y/n #earth 1610 miles morales fluff #earth 1610 miles morales fanfiction #miles morales x reader #miles morales #atsv #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #atsv fluff #atsv fanfiction #atsv miles #e1610 miles #e1610 miles morales #e1610 miles x reader

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nicoline1998enilocin · 2 months

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Red Carpet

PAIRING | Husband!Young!Tony Stark x Wife!Pregnant!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT | 1.4K

SUMMARY | You're attending a movie premiere with Tony and are by far the most beautiful woman there if you ask him. From the beautiful dress to your baby bump, Tony couldn't be prouder to share your love with the world. When he goes down on his knees before you in the middle of the red carpet, he will officially make it one to never forget, and you will fall even more in love with your husband.

RATING | General (G)

WARNINGS/TAGS | Established relationship, use of nicknames (My Love, Sunshine)

A/N | This is a surprise and gift for my bestest and dearest friend and biggest supporter @ccbsrmsf1. Carol, quero começar dizendo o quanto sou grato por ter você em minha vida. Você se tornou uma grande parte disso e sou muito grato por você! Assim que você me pediu para usar esta foto do nosso homem, obviamente não pude recusar, e espero que você goste de babar nele enquanto lê minha história. Obrigado por estar na minha vida, e eu te amo 3000 💙

A/N | This is not proofread, so any and all mistakes are my own.

EVENTS Masterlist | @fandombingo | Caught on Camera Masterlist | @slumberpartybingo | Would you rather... Rain OR Sun

Banners: Yours truly | Divider: @firefly-graphics | Photo: @ccbsrmsf1

Main Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | AU Masterlist

"What do you think, My Love? Are we going for red or yellow today?" you ask Tony as you're standing in the middle of your walk-in closet, looking at your two dress options. He's wearing a black suit with a floral shirt, and both possibilities match perfectly, but you're feeling indecisive.

"Hmm, how about the red dress? You know I adore it when you wear the color of passion," Tony says as he stands behind you, his arms wrapping gently around your waist to find their home on your round belly. You're currently 7,5 months pregnant, carrying your second boy and third child overall.

"I like the way you think," you tell him as you melt into his touch. His warm body always feels so comfortable, and when he's holding you like this, it's so intimate in the best way possible. When you're about to say something, you can hear the pitter-patter of feet into your closet, notifying you that one of your other Munchkins is there.

"Are you going with the red dress, Mommy? It's my favorite color!" your daughter Orion says as she joins you and Tony in your cuddle, but she's on your side.

"Yes, Babygirl, I'm going to wear the red dress tonight," you tell her, basking in the love your husband and daughter are giving you. When you're about to ask where Hudson is, he comes in, too, joining the bundle of hugs. Your family now surrounds you, and you couldn't be happier as the butterflies in your chest go wild.

"As much as I love every single one of your hugs, I still need to get dressed for tonight," you tell all three of them with a chuckle, and they all let you go so you can get ready to go to the premiere for a movie in which Tony is playing the main character.

It takes a little while to be fully dressed and ready to go to the premiere, and you're excited to show everyone the finished outfit. Your hair is in a beautiful bun with a few pieces framing your face, and your make-up is light to keep the main focus on your dress - and, of course, your belly.

As you walk into the kitchen, you find Tony talking to Maria, who has happily agreed to watch the twins tonight. As you walk in, you feel like you're floating, which only intensifies when you see Tony's expression. His jaw is almost on the floor as he looks at you while being rendered completely speechless.

The red fabric hugs all your curves beautifully, and the off-shoulder look combined with the low neckline ensures every inch of your upper chest tattoos is displayed. Right above your right collarbone is one of the ones you're most proud of: Tony's name written in his handwriting.

"You look stunning, Sunshine," Tony whispers as he walks over to you. His mom is long forgotten as he only has eyes for you. The smile on your face hasn't been this big in a while, and your husband once again manages to make you feel like you're the center of the universe - which, in his defense, you are to him.

"You look amazing too, Tony and tonight is all about you, so I hope my outfit won't take too much attention away from you." You have never been one to enjoy the spotlight particularly, but sometimes, during nights like this, you make an exception and go with Tony to celebrate him and his achievements.

His deep, dark brown eyes look into yours, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he tries to see if you genuinely believe what you just said.

"Oh Sunshine, my sweet, beautiful, amazing Sunshine. With the way you look tonight, there's not a single person who will even dare to look away from you. I am sure all eyes will be on you, and I am happy. Tonight is just as much about you as it is about me because I want to show off the woman I fell in love with, and I want to show everyone our love," he says with his hand on your belly.

"Okay, okay! Now let's go before I have to reapply my mascara!" you tell him with a breathy laugh, trying hard to fight against the tears threatening to spill at his beautiful confession. He agrees, and with one last goodbye to your twins and Maria, you're out the door and on your way to the premiere.

"Are you ready to walk down the red carpet, Sunshine?" Tony asks as he stands before you, his hands resting on your face to calm you down. The nerves are soaring through your body, and he helps to calm you down.

"Y-yeah, let's do this," you answer him after a deep breath, and he places a small peck on your lips before letting your face go and grabbing your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. After one last reassuring smile, you two walk onto the carpet, flashing lights everywhere.

The hand not holding Tony's rests comfortably on your belly, showing it off even more. Photographers left and right are shouting your husband's name, and he seems to revel in every bit of attention he can get. You look over at him, only to find him staring back at you with a beaming smile, and you lean in for a small kiss.

When your lips touch his, the crowd around you goes wild, making you feel loved. Of course, you have seen all the articles about you and Tony being Hollywood's power couple, but it only seems real once you attend events like this together. Far too soon for your liking, he pulls away, ready to move on to the next part of the carpet. What he does there, however, completely catches you by surprise, and you will look back on these photos with a huge smile later.

Tony sinks to his knees in front of you, his face level with your belly as he peppers it with a generous amount of kisses everywhere. His hands stroke it softly, and you can't help but laugh at your husband's weird antics.

It's no surprise he's proud of the fact that you're pregnant because of him, and this only intensifies it. Before getting up, he places his head against your belly for a few seconds with his eyes closed, taking in the moment. It's just you, him, and your beautiful baby boy in your belly - the rest of the world has fallen outside your little bubble.

"I love you so much, Sunshine," he tells you before placing one last kiss on your lips and moving on, ready for the interview parts of the red carpet. When you encounter the first interviewer, they immediately discuss what Tony has just done.

"So, Y/N, what did you think of Tony's actions just now?" the woman asks, and you laugh loudly before answering, shaking your head in response.

"Honestly, I wouldn't have expected anything else. Let's be honest: we all know he's a little crazy but also deeply in love. Not just with me, but also with our baby," you answer, and Tony nods in agreement, unable to take his eyes off you.

"How does it feel to be attending tonight's celebration with your beautiful wife?" she asks Tony, who blushes lightly as the woman calls you his wife. Sometimes, he still can't believe he got so lucky with you, and to call you his wife is the cherry on top for him.

"It feels amazing! She's there for me no matter what, during good times and bad, through rain and sun, and I wouldn't want it any other way. She's doing a great job building her career as a real estate agent while carrying our third baby, and I'm incredibly proud of everything she does. She's the love of my life, and every day, I thank my lucky stars for being hers," Tony tells the lady, who can't stop smiling at his answer.

"To have her by my side on nights like these is something I will never take for granted, of course, and I'm always deeply thankful for her, and I can't wait to grow old with her!" Tony finishes the interview before leaning in and kissing you again, this time more passionately than before.

"I love you so much, Sunshine," he tells you, and you tell him how much you also love him. This night will be unforgettable, and you're looking forward to many more nights like this one, as long as you can have your husband by your side.

#tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark fanfic #tony stark one shot #tony stark imagine #tony stark x female!reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark fluff #young tony stark #young tony stark fanfiction #young tony stark fanfic #young tony stark one shot #young tony stark imagine #young tony stark x female reader #young tony stark x reader #young tony stark x y/n #young tony stark fluff

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kandisheek · 2 months

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FIC REC WEEK 10 – FOUND FAMILY

Human Nature by surveycorpsjean

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: E Words: 24,038 Tags: Civil War Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Polyamory

Summary: If they say why? Tell 'em that it's human nature.

Reasons why I love it: Steve and Bucky wooing a woefully oblivious Tony? What more could any of us want? I love all of the team interactions in this, along with Pepper and Rhodey, who are amazingly written as well, but nothing beats the Stuckony dates. They're so sweet, and Steve and Bucky's scheming to get Tony to accept their love and squash his insecurities is adorable. If you haven't read this one yet, please go and check it out. I bet you'll love it just as much as I do!

Semaphore by DevilDoll

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 40,040 Tags: Team Bonding, Misunderstandings, Depression

Summary: "I’m trying to like you, Tony. You’re just making it very hard."

Reasons why I love it: Tony's voice in this is incredible, it feels like it's ripped straight out of canon. All the little bits and pieces about how the team comes together are so fricking good. The thought of the Asgardians jamming out to Tubthumping randomly jumps into my mind from time to time, and it always puts a smile on my face. Also, Miriam is a fucking treasure and one of the best OCs I've seen in any fic ever. I aspire to be her when I grow up. Steve and Tony are their usual disastrous selves, but when they learn to speak each others' language, the result is absolutely beautiful. I love this fic to piece, so if you haven't read it yet, please go ahead and do that!

Or Call Me Something Else by FestiveFerret

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 25,476 Tags: Misunderstandings, Friends With Benefits, Lack of Communication

Summary: There are things Steve Rogers doesn't like about the future - see: Instagram - and there are things Steve Rogers loves about the future - see: hot, wild, no-strings-attached sex with Tony Stark. That is, until Tony drops the "b" word, and Steve realizes that what he thought was casual fun was something much more serious to the other man.

Reasons why I love it: I could gush about this fic for hours, but I'll try to keep it short. The misunderstanding that kick-starts the conflict of this fic is really great because it's so believable. And all the consequent steps that Steve and Tony take in response to this conflict feel incredibly true to their characters. I really, really love the way it gets resolved in the end, and there are so many fantastic moments in between. I especially enjoyed Natasha's role in all of it and how Steve slowly comes to realize certain things about himself. So yeah, this fic is incredible, and I really hope you check it out!

#marvel #stony #fanfic #fic rec #fanfic rec #ficrec #a year in fanfic recs #found family

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444rockstargf · 6 months

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kinktober day 15.

10.29 - BODY WORSHIP | OLLIE SWAY!

݁ ˖🕸️.𖥔 ݁ ˖ {tags} @willsdollface @bub0nic-plague @izuoyarmin @auggiethecreator @angelsanarchy @s-al-em @that-one-persons-posts @kashmirclam @areuirish @oliviah-25 @bl1ssfulbaby

previous: 10.27 - EXHIBITIONISM!

female!reader x ollie

word count: 1.0k

contents: body worship, praise

ollie was perched on his bed, his adoring gaze glued to you as you stood before him. it was far past midnight, but sleep wasn’t on his agenda for tonight. pale moonlight seeped into the room through the thin curtains, glistening against the white, silky fabric of your little nightgown. you stood there shyly, hands behind your back with your legs crossed as he drooled over your perfect figure.

his erect cock conspicuously pressed against his loose blue jeans, but he chose to only focus on you. his eyes travelled up your body slowly, stopping at your thighs, hips, waist and chest before finally landing on your eyes, which were boring into his desperate little soul. his pupils had swallowed his striking blue irises, altogether drinking you in.

you were just a foot away from him, but you just seemed so ethereal with beauty that couldn’t be grasped that he felt as if he was worlds away from you. you were effortlessly alluring, drawing him in with every breath you took. ollie lifted a hand slightly before stopping himself, reconsidering his action.

you looked so fragile and delicate, an angelic aura radiating off of you. it was as if his bare hands shouldn’t be able to have the privilege to touch you. his fantasies drifted as his gaze deepened, him imagining your soft, perfect lips around his aching shaft. you slowly closed the gap between you two, gently sinking down to his lap, keeping your toned legs on either side of him.

his breath hitched as his fingertips came into contact with your bare thigh, your soft skin bringing him back to reality while simultaneously taking him even further away from it. his stare fell down to your parted legs, seeing the way the thin cloth around your body left just enough of you hidden for the imagination.

the gown teasingly crawled higher up. he gently placed his hands onto each one, massaging soft circles onto your skin with his thumbs. he looked up at your face, instantly sending a rush of blood right to his flushed cheeks. the sombre lighting in the room highlighted all your perfect features.

your smooth skin was dusted with the pale glimmer of the moonlight. your long eyelashes framed your tantalizing eyes, the hairs casting shadows underneath them. his soul had left his body, causing him to feel a high that he hadn’t known he’d been craving his whole life. you snaked your elegant fingers to his defined biceps, caressing his soft skin.

your gentle touch seemed to snap him out of his compulsive gaze, a lovesick grin tugging at his lips. he brought his lips to your ear, his words sounding as smooth as honey. “you’re so perfect.” he paused for a moment. “no. that word seems too platitude to describe you. i don’t believe there’s any word strong enough to describe how you make me feel.”

his hands began to travel underneath the fabric, him being able to feel your body without the interruption of underwear in his way. you brought your hands down to the rim of the nightgown, slowly pulling it off your body. you slipped it off, tossing the lifeless mass of silk to the ground as he gawked at you.

he writhed slightly, the burning sensation in his core growing at a rapid pace. there you were, in your simplest form but somehow making his mind come up with concepts that he had never imagined before. for all he was concerned, you were a goddess.

his eyes moved down to your breasts, each one mirroring the other with every precise curve. your hard nipples stuck out, signalling your neediness. he looked at your waist, moving down to your hips where your bodies were connected. his arms slithered around your waist, him burying his face into your chest, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

soft, barely audible moans slipped from your mouth. each noise that you made seemed to make his addiction to you grow even stronger. he peppered kisses all over your neck, the sloppiness of them moving down to your collarbone and chest. he muttered tiny little praises as his curious lips wandered up and down your chest.

“you are absolutely heavenly…” he gently flipped you around, setting you comfortably on your back as he sat in between your parted legs, his kisses moving to your thighs. he gave each one a gentle squeeze, the softness of them granting his body with sensations that couldn’t be captured with words.

being around you filled him with such euphoria. it was an ecstatic feeling that nothing else could ever come close to. he deeply kissed your legs, allowing his hands to roam the masterpiece that was your body. he was still reeling over the fact that he had you all to himself right now. that truly was a blessing.

he had become so drunk on your presence that he was completely oblivious to the way his hips bucked into the mattress, desperate for even the smallest amount of pleasure. though you couldn’t make out the little things he said, you could feel the depth that his words carried. “you must’ve been sculpted by the gods…”

he feasted on your soft skin, his pecks leaving tiny marks in his tracks. “i want to be with you forever. ‘til death do us part, my dear…” he seemed so content with just being with you at this moment. he was overwhelmed with the abundance of your perfection.

he felt greedy for thinking of fucking you. having sex with you was a concept too divine for him. he recognized it in its purest form, truly understanding it and wanting nothing more than to put you on the altar of his love and respect, putting his heart, soul, mind, body, spirit and every cell in his body into drawing out pure divinity onto you, treating you like the work of art that he made you out to be.

author's note: one more fic to go! thank you all so so much for all the love and support and helping me get to 500!

#rory culkin #rory culkin smut #ollie sway #the song of sway lake #body worship #kinktober #halloween #october #grunge #lana del rey #444rockstargf

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cowgurrrl · 11 months

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Can we get more LFTL dad Joel content? I love this series and you’re such a great writer!

Thank you for your sweet words!! I love some LFTL dad!joel content!! This ended up being more family fluff but it still works!

Love's Gonna Live Here

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: The story of the Museum Day [1.1k]

Warnings: a little bit of grief but mostly fluff

Ever since Joel took Ellie to the museum for her birthday, she's wanted to go back every year. It's a relatively easy journey, and it's gotten easier as you pass through more and more times. At first, it was just you, Ellie, and Joel. Then it was you three, Tommy, Maria, and Camille. Then it was the six of you plus Charlie. Then Dina, Jesse, and JJ started tagging along too. Soon enough, you had a pretty big group going to the museum regularly. Dina and Maria even conspired to set up field trips through the elementary school. Joel was hesitant initially, but once word got out, keeping it under wraps was impossible. Before the first field trip, you and your little family went out to clean things up. Tear down old boards, sweep away leaves and dust, and even organize whatever dinosaur pamphlets were left.

After that first time, it became an annual event. Joel would lead the way, knowing the forest like the back of his hand, and Ellie, after saying she could never be a teacher, would go on tangents about space exploration and evolution to the next generation of students. The museum got a little cleaner every year, and things got a little more normal. You never ran into Infected or Raiders, and if you did, you had the mayor of Jackson and the Millers to keep you safe. It's a win for everyone. Ellie gets to share her knowledge and excitement, you and Joel get to get out of Jackson, and Charlie gets to learn new things. You also like to think the scientists and astronauts who did all that work are happy to know people are still learning about them even after the apocalypse.

This year is the first year Charlie's class gets to go on the field trip. She's ecstatic, telling everyone that her mommy, daddy, and Bellie will take them "to the stars," as Ellie told Charlie years ago. Dina, Jesse, and JJ come along too. JJ is finally growing out of the chubby toddler stage and more into an actual kid. It's scary to see how much he looks like Jesse but acts like Ellie, but you love watching him and Charlie interact.

As you walk to the museum, Joel takes turns carrying Charlie and JJ on his shoulders, pointing out different types of plants, and telling the kids how to look out for poison ivy. He tells them stories of what life was like before. He talks about cities like New York and Chicago and explains how cars work. At one point, you swear you can pinpoint the dreaminess in his voice as he talks about coffee. He talks about Sarah, too. He tells the kids about how she would scamper up big rocks and give him shit for wanting to go on hikes and things like that. She would be in her forties if she were alive today. Jane would be in her thirties. Still, you both imagine them as the fourteen and ten-year-olds they'll always be. You have nothing else to go on.

When you get to the museum, Ellie holds JJ and Charlie's hands as they walk through the exhibits. Ellie goes on and on about what year we went to space, what animal was the first to be in orbit, and the order of the planets. You and Joel hang back, letting the parents and kids follow Ellie. This is your favorite part: watching Ellie be herself. She cracks jokes, answers questions, and doesn't hesitate to get down on their level if needed. She's a natural. Dina watches Ellie, too, adoration and love so clearly shining in her eyes. You wonder if that's how Joel looks at you when you're not looking.

"What're you thinkin' bout?" Joel asks, bumping you with his shoulder, and you shrug.

"Thinking bout our girls."

"Which ones?"

"All of 'em." You say, and he smiles. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close, kissing your temple. You follow Ellie's lead through the museum and watch Charlie get excited as she listens to her big sister. As she makes it up to the dinosaur skeletons, Ellie looks at Joel knowingly and pulls a familiar brown hat out of her bag. You laugh as she throws it and perfectly lands it on the dinosaur's head. All the kids roar with laughter, but Ellie is looking at Joel.

"He's wearing a little hat!" Charlie exclaims, and Ellie smiles.

"Yeah, he is," Ellie says. Joel sniffles next to you, and you rub his back as he tries not to cry. All the kids get a turn in the spaceship, flicking the different buttons and pretending to blast off. You remember when Ellie did that for the first time. She was so little. Now, she's holding a kid on her hip and Dina's hand. She's a grown woman.

As the day wears on, Maria and Tommy start taking people back to town, but you, Joel, Ellie, and Charlie stay. You sit in the middle of the museum, watching the clouds pass through the skylight. Charlie sits in Ellie's lap, and Joel has an arm around her shoulder. You wish you had a camera to take a picture of how peaceful they look. Instead, you commit the image to memory and sit with them.

"I had fun with you today, Bellie," Charlie says, looking up at Ellie, and Ellie raises her eyebrows.

"Yeah?" She asks, and Charlie nods. "I had fun with you, too, kiddo."

"How old were you when you came here for the first time?" Charlie asks, and Ellie meets Joel's eyes over her head.

"Sixteen. Mom and Dad brought me here before you were born."

"That was a long time ago," Charlie says candidly, and Ellie laughs.

"Yeah, it was," Ellie agrees, kissing the top of Charlie's head. "You know, Dad pushed me in the river while we were on our way here the first time."

"Really?" Charlie asks with big eyes, looking between her and Joel, and you smile. Ellie nods with big, animated eyes.

"And you know what?"

"What?"

"I couldn't even swim."

"Daddy!" Charlie scolds Joel. "Bellie could've drowned!"

"You're right, Charlie Girl. I could've drowned."

"You weren't gonna drown!" Joel defends himself, and Ellie hums. "I was helpin' you build your confidence in the water."

"Mommy!" Charlie turns her attention to you. "Why didn't you stop Daddy from pushing Ellie?"

"Mommy was pregnant and shouldn't have even been on that trip!"

"That's true. You probably shouldn't have." Ellie says, and you laugh. The four of you settle against each other, sleepily watching the clouds move and the sky turn orange. The girls are tucked under one of Joel's arms, and you're tucked under the other, a heap of love and warmth. At one point, Joel kisses Ellie's temple and squeezes her shoulders. Then, so quiet you almost miss it, he says, "You did great today, kiddo." Ellie looks up at him, Charlie resting against her chest, and smiles sleepily.

"Thanks, Dad."

#look for the light #tlou fluff #the last of us fluff #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel and ellie #the last of us x reader #joel miller fic #dad!joel miller

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sugar-petals · 2 years

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sub!𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜 🌹║ 𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠 𝚊𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝

↳ smut A-Z / 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓

【ＧＥＮＲＥ】› smut/angst/fluff + monaco gp au

【 ♥ pairing.】charles x reader

words. 🍒 16k — bc 16 is a good number :)

WARNINGS/TAGS. ⚠️ 18+ (mdni), pwp, sub charles oh là là, bondage, femdom + vanilla dynamics, face sitting, suits kink, protected sex, pegging, anal play, masochism, oral, multiple sex partners mention, alcohol mention, French language kink who knew

↳ [ // 🍓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. ] i like my alphabets long with feelings and sub plots: pun intended 😂 you’ll find parts that are romantic, sad & horny, the rest is fun, now let’s get into it. 🍌

posted: july 7, 2022

【 read it on AO3 】

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

One of the best parts of sex, he’s one sucker for you. Charles loves getting aftercare so much, ending up lost in your eyes because he can’t help it. Jeez, his cuddliness. And god, he smells so good. Charles is blushy, and he’s and clingy, and he talks so much. Face buried in your hoodie kind of affectionate. It always has you wondering, why does Charles love me so much, why does he act this way, like a literal puppy. But he just likes being looked after this way after he satisfied you. Behind all those layers of ambition and stress, there is only needy and dependent Charles left — he won’t lie about it.

In contrast to him, you keep it efficient. And relatively short, never exceeding 20 minutes, but it’s oh so vital. Less is more sometimes. A glass of water for Charles and he feels refreshed: „Merci beaucoup, mon rêve.“ — he calls you `my dream´ very often. A little lotion on his back and legs is just as quick, and he’s ready to sleep. Lighting some incense, candles, or bringing him a big cup of tea. Putting on a vintage movie on a beamer and just embracing to snuggle, barely listening to the dialogue in the background since you turned down the volume deliberately. If you denied your darling pillow prince his orgasm earlier, you will gently suck him off now, sloppy enough for little bubbles to start forming around your lips. You make sure your favorite blue-white cotton duvet is within reach just like towels. Gotta stay warm and covered afterwards.

On other days, you like to go the extra mile. You switch on the big red popcorn machine or make some light pink cotton candy. Cherry flavored, of course. His mom always gifts him these fancy kitchen machines for fun, but she’s right: More delicious things for Charles. His secret sweet tooth is actually adorable. Ferrari’s dietician comes for Charles, but not for you, so this is the ultimate loophole. Charles and his cotton candy have become inseparable. He just loves to pull those fuzzy strings out of the `main cloud´ as he calls it. Or, laughs his ass off when his lashes get caught in it. They’re so long, how can he blame `em.

Dose of head pats, lots of water chugging — no coffee, rule of the house. As a wise British prophet (King Lewis the 44th) once said: Coffee is disgusting! You’re keeping it healthy, Charles he wants to sleep tight in your arms later, after all. Instead, sweat wiping. Forehead kisses. Snack bars. Charles needs a quick fix here and there. But he’s very relieved of some heavy stress, and very smiley. You feel content and proud, but usually not with a weight off your shoulders since there was hardly any to begin with. You’re with Charles, your everything. Your angel and treasure, and your beauty. Just looking at his friendly face once can suffice to destress for three days in a row. If you do the math: Looking at him ten times equals one month without tribulations. That’s the energy.

What’s absolutely expected: He appreciates your idea to run a bath after sex recently. This man might as well live in the tub permanently. „Grown any gills yet?“ — a frequent favorite quip of yours. Maybe he should pin wheels to the whole thing, paint it red, and roll up at the starting grid with this next-generation Ferrari. Nickname: The Merman of Maranello. Nothing else on but some yellow trunks and shiny designer shades. He’s gonna win a Championship with that in no time. New Ferrari Masterplan unlocked: Charles drives his bathtub to P1. But anyway, we digress. Aftercare.

Charles loves to be bathed and lathered in jasmine shampoo. You like to shave him when he’s covered in foam like that. His axilla, chest, or neck, just because the sound is satisfying and Charles enjoys this type of personal attention. Aftercare with Charles Leclerc can turn anyone into a soft domme or service top. You take your extra time to towel him down bit by bit, and make him feel luxurious in a way that even his salary can’t. You will admit to Charles that you like to pamper him, and that makes him give you a very sheepish look. Is he flustered? Yes, he is.

Aftercare is filled with conversation. You know how he can suddenly talk like a waterfall, lots of exclamations and dramatique expressions? That’s exactly the atmosphere. Free-flowing chats. Charles talks about himself in 3rd person pretty often, which is cute. Little spoon all the way, too, this guy is like a human kitten. Likes to suck on your fingers with a cheeky, blissed-out expression. It’s a go-to favorite to calm himself a little and to have his lips busy on you. Definitely an aftercare hugger rather than a direct kisser. He wants to breathe deeply now. And be softly tickled, it’s perfect to make him laugh. The sweet bun, no wonder his name rhymes with éclair.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

As far as you observed him at the bathroom sink, Charles is super into his hair recently. He’s trying out new products, often things you bought him as a casual gift to spoil your honey boy. It’s the personalized things that make Charles feel special to you. Since last month, he talks about how much shine and definition he can achieve. The helmet ruins his whole effort in one go, but he’s trying. Even consulting his barber on it. Always learning from the professionals.

As for his body as a whole. He’s still not admitting to his height, but at one point you said, silence bottom. You look good. You look nice. You’re a cutie pie. Head to toe. The whole world likes you. And you’re serious, because the entirety of your boyfriend is more important than whether he towers over you or not. He’s compact and huggable, what’s not to like. He got everything to hold on to, the arms, the shoulders. Even his pecs are growing nowadays, those tight white shirts look damn good on him. Wet t-shirt contest when? Father, son, and the house of Ferrari: That sight would be mindblowing.

People think his appeal is mysterious. To you, Charles’ handsomeness can be explained in simple terms. Everything about him is pleasant. That photogenic masterpiece, look at him. The Orlando Bloom of Formula 1. Any angle does him good. His way of coming across, his speaking, his gaze, his humor, his smile. All pleasant. Nothing upsets the ear, the eye. He is polite, he is pretty, with the exact amount of being gorgeously sexy on top. His face is banging, his body is shapely, what more does anyone need. That he’s often a little confused without even intending to just adds to his overall charm.

Being good with people is the cherry on top. Charles having a hundred social graces and winning people over with a simple „could you please repeat the question, sorry“ — I mean come on. The thing is. If you put him next to a Men’s Health magazine cover, he probably won’t meet whatever white guy beauty standards of the time, in whatever circles, whatever trend it is now. He’s not carrying around a 10-pack, he’s not a 6’3 spaghetti noodle, and doesn’t crank out an itty bitty waist either. Your man’s neck looks like he got it from a different person. And yet— Charles is the ultimate magnet. What is it?

Oh honey… it’s the demeanor. People so crucially forget his ways of expression factoring in. Charles’ body language. Why does nobody ever mention that. It’s very readable. That makes someone so easy to approach and like. You love his mannerisms and point them out often. Charles is always surprised he’s even doing these things. This guy even shifts from one foot to the other like he’s dancing 24/7, so. Even more attractiveness points.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Plays with it using the tips of his godly fingers when he gets you off in the evening — “Oh my god. You’re incredibly wet.” His job is all about working with his hands all day, every day, after all, finding the right buttons. So, Charles got that down, rest assured.

Loves the sounds, loves to make you cum slowly but surely, calling you oh mon amour while doing so. Prepare for his hooded bedroom eyes and him licking off his fingers like it’s icing. His hand coordination… it’s criminally insane what this guy can do with your clit. I believe it’s magic. Charles is an epicure but also a loverboy, he does all of this without expecting you to do anything in return. Just lean back and enjoy.

Meanwhile. Brace yourself, Monsieur. You have some other plans when the mood is right. Charles is definitely up against a caliber here. Your latest fantasy is ruining one of his ultra-expensive Italian suits with some crazy debauchery. Jacking him off in all directions, no mercy. And squatting down naked on top of a very clothed him, Charles wearing a silky blindfold for good measure. His suits make you turned-on beyond all reason. It’s custom, the cut clings to his million-dollar body like satin. The material of his clothing somehow gets drenched in your spit and drool as well — I wonder how that could happen.

To make it worse, you deliciously eat slices of watermelon while sitting on his face. Choking him out by pulling at his black tie, all without a care in the world where the melon juice will drip and dry. Feeding him with another slice is step two, just to see it all flow down his cheeks and chin. Charles can clearly feel his collar being soaked, but there’s only so much he can do. The blindfold is perfect because not only deprives it Charles from knowing what you do, but it also makes for a good reaction face once he sees the result.

Yeah, I know. This poor `innocent´ guy getting a full 69 treatment. Although you have to say, Charles is definitely rising up to a challenge here. Who of these other drivers currently has his face full of pussy, does breath play level expert, gets waterboarded by a sticky summer fruit, and tries not to cum from getting his dick French kissed and drooled across. Sounds fun, but from a sub’s perspective, that’s actually demanding. Multi-task legend.

Part of your fantasy is Charles whining about the ruin of said suit until it is born again after a thorough laundry. The next day, as per your text decree, he has to wear the whole thing on the paddock. No excuses. Distinctly Italian shoes with laces and glossy coating included, even if it’s not the red carpet. Charles rises to the occasion, he keeps his promise. Time to strut some golden pinstripes down the runway, baby. Wearing a slutty turtleneck underneath the tux, which almost explodes at the seams because his neck just won’t fit. Even Mister classic suits king George Russell will have to pick up his jaw from the concrete when Charles will walk, no, float along.

Jesus is the whole thing fitted. Literally so tight around the ass and shoulders. Gotta raise the fashion morale among the younger drivers and inspire more men to be a suits hoe. And the best thing? You like the fact that he’ll only think about last night while wearing it, constantly checking his body as if the evidence was still there. He concurs you have him beat with outrageous ideas, and managed to successfully corrupt him. Just to be sure, though: His racing suit is off-limits. But yep. The media will go wild and Charles’ beauty will break the F1 Internet. Nobody suspects what happened before the detergent.

d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This cute lil’ mouse really is one of the most toppable drivers on the grid. Yes, I hear the crowd: Besides Mister Norris (Formula 1’s undisputed HSIC — Head Sub In Charge) and Monsieur Gasly. Gotta be precise and honor Charles’ contemporaries. An absolute dark horse sub is none other than Valtteri, but the world is not ready for that discussion yet. Maybe his booty portrait will pave the way among a 30+ audience. In any case. Charles got a certain hard sub flavor to him. That’s right. His luxury twink face and cotton candy antics deceive. He likes a strong grip on him. His dirty secret really is how far he is willing to go to submit.

He’s not as easy as Pierre on his own soft limits. Pierre is more playful and loves a good niche fetish that nobody heard of. Charles, completely different. What on earth is a soft limit! He doesn’t want to put anything on a `try…maybe…´ list. Too tentative. He either goes for it or not. „I can do it“ is a frequent agreement. Aftercare is mellow, but your man definitely has a streak of wanting to be steadfast and likes your topping more abrasive and immediate than not.

Really letting go is his unspoken sexual dream. It’s something every good driver wishes to achieve in their car, so of course, he wants to know how that applies to him in bed. Charles’ secret desire is to be tenacious when he’s in pain. No half-assed domination on your part. The real fucking deal. Red stripes on skin, everything. Charles is the quintessential masochist, you can smell that from across the Shanghai straight. And that straight is long as hell.

Charles has no intent of taking his frustrations out on you. He puts a lot of his stress into neck training, and his stamina, but he would feel bad using his strength to dominate you to the bone and make you writhe. He just can’t. Sure, Charles knows what he wants (…for the most part), but that doesn’t entail hanging you from the ceiling by one ankle. Vice versa, if you talk to him about trying a bondage suspension, however— You might awaken a curiosity. When it comes down to it, he has no qualms.

After thinking about it a lot, you realized there was a convincing reason for his secret. In his life of racing and competing, being steadfast? That’s often impossible for him. Racing is messy, sudden, direct, and fleeting. In bed, Charles can surrender and endure as much as he like. On the one hand, he can prove that he can take it all. On the other hand, he does not have to worry about getting things under his control. Subbing is his unexpected perfect match, even if he might only be half-aware, or not confident enough to go full BDSM at the beginning of your relationship. He still needs and wants to be taught.

One of his dream scenarios is this. Your kitty cat, classy but nasty he is, wants to be groped while he’s playing the piano. The bench is elongated enough for two people. His thighs and crotch are right there. So, while he’s playing you a little piece, Charles’ expression is kind of like „just do something really inappropriate“. And aggressive, not just feather-light. Your hand between his legs, making him go insane through the fabric of his black pants? That fantasy is his eternal cause for morning wood. Likes being groped while driving, too. Neither case needs a handjob to top it off. Charles just wants to feel aroused and then rub his dick against your thighs if possible. Until you get annoyed with the sensation and tell the naughty garçon how he can touch himself. And he can drive with one hand.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

While you were on holiday in a lodge, he conceded something to you in a bittersweet recount of his earlier years in Monaco. Charles hooked up pretty quickly when he was still sleeping around, getting lost in whirlwind emotions. If he had the time, any excitement-promising approach was considered. And: Put to practice fast enough to match the pace of the racing world, if not on the spot. He couldn’t really say no, his vice. If somebody cute asked him kindly, please sleep with me, Charles: He replied where and how.

Charles almost went too far liking to please, offering his body, and his default answer being „so what do you like me to do“. Rather than „what do we like to do together“. He regrets he didn’t decline more often. For a myriad of reasons, Charles has a difficult time telling you that. Sex was taking over his life and didn’t fit into his natural flow. He was careful with his partners, but it was just as lustful as one would expect. That in and of itself didn’t impact him as strongly as the confusion of feelings. And, the fact that he had an easier time saying yes to someone who wanted a ten-minute romp than actually approaching somebody he had a crush on. Small talk, sure. He’s good at it. Offering a hot lap and driving them around track? Sure. But asking that person on a real date? He was terrible.

He’d only manage to drop hints he was throwing a party at best. Charles ended up surrounded by flirty people before he could even spot his crush in the crowd. On to the next circuit after sunrise: The opportunity gone. No number, no nothing. Charles’ trust into his own feelings for somebody corroded time and again that way. There was no event where he could develop his own infatuation or any reciprocity. The people he liked didn’t think they had a chance, and those who liked him wanted fast relief from their obsession, disappointed at how normal, frustrated, or half-hearted he came across.

The vicious cycle continued with distractions and more attractive people that gave him a blitz hormone rush that almost felt like being in love. Some of them — those who essentially invited themselves into his sheets — were really good in bed, which increased the satisfaction and had an addictive shock value. But after getting them off and then himself, in an almost medical and hyperfocused, stoic way, he still went to the bathroom with a deep existential sigh in his mind which he had no idea how to label. It might have been a feeling of being dragged along into something too messy to get out of.

Meanwhile, people who thought themselves less attractive came back for validation and wanted to pry Charles into daddying and husbanding them back and forth. He almost fell for the incentive and toxicity of that power trip he was offered. Which doubled the people on his lap, his fatigue, the let-down, and mistakes while driving. Wanting to try things out harmlessly became a stream of forgotten names which Charles thought was a mutual pity, all done just for the sake of a tiny glimpse of feel-good body motions. Which he could deliver, he was great, which complicated things even more, and gave him nudges to repeat himself.

That irresistible seduction swallowed up countless hobbies and friendships before he even noticed. The hookups went by faster and faster. Charles was no longer cocky, but numb. Which put his already inundated and clueless brain through a blender and confounded him even more. Knowing he had so much responsibility in this cycle was just as stalling. His notorious Achilles’ heel of not being able to do quick problem-shooting was the last straw. What Charles said to you about this will haunt you forever: “When I make a mistake, when I try to fix it, it just becomes a second one.“

All of this results in Charles’ body count easily exceeding the two figures. He feels paralyzing guilt in retrospect, mixed with positive emotions of remembered pleasure, which is an awkward blend. Charles overthinks how he got passed around so much to distract himself from an empty inner space. He cries about his memories on the couch and doesn’t really seem to stop being preoccupied for weeks after he revealed those things to you. That he apologizes for being `used up´ rubs you the wrong way since he has so much love to give. But you get why Charles got himself into these situations. He had always been stunning, and people thought: Sharin’ the joy.

Good for them, and his drive is arguably high, he wanted relief. Charles did get something out of it. He satisfied many people who deserved some Charles Leclerc in their lives, even if it was just for an hour. But still, you can imagine the chaos and heartbreaks. Many people Charles hooked up with gaze at your boyfriend in a peculiar way when passing by and seeing you. Charles can’t look up, even if you have nothing against these persons and they seem to be cool people.

It’s his body, he did what he wanted to do with it. Charles could try himself out as he should have, and he’s the master of fanservice. Truth be told, who wouldn’t like it when their idol was making out with them. Nothing more understandable than the massive collective excitement for Charles Leclerc. Of course you’re flattered he settled with you, and you can build this from the ground up. He protected well, having a baby is quickly done indeed. Last thing he wants to do is spread STIs or race with a toddler at the back of his mind. Who Mommy has to explain to what dad does for a living. Everything but that.

He’s talked a lot about it to you which you think is courageous. You don’t resent Charles having done things like taking two people with him to his hotel every time there was some palpable sensual chemistry. And there was, and it was good to live in the moment. Some dates weren’t draining or disappointing. Who’s mad people had a good time with Charles: That’s a thousand times more preferable than any opposite of that. And no way to wind back the clock — he knows that best. It happened, and he is honest to you about it, risking the whole relationship by doing so.

Your stance is this. If Charles slept around, that’s what he did. Nothing to complicate there. He’s done his thing. A lot of people had a lot of late-night fun, and there were two or three emergency pills. Which gladly turned out fine. He figured all the other safety stuff out, too. He really learned the essentials, but in person, not in a textbook. Charles thinks he’s a dummy, but you disagree. It shows in his way of showing worry and saying the right words, and he knows not to cause someone he slept with physical concerns. That he’s not a wild-ass sadistic zaddy dominant adds to the overall image. He could not slap someone across their face for a hundred million plus.

All that amounts to a pile of experience. What about it? It’s not like Charles is craving eighty people on him every Sunday night. Come on, King Lewis could outdo your boy on any given evening in one of his local vegan gangbangs where the Sir indulges anyone who shows up with a smoothie, Sebastian merch, or a pride flag. With a big cheeky smile, you know it. Charles was more on the other side of the spectrum wanting fewer people involved. Keeping the overview and staying focused on good sensations and at least a little romanticism, which usually failed. Which is why he also wants a monogamous future for himself. A partner he can worship but also eat greasy takeout with, somewhere in an empty American diner at 3 AM looking like you both just survived all ten Biblical plagues.

His experience helps him know what feels good to both partners and what to avoid. But he also has some remaining mental baggage from the exhaustion, the stigma, and rapid socializing. He got fucked half-drunk pretty often which was not a good thing, and he hates that the most. That’s why it’s important to Charles that you’re sober, you’re in control, and he’s glad he has you. His health is checked. He’s well aware what a French Letter is and keeps on using it. Although Charles thinks he is undeserving of a stable relationship regardless of his wish for exactly that, you don’t falter. After a `second mistake´ can always come a right choice.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

By far that’s face to face, lying down on your favored sides. Your leg over his hip. A comfy pillow under your heads. The room nice and warm. Need I say more. Charles enjoys the angle and way of accommodating so much. He can penetrate you while kissing and feel your legs and hug. It’s the position you had your very vanilla first time in, so you keep repeating it for nostalgic value. You love being centimeters short of your lashes touching his, nose next to nose, and seeing his eyebrows arch in pleasure: Priceless. That position is called The Rocker, and it does have a nice rocking motion.

It was — and how else would it be, Charles is a wonderboy — a kind first time. Charles was not a klutz and knew how to arrange his body perfectly. He put a lot of sweat into making this a great starting point. That way of having sex on your sides is actually not so easy from the guy’s perspective, it speaks of Charles’ dexterity even if he is not extremely bendy Yuki-style. You like it because it feels so stable and is close to a regular hug. Charles really did the opposite of walking up to you saying „okay madame, missionary?“. He’s generally open-minded and makes less popular positions feel easy instead of awkward. This particular position is also useful to transition into many others, which is why it’s a bedroom staple.

Charles can make love in any reasonable way, though. You on top of him. Prone, super relaxed. Doggy over the backrest of his sofa. And those are just the classics. He’s not gonna throw you around or put you in a piledriver, and most standing positions are weird to him, but the rest is fair game. There’s no shame he feels in the moment, although he may be shy. Just because he had a lot of partners, doesn’t mean he won’t be bashful. But also don’t forget: Behind those dimples is a lot of resolve. He wants to be flawless. You always look forward to Charles taking the whole thing so damn seriously. You don’t mind him being so accurate. Like anything, it shows his natural will to please and be good rather than not caring at all.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

In a puzzling contrast to his rigid perfectionism, Charles `I sing in the shower´ LeBean is a hilarious goofball incarnate. He’s insane, he’s strange, he can’t stay straight-faced at all, ironically. People are far too distracted by his appearance and Monéygasque attitude. He constantly makes little jokes during foreplay — he once acted like he handed you a toothpaste instead of a lube bottle — and won’t stop randomly squirming or making weird-ass moves. Body language again: He’s his own universe. He can create the greatest atmosphere with that dripping chocolate honey marshmallow strawberry ice cream French, too, even if he said the biggest ever nonsense. It’s a miracle language.

His PDA is just as unconventional. Recently, he gave you a hand kiss and curtsy. Basically on the paddock, where you arrived to work, see him, and bully some team principles as a side quest. You simply got bored once Charles was told to warm up indoors. So there’s that, a nice hand kiss. Charles seems to consider you Monte Carlo royalty, but maybe that’s because he’s such a pretty prince himself. Although, he does not behave like some kind of monarch as soon as the occasion calls for him to be a meme, and that includes right in the act. Charles is the type to verbatim say „oops, I actually came! What happened!“ As always, one of a kind. You’ll never stop laughing with this guy.

He’s so sorry about making all these unintended jokes. He just can’t see the puns cumming, can he. As mentioned earlier, Charles prefers a whole bit of orgasm denial anyway. Tell him he can’t climax until you say so, and he’ll gulp, and stick it out with his teeth clenching. You’re gonna make this man explode harder than the night race fireworks, that shit got nothing on him. You’ll have him a sweaty wreck by the time you’re done with him, he’ll talk in at least two languages at once. Charles’ trilingual lifestyle is a warranty for plenty of verbal mix-ups. „You are so `otte…“ — „Haute? Like haute couture?“ — „No, `ot! Like temperature!“ — „Oh, hot!“

h = hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Trés chic! Charles is a chameleon: Closely trimmed, then all-natural. To give a more orderly impression, he likes to take care of his cleavage and especially the happy trail to give you a nice view in general. That spot’s gotta be smooth. When you lick across his chest, that’s gotta be sleek, too. He experiments with how to groom his pits and puts a scented conditioner on his leg hair in the shower sometimes.

To rave about the obvious: Charles has that lovely and consistent dark hair. Spectacular, amazing, stupendous. That beard awakens something in you. Don’t get me wrong. There are some pretty cool beards on the grid. But Charles has one that is stylish, versatile, fitting, and unobtrusive. It’s complimentary and gives him yet another touch of elegance. He has quite the beauty regimen in the morning. Knows how to tweeze his eyebrows, but doesn’t overdo it in the outer corners.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Charles is so sensual. If not the number one driver on the grid who understands what `erotic´ really means and looks like, next to Monsier Gasly of course. Erotic, that’s giving no discomfort, but a smile. Your first guess was that he might be a bitchy brat who gave his top a dramatic display — I mean he puts the winky face smoochy heart emoji into his captions — but little did you know he’s very focused on your experience and snuggly. Charles needs that downtime. Babe can’t expend all his energy smiling through the pain all day, or distract himself on his phone, can he. Charles has an expected soft side that comes out even more in complete privacy. On an intimacy scale to 10, he’s an 8.

Sure… Charles has a tiny bit of attitude: „That turns you on, doesn’t it?“ Because he knows exactly what you like, and his way of speaking English can make it sound bolder than it is. It will sound way different in French. But his nature as a pleaser who looks for signals in return rather than someone who thrives on one-sided romance does come out pretty quickly. He’s talked to you about those awkward past scenarios of being in that unrequited position, and how that ended up like. Charles is careful looking up to someone although he wants to do that so much, and it’s a huge part of defining intimacy to him. That’s why romance has to feel light and airy to him. He values fooling around rather than classic date nights sometimes, but is also the type to say „You feel amazing“ a lot during sex since he likes to give revering compliments.

His most candid intimate thoughts will only exist in written form: A diary. Yes, Charles will sit down and journal. If he finds time to write stuff into his Ferrari burn book, he will find time to write something in his journal at home or the hotel. Facts. You don’t pester him to show you. Charles can keep secrets or talk about it however he likes. He’d not touch your phone ever, either. Not once. He is more wary than jealous. He figures his mind out by himself and trusts you. One of the things he’s written down and actually dared to put forward in a conversation is that he has a fantasy of you acting more possessive over him. Physically, psychologically. In less of a romantic way. Who knew.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’d never eat his own cum directly. The rest? Free reign. Charles treats his dick like. What to even compare it to. Lando vibrating and squealing and jumping around in his gaming chair. Weird analogy, but you get the idea. He’s going ballistic. Traction control off. Among the whole grid, Charles would win a speed contest. Always masturbates like it’s his first time doing it. Usually on all fours, winding left and right when no one watches, throwing himself around. This guy is fucking desperate, you don’t even know. His post-nut regrets are three times worse than the average guy’s. His wrist hurts while steering later, so Charles will masturbate the most at the beginning of the week. Saturday night? Not a chance.

Since he jacks off like a madman to destress, it makes him even more like a human pressure cooker. Ironically, since he thought it would blow off steam big time. You often have to remind him that he better not detach his dick from himself with all that heavy tugging. Charles realizes that a gentler approach will be better at prolonging his pleasure and finding the right moment for release. „The more deliberate you are, the less regret you’ll feel“ — especially if you get kisses all over your face while doing so. Guided masturbation is his perfect match. „Keep it clean. Only this direction.“ He listens to you since Charles knows you make sense. The more he gets into that, the more he likes that form of indirect domination. Just how much can he arch his back? Come in and find out. Allez, Charles.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

The thing is. Your bébé has not really tried full-on submission beforehand. He’s played around with handcuffs, blindfolds… but never dared to go all the way. And neither was he encouraged, even if he’s really interested in those things. That’s probably why he was bouncing from one hook-up to the other, hoping for something spicier to occur, without actually communicating that, which set him up for being disheartened. Vanilla sex is great, but still far away from his full potential.

Those thighs and ass can handle it, Charles is ready for a whipping. He’s ready for the strap, he’s ready for the slaps, he’s ready for the feathers tracing over his body. Bring on the adrenaline. And oh boy, he’s already among the top 20+ drivers in the world doing adrenaline as a full profession. You gotta hit it out of the park. His fascination with BDSM has a reason: Charles thinks he missed out on exploring his submissive side, like there’s a gap in his sexuality. From your side, it goes much further. From your observation, you have a masochistic diamond on your hands. Still raw, but soon to be sculpted in full.

Pegging as a first step, it’s a wild ride in all meanings of the word. You have to be careful to guide him. Charles is easily sensitive. Paradoxically, he doesn’t want gentle prep. Go big or go home. That goes for strap size, too. Using smaller toys to dilate is simply not his thing. He cleans himself up in the bathroom to get ready, but that’s it. This man is gonna talk nonstop. „Like this? What do I do? Is this okay like that? This feels crazy! But in a good way! What do I do with my hips?! Where do I put my leg? What’s this feeling?“

You have to talk your cherry boy through it like an instruction video. Charles’ ass is twitching like hell, which makes you wonder how on earth did this man not get properly dominated by anyone yet. Well, there’s always a first time, and who knew there was still a way to take his virginity. Like wow. And so abruptly, he just wants you to push it in from behind, no fingers first. Good evening to his prostate. This guy’s eyes will be falling out. He’s never been this touchy-feely.

Charles is going to be stunned out of his mind for hours after. You’ll see reactions he never did before. It hurts a lot, like a lot lot, but… he gets excited from that; his heart beats faster than at the start of a race. Charles had no idea that being split in half was that much of a big deal, and you spanking him as a little treat makes it even better. He’s gonna do a little yelp anytime something happens, and seriously. Sure you’ve heard him gaming, but Charles is a different kind of screamer when you pull his hair. The ultimate stress relief.

If that already keeps him on his toes and gives him an existential crisis (which, to be fair, is his primary mode of living these days), wait until you break out the long gloves. Charles will think you’ve gone insane, but it turns him on. He likes being confronted with extremes as is his driver nature. Oh, to get his face slammed down into a pillow and just getting ravaged, and this time not a piece of plastic. And again: He does not like it tender. Charles has the guts to enter an F1 car, you can rearrange these guts without a worry. No „Mommy mommy please take your time“ — he’s not that kinda sub. His name ain’t Lando. It needs to be at the limit until he can’t take it anymore. Lube is your best friend.

In vanilla, he’s a romantic, but for subbing, this guy is not for the faint of heart. You’re doing those things on Monday, not Friday evening. Maybe Charles doesn’t feel the car bouncing because his ass is already numb. That would explain a lot. You’re leaving is in literal shambles. Just how often have you blown his back out? Charles will avoid soft subbing, he enjoys you being brutal, sometimes a bit too much, in fact.

Sure, you can give it to him strongly. Why not have a little hate sex. You saw how much he likes being choked with his own tie. It’s nice if things get red-hot. But the calm and subtle side is missing, which is why you sometimes just rope him in while on his knees for an hour or two. Believe it or not, for some softer couple time. Bondage is the best and most patient way to explore Charles’ body in full and to develop your rigging skills along the way. This is an art, and pretty red ropes (what else) fit a pretty boy well, don’t they.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

First off. You know the drill. His racing car is taboo. Some… other drivers would pull this. But not your very mannered guy. The garage, same thing. Charles behaves. Come on, that damn car. You wouldn’t squeeze in there either, who are we kidding. Keeping it classy, and if there’s nastiness, it is calculated or just in his head. Like Charles’ fantasy to have sex in the car while competing at Le Mans. He’s insane for this, but he will constrain that idea in his head for obvious safety reasons.

That he likes being pinned against a wall though, that can be arranged. Yuki would be proud of your expert kabedon. And not just the light version. Charles wants to get pushed against the surface ruthlessly, have you ripping at his shirt and collar, and he wants to get scolded. Quite submissive of you, Monsieur Leclerc. Some like it wild.

The superior place though? His yacht has a nice interior. The perfect spot. Superb privacy. It’s not just for sex, though. Charles has an open ear for your thoughts while it’s cuddle time or you’re having pasta there. He’s your bestie, you are giggling about a random Youtube video you’ve seen. Once you go on land, still laughing, you will look crazy to outsiders, but you are free. PS: Has long joined the mile high club with you. That’s been one of the first things you did together and oh boy, was it enjoyable. One of the horniest days in your history as a couple. You’ve done it again a dozen times after.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Would never admit simping over you, even if he’ll often say „Je t’aime“ in broad daylight. But he wears his mirror glasses for a reason. Nobody will notice how often he looks in your direction. Charles is in a precarious mindset about you very often. He knows it could all be over by the dawn of tomorrow, whatever the unforeseen event or split may be. Hoping that the odds are in his favor and in yours, but knowing all the ways of misfortune and endings all too well, Charles often tries to tweak his thoughts to be more shallow when looking at you: But in all cases, he fails. He’s a relationship guy, he can’t help it. He’s turned on by by thinking „I am her boyfriend.“

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Mind games. Someone with zero brain cells. And: Classical music. Or mainstream rap. Those stay off the sex playlist. Either would disturb his creative flow. Being, in essence, either too cheesy and epic, or too much in your face with mumbled punchlines. 90s rap, he would say yes. But with modern music, Charles needs a way more sensual way to color the room with background atmosphere… and puts on cringe tracks that you will promptly roast. Who listens to Vampire Weekend while fucking. It’s not like you’re slamming his taste, you’re just um putting on your own playlist and he’s gonna like it. Easy.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Let’s start with receiving. So. He doesn’t have a desperate preference, but he sure enjoys himself to the rare maximum. Like, really letting go. Which is a feeling Charles does not usually experience without any roadblocks. This man is violently cursed from experiencing pure joy. So naturally, you like to spoil him rotten. Charles is terribly weak for that. He’s a lips enthusiast. And he knows his dick is nice, he’s clean, so he got a nice pastime to offer in return.

What’s in his mind about it? That he has been blessed. When does life ever give this man a break except for a damn blowjob. He feels pathetic and never begs you to do it, but he’s also grateful. Charles is feeling very much alive again. His sexy hands are surely busy on you, too. It’s all big serotonin for Charles. Which is a concept you like. Something simple within ten minutes can paint a relaxed smile on his face. He sleeps like a baby afterward, and probably cooks you breakfast while dancing in the kitchen the morning after.

You do pay attention not to give him pleasure as a `substitute´. It’s not supposed to be a drug. And it can’t obscure the fact that he’s often faced with strife that needs to be overcome directly, by himself. Then again, you do like to comfort him by sucking him off. You can’t help wanting to do it, even if it contradicts your wish for Charles to come home from the circuit with a smile on his lips already. Since a big famous racing team is responsible for either fucking him over and ruining his mood, it’s a little complicated, though.

Whatever you do: Charles considers you an oral sex goddess, and even scorns himself for thinking he falls short vice versa. He works hard to reciprocate. You put dedication into it and really bother with techniques. Hands-free and shallow and deeper and twisting and tongue work and rubbing the sweet spots underneath, everything. It’s the passion that counts the most though, and you have it. Charles can’t like it enough. You can suck his dick until it falls off like a 2020 Mercedes tire. Fuck, does he taste good. Champagne bottles do pop differently when they’re from Monaco.

He likes the more energetic style of fellatio even if he is otherwise quite the sensualist. Some timid licks won’t do here, nor does a languid double-handed twist. He stays true to his endurance motto. And you’re similar to him. You wanna eat him up, you’re eager to see him tremble. Plus, you’re aware he’s a wanted man. You want Charles all for yourself. His moans, his dick, his body, his smiling. Charles asked you to be possessive. This is one of your ways of showing it.

Charles is pretty vocal with his back against any horizontal surface stable enough. He wants both of you to have plenty of cushion support. He typically rests his hands on your shoulders, or loosely palms your hair. What’s interesting to you is that Charles has actually been pretty stingy with blowjobs in his past. This is something special to him. He wants the lips wrapped around his dick to also say loving, encouraging words to him in other situations. Charles wants to deeply like you rather than just wait until you put him in your mouth and he won’t care about the rest. That he’s okay with you giving him head says a lot about what Charles thinks about you.

Saved the best for last: Giving. At first — Charles is actually a bit insecure, but in a way that you can work with. What steps to do? Where to look? How to move? He prefers it when your hands guide his head and put some gentle pressure on it. Teach him all the spots and directions, teach him all your ways. Initially, you wonder why a person who slept with a gazillion people is so not confident with eating you out. But you realize, Charles always needs a little push. He wants to please you the way you want it with an immense exactitude. His mindlessly horny encounters were… less ceremonious, and as you saw, not that heavy on the oral component from both sides.

That stuff was like. Hop on my dick, I give you a hot lap. Let me heat that engine, big finish, chequered flag, let’s kiss, goodnight, it was very good. I’m flying to another continent in two hours, you were amazing. Charles wants a bit more indulgence and deliberation this time, and a more correct technique. Giving head to party girls was like: So here we have Charles Leclerc and his aimless tongue finding random spots, making superficial 8s, and it’s all under time pressure! Going down on a complete stranger and figuring it all out in a minute, and the same applies to a blowjob, that’s just weird as hell. Charles’ opinion is, you have to know what they like in detail.

He regrets not having put more effort and education into it back then. Although, and that’s obvious to you but not him, his former slut life was clearly facilitated by his already far above-average sex talent. But yes: Now he can make up for lost knowledge. Which are more like, mere finishing touches. He’s quite proactive to catch up. And as you know, Sharl is a bit of a social butterfly. After getting advice from the number one sex coach in town, things are wildly different. You’ll hear sentences like „just cum on my face sweetie ♡“ and immediately know it’s the voice of Sir Lewis Hamilton speaking through him. You’re not surprised that Charles asked Lewis out of all people to level up. After all: No surprise, eating pussy is completely vegan. Instead of meat, I eat veggies and y/n — Eurovision fans will get it.

But you also raise a little brow at Charles’ loose lips. He really did kiss and tell there, huh. You’ll make him sign an NDA if he continues to consult people who so happen to frequently chat with Sebastian #TheGossipMan Vettel. Who will then spill the tea at a press conference for the world to hear. Instead of Charles just researching on the plain ole Internet and calling it a day. Your boyfriend apologizes profusely and realizes just how fast this intel could spread. Regardless, you compliment him on his choice of expert and are sure that Lewis will not pass on the information lest he wants his avocado toast stolen.

Instead of learning complicated tongue swirls, Charles has an easier time when you just sit on that Orlando Bloom of Formula 1 face and just ride on. Like properly. On your knees, facing his feet. Charles’ feet are fucking top tier. Did I mention his feet are great? Elegant, beautiful, aesthetic. Like the man himself. And no worries. He preps his beard so you won’t get hurt. Charles is now confronted with your ass doing all the work, but his horse neck can handle it, zero doubts there. In other words: At the beginning, he’s better at being passive than active. Gotta make that mattress squeak. You can drive it home on that glorious face. That will enter his mind permanently, just like what you did to his sexy suit.

But then again, he won’t give up on improving himself. At dinner, Charles has recently confessed to having a lot of sexual fantasies where he sees himself in 3rd person, pleasing you with his tongue like a pro. He thinks it’s a shame his lips aren’t very big and plump, but he does his best, zealously, to stimulate the right spots. Sometimes, you need to urge him to concentrate, he’s really trying and trying everything at once. Charles enjoys the effort to lick you up well. If he loves someone, he likes to figure them out.

„I wish I was a natural“ is his constant motto. He really makes no excuse. No wonder, because you’re so delectable. Your labia are so tasty to suck on, and the dripping wetness in the middle is his undisputed favorite thing. No wonder you are Miss Éclair. People with a bump on their nose simply are the best pussy eaters. Sorry, I make the rules. Charles will ruin his face in the best way possible by swiping his nose base to tip, upwards, making you gasp out loud. Somebody is getting the hang of it. Just imagine feeling his lashes on the insides of your thighs. Lucky you, lucky you. And him doing the thumb-tongue combo. He really goes for the podium in your heart, does he. Instant win.

If you are the goddess of oral, Charles feels very inspired to be the matching god. Standards, baby. You hold him back from pushing himself, but it’s clear he is a gifted student at almost everything, as is typical of him. In other words: Learning curve. Charles has you heated up like the comment section of George’s topless pics when he talks that extra sultry, heavy fucking French. „Mon rêve, how do you feel?“ Goodbye, man. Good fucking bye. Charles will cater to your voice kink until you’ve cum twice in a row. He is really starting to play to his strength these days, keep that guy.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

To be enjoyed with care. Charles’ brain is imploding when the speed picks up, and he’s turning into a messy hoe. Mind that he’s extremely strong by virtue of his job — Charles doesn’t want to hurt you or himself by acting out. He’ll have to hold his body back to match you, but he’s okay with it. Subbing clearly helps with that, too. He’s not at the risk of doing something disproportionate when he’s tied down. Charles can control his physique really well, but he still wants to be safe, fearing his arms could crush or sweep you in a wrong direction by accident. As always, he is paranoid of mistakes. That’s why Charles is comfortable being on the receiving and passive end especially, and will rather use his muscles for simply looking good laying there (hell yeah), and enduring rather than going on to dole something out.

At a certain point, he loses his usual athletic coordination and just closes his eyes. He will peak in no time and cry out loud. A mid-range speed is always the best way to go. Anything that will match a sped-up breathing pattern. Charles thought going steady is not his thing, because he’s a racing driver. But he does feel proven wrong with time and embraces it. Which adds to his sensual style, and that’s fucking hot.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

How does one even find time and inspiration for that. In the high-paced circus shitshow that is Formula 1? Well, easy: Charles has driven the 2020 car. He knows what it’s like to slow down and create his own lane. A little sex on the side, absolutely his thing. Charles is a quickie enthusiast of the highest order. He doesn’t call it quickies, though. He always refers to it as `little fun´.

But it’s more than fun. He could make out with you all day, even if he turns delirious. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, night. For example, he fantasizes about standing behind you at the kitchen counter in the afternoon. With his shorts a little pulled down. You eat together while you’re feeling him from behind. And the whole thing becomes more and more passionate, and, and— The oven goes up in flames.

Charles’ fantasies are always interrupted by an element of demise, added to the fact that he is already terrifyingly booked on weekends and in the factory. Which is why he has a mentality of improvising quickies rather than modeling them after what goes on in his head. His eagerness tends to backfire there. On some days, Charles might not even manage to get out of his own trousers by virtue of his dick situation, fumbling around aimlessly while kissing. Uncoordinated Charles and the helping hand of his domme — a match made in heaven. Admit it: You baby Charles too much and you enjoy it. But really: He needs that bit of extra TLC. And he’s on all fours to repay you, he’s fair.

So. It’s you who’s guiding his hands. Charles hesitating or not knowing how to move sometimes doesn’t mean he wants to safeword. His insecurities don’t root in you. You’re out of that equation. He definitely wants to sleep with his mon amour, out of question. He just needs some minutes to catch up and switch into off-the-paddock mode. It all works best when you indulge his inner romantic rather than fucking like rabid beasts. Being tender and focusing on the waves of pleasure will grant you a much better 15 minutes of little fun in the kitchen — without the oven on. Charles is already hot enough, aye.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s the kind of sub that sees something on the Internet says „Oh my god! Who would do that!“ and proceeds to ask for doing it five minutes later. Jesus fucking Christ, Charles. „But I guess we can try it out!“ is his battle cry. Needless to say: He needs a wise and circumspect partner who at the same time is very open-minded and resolute. It’s a lot to ask, but his best partner is an all-rounder domme. A lady who knows how to lead, but also strokes his cheeks and gives due praise. That way, it works out considering Charles often changes his mind and wants to go more extreme, more immersed. Roleplay, and the like.

There’s a negative side that you noticed, though. Charles infuses a lot of it with personal topics that he normally pushes to the side. He really wants to act and feel like you hate him sometimes, giving him severe punishments, stepping on him a lot more brutally, hitting him in the face hard with no regard to the consequence, and talking to him from behind a callous emotional barrier. In short, really mistreating him.

You’re not 100% okay with that and actually tell him off. You feel like Charles will end up misusing this dynamic without even noticing. To castigate his conscience, to grant himself a proxy to express the buried feeling of being really beaten down. Since his self-hate has terrible effects, he believes someone else hating him could free him of it: But it has to be someone who actually likes him, so that the situation is not real. Roleplaying seems to look like Charles’ coping. You understand the point of relief through a fantasy, but you still don’t agree that his reasoning is healthy or in any way effective for his career.

Even if they appear like immovable mountains, you animate him to rather face those problems outside of bed. He clearly has the zeal, that’s absolutely obvious to you. Charles can’t fix what happened, but he can think about the present day. Getting a sexual punishment won’t really let him move on. Guess why he likes bondage so much: It mirrors his feelings of constriction (alongside the burden of being il predestinato) and gives him the relief of being unbound after a session. Real-life doesn’t unbind him, which is why he keeps wanting to do it in kink, symbolically, and he asks you to do it again and again.

Even if you really enjoy tying him up and roleplaying — these types of Dom/sub play consume enormous time already, and with Charles, it feels like an emergency remedy. You can see where this is going: BDSM ain’t therapy. Especially since he’s a sub who tends to be on the receiving end of some pretty intense practices, you explain to Charles that it’s better to pursue sexuality for physical and spontaneous mental pleasure. Rather than, say to compensate for a larger life crisis that weighs too heavy on him to confront outside of sex. Or so he believes. Easier said than done, but you want to point it out to be sure.

It’s a bitter truth to swallow. And a criticism often unheard of. But it’s part of safe-sane-consensual that a partner will slam the breaks on any deeper issues that creep up. Dominating him should be no all-purpose sugar pill. It should be leisure that so happens to bring some extra dopamine. And if somebody agrees that being light-hearted is a hundred times more beneficial than compensating into a bottomless pit, it’s Charles. Hands down. This guy knows what you’re really talking about. There’s a reason why he thinks back positively to his karting days since that environment was more cheerful, not as serious and quickly punishing as being among the best drivers in the whole world.

He’s gladly aware and won’t deny it, which makes the situation easier. Charles has well observed that he’s not the most unbothered person out there. Somebody who refuses to be conscious of that is simply nerve-wracking to deal with. That mentality can shatter relationships. You are relieved that Charles listens. He asks to think about the concern for a while because he sees the point.

Charles misses a lot of people who took care of him. So, he’s swinging to one extreme of accepting his abandonment by asking his partner to act highly dismissive and degradingly towards him. Or, the other end of the pendulum: Of wanting to be doted on nonstop, reassured he won’t be left alone. You thought about it, and it told you something extremely important. That Charles is largely clueless about balancing his need for an authority figure. He either wants full distance or too much love, all to mitigate his perpetual inner turmoil. It really is what it boils down to. And it must be extremely painful. You understand why he wants a quick fix and can’t find the golden mean.

That’s also the reason why he could and would not attach in his hook-up days. Because these people just wanted good dick from a smoking hot guy (understandable), and then they took off. Abandonment. People showed up for his body, an orgasm, and the brief experience of the famous Charles Leclerc, the celebrity him. And now he’s with you, permanently, and it’s suddenly an elaborate power dynamic where he is the actual submitting party. Being taught discipline, and having somebody stand above him. Do you finally see why Charles is so interested in you now?

It takes a week until he sorts himself out, and you don’t really have sex until then. The breakfast table glances are extremely loaded with thoughts. Charles feels guilty for things digging so deep where you should be having a blast and enjoying life, especially with the amount of money and travel opportunities at his disposal. Coming to terms with his burdens on your sex life and this risk for your connection is already half the path to go, though. He values that you confronted him and want to know what really drives his actions. To Charles, that’s a testament to caring and sincerity.

He returns to sleeping with you after clearly stating that he’ll try his best to focus on being more moderate. Although he also says he’s afraid he can’t eradicate his submissive side, and moreover, and most importantly, he really needs you. You’re taken aback since that’s not really been a question to you. In your eyes, he can take your respect for these things for granted. Charles needing you is okay, and his interest in freaky stuff is okay when it’s done for the right reasons. Wanting to look up to someone is not a bad thing. Nor are you going anywhere anytime soon.

You’re here to chill out on red flamingo floaties in the pool and goof off, and bond in the sheets with your petit beau. And Lord knows who doesn’t love a subby Charles. You just don’t want him to fall into a further downward spiral of loathing, anger, compulsion, or rapid mood swings because of his grief. You’re literally right there for him. Which unburdens him a lot when he hears that from you, although he realizes that it’s a given when he looks at how you behave. And you depend on Charles a lot, too. You want him, badly, you can no longer deny it to yourself.

Charles goes on to promise that he won’t expect you to heal his losses, or give him an excuse to open up solely through kink stuff. As, he puts it like this, some kind of cover-up. While at the same time neglecting your needs and not centering his attention around you. „It was too selfish of me even if I had my reasons. I was drawing too much energy from you. That can’t be justified.“

Knowing that he’s not the only one who likes sweet stuff, Charles frequents a top-class confectioner to get an expensive, personalized chocolate basket as an apology. There are all kinds of treats in there, in fantastical flavors. He buys it not for showing off, but to show you the meaning of wanting you to be satisfied, and reassured. He doesn’t want to use you as therapy, forget your side of the coin, or please himself only, just to alleviate what spins around in his mind as an issue that should not slowly undermine your love life.

His grief is important. But it should not disturb the affection you’re sharing, even make you despise or control each other, or cause wreckage. What he does want is for you to stick around and be his anchor, or someone he can learn from to some extent. That’s what he really desires. Well, at the end of the day, you did teach him something there already, further proving his point. So, you don’t really have to do anything to assure Charles. You’re doing it naturally.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

His abilities: Jawdropping. Charles is very invested in being able to go a lil’ longer than a meek two minutes. Charles is excited, but deliberating. He knows about the common irony that when he doesn’t focus on stamina, and just directs his pleasing to you, stamina is no longer a thing. Seeing a random homo sapiens naked does not send him into a wild frenzy. Charles has seen it all. He feels like that’s a plus, but also an obstacle.

You did notice that he is a bit desensitized, physically. His job is defined by pushing himself beyond all limits. He knows how to show his appreciation for you, but he’s also scarred by his former sex life which was endlessly repetitive. Being stuck in that rut kind of fried his brain, as do the constant fuckups in Ferrari’s racing strategy. Double whammy. There’s a reason why Charles wanted a permanent partner who had a different approach. What Charles dreams of is spicing it up with things he’s not done yet, conversations he’s not had yet, with somebody who’s the clever to match his stupid. Sapiosexual detected. „Ah, it’s like this? You’re a genius!“ — classic Charles phrase directed at you.

What’s not surprising and an advantage: He doesn’t really bother with picture-perfect appearances anymore. Someone being beautiful, extra-groomed and well-formed is amazing to him, but the result of having sex is always the same. Everybody wants a positive feeling out of it. The most otherworldly and rich sex partners he’s had were some of the most stress-laden personalities. Who had, pray tell, uncanny baggage in life and really suffered with no seeming way out. Copy-paste to Charles. Not so wholesome, and a natural relationship slash libido killer.

He’s aware of how jet set attractiveness is hard to create and maintain to begin with. Attractive people with by a thousand bees buzzing around them are just like him. Birds of a feather, a great spark at the beginning, common ground of popularity, but also twice the exact same issues combined. He already considers himself hard to date due to his fame, schedule, and a mountain of horrible things swirling around in his brain. A person who might look extraordinary but has as much pressure as he has? They’d barely hang out or find some opportunity for creating happiness. Dwelling on a deserving mentality, waiting for outside luck, doing chronic complaining, and overwork. Charles knows the drill. Even more detriments to stamina.

Double the extreme beauty in a couple might be common in his circles — doesn’t mean it’s beneficial. The paparazzi would tear the relationship apart, and Charles can’t just do his thing in peace from all the hype and envy. His partner’s looks will wind up irrelevant down the line. Only someone witty gets this guy off his phone, someone outrageous, a bon vivant who provokes him. Not a fellow celebrity who’s just clocking in for two minutes facetime, too busy making themselves presentable, smiling, posing, strutting around, pretending the world is happy and they are sexy, all that rotten phony Instagram delusion.

Chances are they have zero muse for talking passionately about racing or his mental health, and if they do listen for a second, it’s meant to gain approval points. Actually taking Charles’ circumstances to heart is more than just an `understanding´ hum on the phone. Imagine someone having that audacity and then going on to promote their own stuff online. In your words to him: Shrugging off your partner is a fucking insult. You have to get your hands dirty — in private — to really really show what you’re there for. Them. Not just yourself.

Charles doesn’t want to wait three hours until he can cuddle you. Every hair and lash in place, still insecure how you come across? Please no. His lifestyle does not allow for waiting. Everything has to be on the spot, and he wants a partner who has kick-ass swag five thousand. Not someone who caves as soon as Charles is struggling. They have to be strong! An iron will under the surface. He’s not Lewis finding time to fly to every fashion show within a radius of 24.901 miles aka the whole earth, nor a poker-faced Scandinavian driver with indestructible patience. Not to mention that he doesn’t want to peel you out of ten layers of whatever fabrics. Corsetry, tons of jewelry, complicated itchy hairstyles going all over the place and whatnot. Makeup caking in the heat of Bahrain, or sky-high shoes he can’t take you anywhere with for a getaway. Turn-off. Pragmatism is sexy.

PJ and athleisure: Just right. So comfy. And don’t say you’d rather go through all that dolling up forever rather than being in his arms right away. If you’re horny for Charles, you won’t postpone it. Everything else messes with your natural instinct. He gives zero fucks. Only being fresh out of the shower is a good idea, obviously. The same goes for the often sweat-drenched, stressed-out him. No double standards. Charles is a bubble bath hoe anyway, he smells like a rose garden. But yes — the guy’s not as superficial as his origin suggests. Which results in an interesting dynamic.

The psychological `glue´ between people is more impressive to Charles. He’s turned on by a person’s way of acting. He’s well-versed with body stuff. He’s in a contact sport, to understate it. On the other hand, if we’re talking D/s. Since he’s new to submitting, Charles is easily overstimulated. You can tell that he had lots of conventional sex that didn’t really target much of the body as a whole. BDSM, in a lot of disciplines, is a little more distinct and takes into account every nook and cranny. Which Charles is very enticed by. Imagine the effect of a single nipple clamp on this strong-ass Italian stallion.

Body endurance-wise, and that goes for the entire grid: High, of course. This guy’s job is doing a 2-hour Grand Prix almost every other week. Driving front of the grid, at immense speeds, with crazy focus. Steering and talking and drinking and pushing buttons and memorizing the track and racing the Top 10 and adhering (unfortunately) to strategy and… the list just goes on and on. Imagine the chemicals on fire inside this body. What an athlete.

So: Charles has the resilience. Sex is pretty easy on his circulation, it’s not a crazy cardio workout for him. He trains much harder stuff. Don’t mistake his lack of breaking a sweat fast for a lack of feeling, though. You’ll be able to sense it in his touch. I don’t have to tell you he’s courteous and affectionate and the cutest, you already know it. But also remember that Charles is careful to attach himself 100%, and not because he’s a player. This guy can’t even wink properly.

You know the reason why he’s hesitant to confide in somebody. And that his profession is an enormous hazard. He often has no clue whether to go the extra mile feeling-wise or not. If he does, that makes it so much harder to watch the race for you. If you can bring yourself to do that at all, after an especially spectacular night with him. It’s the price to pay. Keeping it lighthearted versus YOLO-ing the whole thing is the bane of your relationship. Charles wants to be emotionally available, but also no let-down or a tragic figure. You tell him, „Charles. That already shows you care so much.“ He’s loving regardless, no matter what he decides. He’s already invested, so why not go all the way and make it a relationship that lives life to the fullest?

Charles, knowing that entire emotional backdrop, gives the whole dynamic a touch of good friendship rather than aiming for Romeo and Juliet. And he doesn’t have to. Charles suffers from the invisible break on his romantic nature that wants to prepare you a candlelight dinner instead of doing an extra track walk. It’s the Sebastian Vettel effect: Either full power on the circuit, or full throttle at home: Choose one. The amount of times he asked another trusted driver about improving his thinking with those things, being vague enough about you but still desperately trying to find a solution, you would not believe it. Pierre has tried everything so Charles would not feel so conflicted.

Your boyfriend talks a lot to you about being in the mood for love and wishing he could pour rose petals to your feet every weekend when you woke up rather than being on the grid. But — if that’s not romantic in and of itself. Charles didn’t realize how words could be enough to tell you what he means. A thought can be priceless, much better than making something reality sometimes. Doesn’t mean a big candlelight dinners won’t take place when the season’s over. You are patient for Charles. That is also important stamina in relationships.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Aside from straps? The absolute minimalist. Not the type to ask being collared and put on a leash like a puppy: That’s Lando and Lewis territory. Charles is pretty reserved, he would not mass buy toys or experiment much. Anything that vibrates? Freaks him out. Your theory is that his phobia has to do with being a driver for Ferrari in particular. When something goes brrrrrrhh he automatically thinks he needs to box box immediately to get his car reconstructed from the ground up mid-race.

And whether that’s toys used on him or yourself, he’d also get a heart attack when the battery starts dying on him and the toy makes irregular noises. You know which ones I mean. As if it’s staggering. His driver mind goes like `Oh my god. The engine! What’s happening?!´ while you are already busy switching batteries like it’s no big deal. Anything that’s too high on the tech component and needs a whole-ass instruction manual makes Charles question his life choices. How would Charles spend his time stretching condoms over a Hitachi. That’s your thing, not the unsuspecting kitty’s. This man is far too traumatized by vibrating noises. So, please spare Charles of the toy mania unless you buy him a nipple pump for fun and plenty of laughter. Nipple stuff is fine. But nothing too fancy.

His blissful ignorance is amazing. He has no idea how a vibrating constriction ring works and what that even is. Charles can tell you what a Hockenheim Ring is, a Hungaro Ring, a Nürburg Ring, and a Red Bull Ring, but some super specific toys? He’s too confused and doesn’t want to find out. This dude has enough electronics to deal with on the regular. Like. Charles thinks anal beads are a home decoration. Okay, he’s not that naïve. But you get the point. In his mind, brrrrrrhh equals red alert.

Obviously, he doesn’t mind if you have your own little collection to masturbate by yourself, it’s just not his cup of tea to use as a couple. He also doesn’t like watching you in a weird way. He’s more likely to offer helping you himself, or he listens to some music in another room, or he’s gaming. He’s not gonna disturb you doing what you like doing. He might enjoy seeing you please yourself with your fingers, just laying there half relaxed half on edge, but even then, he can’t stop stroking your thighs. It’s either no contact or full contact.

In the same vein: Those sexy black harnesses you bought for him to try on make his dorito body tingle in the oddest ways. Tip: Mail them to the Mercedes and McLaren garage instead. It will be highly appreciated. Sir Lewis, Prince George, and Mister Ricciardo will slay the house down on their social media with those. Lando will use them um, privately. Charles, and this is very chic and extra of him, prefers a nice homemade rope harness that’s specifically crafted by you. It’s just more intimate and beautiful because it’s temporary.

You tie it in front of two mirrors so he can see what you do in the back and front, and you always see his face, too. He prefers the more complicated stuff rather than just beginner’s bondage. Shibari is right up his alley. So, if ropes count as toys rather than accessories or tools, then this is it, this is the one. And I mean. This is no surprise. At all. It’s the nature of the sport. Every Formula 1 driver has the strongest safety belts and trains their body with harnesses on strings, you know the ones. That crazy painful G-Force neck and shoulder workout. If that’s not high-end BDSM, I don’t know. The creepy torture machines F1 drivers have in their gyms? Gives any dominatrix a run for her money. And tell me what kind of utensil Charles uses to warm up? A jump rope. Bingo. He has such a thing for that stuff.

Ropes aside. If we’re talking classic masturbation helpers: Charles’ skeptical gaze says miss me with that Jurassic Park stuff. Because that’s what toys look like to him. Would never use even the most basic toy on himself if his life depended on it. He might be curious, but Charles thinks it’s really embarrassing and gross to clean it all up. He doesn’t have time for that. The same goes for using anything on you, he just thinks his hands and thighs do a better job than „creepy dinosaur toes and purple plastic snails“ as he puts it. What on earth does he mean by purple snails, what has he seen? He refuses to elaborate. It’s probably better that way.

Besides, and he is honest here. This sinnamon roll had so much Quali traffic in his early years before he got to the main GP in this relationship — and he notoriously masturbates like a jackhammer, careful Charles don’t hurt yourself — he needed no fleshlight ever. That all amounts to Sharlie being on the fence with toys. Except, and we summarize: For nip stuff and bondage supplies. See the positives: No extra cupboard needed. And: That Charles is not a big tech enthusiast speaks volumes of his confidence to make you climax.

By the way: He thought lube is a lame alibi, while spit or being extremely horny are the answers. Fair enough, you can spit on his dick or in his mouth any day of the week. Essential skill. And you have no problems getting the hots for Charles. We’re talking wetter than Monaco 2022, and it has really been pouring down there. Meanwhile, your approach is the exact opposite. Tops see the whole thing from a different perspective. You would literally bathe in lube with Charles, swim in it, and: Roll out the big bottle on him when his ass is about to get destroyed. He will thank you on his knees and realize the value of a good lubricant. Charles is soon returning from the groceries with new stock.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s always the one who catches your eye by looking so good and tasty. Charles being so pretty and delicious really is a way of teasing. That logic cannot be argued with. But yes. You womanhandle the living shit out of him. Charles walking around with blue balls is the best thing ever. This shit will have him melting down because he tries to control himself so much. Which spurs him into even fiercer masturbation minutes later. You have some very sexy solo videos of him on your phone, with good lighting and sound quality.

Fairness as a whole? You do something good and caring for him, it goes on his mental list to make sure you feel reciprocated on the right occasion. Although he knows some people wouldn’t like that style of relationship, he sees a need for a certain back and forth. If you come home and give him the biggest hug ever, he will come home and give you the best back massage ever on the exact day where you feel tense. It’s not always reciprocating with the same thing, but with what’s appropriate.

I know: He’s the most blatant Libra ever. This man is ruled by Venus, baby. Mutual uplifting, he reveres his lady. Charles always nails the presents for you. As if his face was not the gift already, but that’s beside the point. He also creates proper quality time as often as he can, jet ski dates beloved. And there’s so much more, he never runs out of ideas. Charles’ thought process: „So many things to do with her!“

Amusement park rides at night, food buffets, motorboat cruises for two. Bowling. Pool billiards. Going to a swimming pool with artificial waves (so much fun). Baking you pizza with exquisite ingredients he bought with great care. Going to a top-class barber together. And the like. All presented to you with a wink. Not boring stuff like golfing — ugh — and blah, although he does flex his legs and silhouette there so props to that. If we’re talking fairness, he’s always more than that. Cash can’t buy love, but it can embellish it by making memories when it’s already there. Charles is using his money wisely.

This man rolls out the red carpet under your feet or throws himself into the puddle you walk across — and he is the celebrity. Let that sink in. Charles is fucking humble. Rather than thinking of himself as a walking piggy bank, a reason he won’t disclose is that he’s aware how his good pay when there’s a good reserve and you have that privileged opportunity, needs to be used for the present moment to do what it’s supposed to do. He has an actual reason to consider that there might be nobody who could eat a big pasta plate with you anymore by tomorrow. Carpe diem, baby.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Medium volume. At first. Guy doesn’t even know he can and will go much louder when it comes to… some type of pain play. Before he has to show up in the adjacent hotel rooms to go „Um excusez-moi“, it’s all constricted to your personal estates. So, he screams his lungs out at home for the most part („Oh, my ass—!“), and just breathes really hard everywhere else. Charles is any dom’s wet dream when he gets loud and responsive, and really creative with his expression. Makes you wanna say, good job, baby. He’s such a talker, too. Even mouth gags cannot stop him. And, as before. He is pleasant in every facet, so Charles’ sexy time noises are no different. Especially when he receives praise. Oh my goodness me. The praise kink is real. He will cum in five seconds if the compliment hits right.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the person)

Your first time meeting? How else could it be, just days before a Grand Prix. And which GP? You guessed it. Miami. You got a free paddock pass for being an influencer and bumped into Charles at the fake marina just minutes before Free Practice: In your super skimpy bikini. And then you just made out with him after the race. Party in the city when the heat is on— No I’m just kidding. Of course you met in Monaco.

Alerted by some very strange noise outside, you scooped up this wet poodle of misery with your bare hands. From a random edgy premise at 4 AM, an empty low-rise socialite building you sort of lived next to. He crashed at this place after an unhinged party and really didn’t know why. A hungry as hell Charles floated in the water with swollen eyes, making the pool close to overflow with his tears. He was actually about to open an XXL flask of absinthe he got from a house bar to top it off. Yeah, fuck.

You were like, what’s going on there! You went down, squatted at the pool and said, put this bottle of poison away and come out, you need something to eat, man. Just because you can cleanse a wound with that liquid doesn’t mean it works on your soul. Thank God this house is vacant because I think you’re trespassing. And Charles went „oh mon Dieu I’m such a loser I’m the worst“ and you were like „no you’re just naked in cold water, let’s go upstairs“. And Charles was like „okay“ and reluctantly put the alcohol aside, even he didn’t have an idea where and who he was anymore at that point. Hell, he was already extremely drunk. You gave him your jacket to cover up down below, then helped him climb nothing short of 80 stairs with wet feet.

An XXL American-style deep-frozen pizza with extra pineapple later (to shock his Italian brain back to reality), Charles was rambling and rambling. With a mere towel around his hips, saying „guess I just give up and see what happens“. Eventually collapsing on the table face down, Charles ended up dragged into your bed. 69 kilogram and his legs were still on autopilot, so that was doable. Your couch was nice and comfy so you moved there after checking if you had anything toxic that Charles could drink in your flat while sleepwalking or waking up earlier than you. Just to be sure.

Months later, Charles said he thanks you for „not taking advantage“ of him then and there. It would have been easy to just take off the towel, or just do whatever thing with him. You say man, what the fuck Charles. You were a sobbing mess. This guy has really been surrounded by psychopaths, leeches, betrayers, and manipulators everywhere. Hell, Charles almost forgot his own name from all that crying. He needed a damn shelter, bed, and something warm to drink.

Back there, you felt like Edna Mode from the Incredibles giving her big speech on how to stand up and fight. You wound up driving Charles to the track the next day after getting hangover sushi for lunch. He asked for your number, and you said Charles, I work right here in the paddock. You’ll see me walk around, now eat this chocolate bar and put your chest out walking with pride. He said what, are you a good Samaritan, and you said no I just move some Formula 2 Pirellis around. Now get to work, there’s a title to win! Veni, vidi, vici! And off he goes.

So you just kept on rolling stuff around as always and saw Charles’ helmet turning whenever he passed you. You did wave at each other. Later in the afternoon, you saw the Ferrari team, soulless faces all around, in shambles during a routine stop. You came along and grumbled, why is everything so uncoordinated and untidy here. Step aside horse hoes, I will rearrange your tires, this is a safety hazard. The team said who the hell are you and Charles said wait she’s my friend. Okay so that’s how you’re rolling and rearranging things around for Ferrari, including Charles’ baby step confidence, but it’s not like he didn’t need it. Your logic is simple:

His iconic booty is already racing around at 300 kilometers per hour. In an oddly-shaped circle. He can steppy step on some pedestals and steery steer this little expensive computer wheel. He has sexy balaclava lines, great feet, and nice eyebrows. How could someone not win a championship like that. He just needs a team that can roll the tires correctly at the right point in time, that’s all. Bewildered, the Scuderia tells you mamma mia there is so much more to it, like what about this and that DRS issue and other teams and— but you insist, no folks. Stick to the basics first.

Busted suspension? Who the hell cares, duct tape is a thing, takes a good mechanic three seconds. Charles is just as fast regardless! He doesn’t even need the car, the car needs him. Corroded engine? Duct tape again. Rival teams are acting shady? Nobody cares! Just check if you have enough duct tape with you! Gotta focus on one damn goal! Just let Charles be good-looking and press some buttons and everything will be alright. Blend out the others, he should just be careful not to hurt himself or someone else. Just drive round and round and get tires when you think you need `em. That’s it. The motto has stuck with him since, actually.

Charles qualified third and won on Sunday. Big party, spell break celebrations, everything. He was crying right in front of you again. You agreed to meet for pizza without pineapple the next day. At your’s, because it’s cozier. This time, Charles — without a hangover — brought the pizza along and it was perfectly soppy in the middle, with crisp edges like his jawline, oh duh. Guess who was the happiest man on earth and got a little kiss on the nose goodbye.

Charles stumbled into the new race week a little love drunk which some mechanics noticed, but they were also too busy rolling around the tires the way you told them to. Since Charles suggested you travel to the next GP instead of working in F2, you packed your stuff and did as you always did next Sunday in Baku. Charles followed the exact guidelines and just sat there looking good, steering his Sharliemobile in a circle, the whole shebang, and earned P2. The curse truly was dissolved by the power of pineapple on pizza. It was like a reset for his neurons.

Charles had a new philosophy. Rule #1, if he made a mistake, he just shrugged and pressed another button. On it went, there was always another chance to slay. Rule #2, if somebody wronged him, he was unfazed, too fast to linger. After all, racing was nothing more than a hobby, and he knew what he was doing. The more Scandinavian the approach, the better. Charles didn’t need rehab or new team staff. He needed some Hygge in his life. On track, and with a partner. Ease in his body, ease in his mind.

Five weeks later, Charles asked if you could be his girlfriend because he had one big fat crush on you.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Look at my horse, my horse is amazing. So we’re talking car equipment of the number one Monégasque Megawhore (trademarked). Now this Ferrari doesn’t have an engine failure nor faulty smokin’ breaks, believe me. And I mean. Look at this lil’ freak. His way of walking is the weirdest way of human movement. Charles’ shorts are always sitting suspiciously low. He constantly tweaks and pinches at his racing suit, it’s so painfully tight. Somebody save him.

He’s literally wearing swim trunks that say ICONIC on them, in bright neon so everyone will know and the competition can sashay away. Charles also has to spread his legs sluttishly wide when he sits down not to get super uncomfy. Come on man, pick up some loose trousers and close your legs instead of wearing fabric that holds everything in place and— Oh. Hum, what could that mean. Not one clue. But science tells. How on earth could he have had a rendezvous with every possible single his age if Charles had no one-size-fits-all dick. Seriously. It really has a bit of everything. An enviable universal appeal.

Very slight upward curve, but it’s well-aligned. No slant to the side. Mister Charles Leclerc junior stays off the track limits, baby. A proper tip, but it’s not disturbingly formed. Some sleek thickness to it, but he’s not too heavy nor just — awkwardly flops around. Yikes. Nothing like that here. He’s not really huge, and he’s not really small. Because he’s Charles, he has lied about his inches total, but that doesn’t detract from the fact that he’s nice and meaty the way he is. You’re particular about this, but you like your hand wrapped around him. Charles holds his breath when you do that. He’s just on edge, don’t make fun of him.

He’s not too flexible either, but also not one thrust away from his dick breaking in half. Doesn’t look cut, but he’s also not uncut. Not veiny, but it’s also flushed and light. Yes, I know — It’s still hard to picture it. So let’s just say it looks very good like everything on his man. No big news. You’ll make it clear to him, nothing to be insecure about. After all these phone numbers he got, Charles is still not happy and finds flaws? Damn. To raise his esteem, what do you do? Well, not what has failed to lift his esteem in the past: More sex. Instead, you’re doodling cute NSFW caricatures into his burn book to make him laugh. Laughing is the best medicine. Who knew silly drawings could make him feel better about himself, but it works.

And last but not least. Pubic hair. Of course, as dark as his legendary eyebrows. It’s the Italiano in him, va bene. Even a close shave will not get rid of the shadow underneath the skin. It’s not too messy, not too stubbly. All in all, class act.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Charles is on fire. Boy started wilding topless since the year began. If the season is shit, he can at least be down bad. By the sheer power of languages, Charles has French, Spanish, and Italian style libido combined. He could not keep this up without an equally horny partner. They need to have an obsessive craving for his body. Your guy does not leave the house without condoms. He is ready anytime there is relative privacy, and you are dying to rip his pants down. Charles gets hard pretty fast.

What kills his yearning is a bad day at work, and that has consequences. Seeing Charles struggle has the same effect on you. It doesn’t comfort either of you to just postpone your vexation and replace it with an orgasm. Nor is it a good idea to fuck Charles if his body had to deal with the enormous impact of thudding against a track wall. When he is worn out and depressed, it’s no good to milk him for attention or pleasure. Fatigue is extremely tough to alleviate with sex, whether that be vanilla or not. Charles has no other solution for that than time. You feel for him when he’s retiring the car or missing crucial points. In fact, you cannot comprehend how Charles can bear this inhumane level of constant misfortune and mishandling of his career.

In the same vein, and exactly because Charles cannot stand you looking as ruffled as him, your boyfriend caters to your every need when you have cramps and feel no libido at all. When you feel sick, this stuff is constantly in his head. He thinks, she must feel so uneasy. Or, I hope I wasn’t too loud in the morning making breakfast. Recently, Pierre has given Charles an instructive TED talk on how to mend cramps and body aches. So that advice will be in action, although Charles has to text Pierre to repeat bits and pieces sometimes. „Je suis désolé. My brain is a sieve.“

Charles adds his own touch by cheering you up with his prettiness (very effective) and cuddly body heat, which is the perfect mix. During those days, he seems to be obsessed with peppering your head with countless kisses, and you actually switch positions for once, he big-spoons you. So his hands can go rub rub and say „sorry that you are hurt, mon coeur“. Charles can’t stop kissing and kissing and putting his face in your hair, too. He’s touchier than usual without even being conscious of it, and he doesn’t celebrate a pole for longer than an hour when you’re at a hotel, tucked into bed nauseous.

You didn’t expect him to hurry back to the place you’re staying at, but it’s a pleasant surprise. He brought a ton of your favorite snacks from the groceries. Bébé spent a fucking fortune. Big ass sandwich, pastries, choco cake, muffins, that one ramen that just never fails to taste amazing, tangy cookies, a mango, paprika crisps, brioche, croissants, and strawberries. Express pain killers and pads your size on top. Boom.

Could he be a better boyfriend? Except for the fruit, he can’t eat any of it because of his diet, but he’s happy to see you eat. He admits it… since Charles doesn’t want to cheat his food plan too much, he lives vicariously through you a little there. You can literally pick from the whole store and stock up without going there. Charles, you legend. He’s so nonchalant about it and just goes to order you some tea from the hotel kitchen, serving it like a butler at the bed. You are the queen of Monaco. Charles also calls you a cute little hamster, though. Hamster mom to be exact, and he is hamster papa, fluffy as he is with that hair.

His recent specialty is helping you shower, picture this pup with a big ole sponge asking „is this okay“ every other second. He genuinely helps. Sometimes, it makes your heart sink that Charles extends more endless concern towards your painful days than toward himself, and you do tell him that. Charles realizes that he could inspire himself from the acts of service he does for you because some driver self-care never hurt anyone. It’s okay to eat a little snack for the soul every now and then.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Before sex, he tends to keep himself awake and ready by doing some light exercises. Warms up his muscles, warms up his torso, which gives off a snuggly heat when you make love. His favorite time of the day to have sex is in the evening. After all that hustle and bustle is long faded, he’s slacking off, he’s showered and shaved again. Only so many hours in a race week — Charles can enter the twilight zone in ten minutes after. Until then, you make sure everything’s cleaned up and dressed up and wound down and switched off. It all follows a certain regimen.

Sleep becomes extremely valuable when you’re on the move. You are 24/7 adventurers and travel enthusiasts, dwelling at a new quay every week to watch the water. Charles and you always look for interesting protected places to go. Charles has his arm across your shoulders often because he is just so huggy. You sometimes fall asleep in a different country than where you wake up, the jet lag is real here. Which also means, you don’t just go all night and forget the rest of the day. Resting as a couple is your number one hobby more than you assumed. It's good to chill with your honey to recharge. The best place to sleep is on your bébé’s chest to hear and feel him breathe.

Charles can’t sleep without you laying down on top of him. More often than not, he gets pretty bizarre dreams otherwise. If you can call it dreams. All kinds of unsolicited graphic nightmares, and that’s a far better description, can drive him into a 4 AM scare, and a gut-wrenching discomfort until he rolls over to you, gladly thinking „everything’s fine, everything still there as it always is“. He often plays with your hair in his sleep to calm himself down. You do the same, he tells you, when you’re the one being exhausted. Who can blame ya. Charles Leclerc… Sleeping beauty right there. Caressing each other is a natural antidote to a bad night.

read charles a-z on ao3

✿ FINAL NOTE. ⇢ i just wanted to post something sexy and instead i’ve been writing and crying my heart out 😔 thanks for reading, i hope this hit home and made y’all laugh. look at my horse, my horse is amazing 🙌 reblogs and esp comments always welcome 💞

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thedroneranger · 9 months

Text

The Drone Ranger's Be Kind Rewind ⏪ startrekfangirl2233 Edition!

A rec reblog series dedicated to the fics that we love so much, we've re-read them!

The Be Kind Rewind is back with @startrekfangirl2233! Star! You were so thoughtful in the presentation of your re-reads and so appreciative of the creators—thank you!

While we continue to churn out amazing new content, let's be kind and rewind to some of the OG content we love! And don't forget to reblog when you re-read! Continue to show your comfort fics and favorite creators some love. It helps keep the fresh content coming :)

To keep this going throughout the summer, I'll continue to invite friends—other creators and readers—to share their lists. Stay tuned!

If you're interested in participating in the Be Kind Rewind, message me. The more, the merrier—let's keep this going as long as we can!

If you want to know when a new Rewind drops, join the tag list, and check out previous Rewinds!

fics below the cut (listed in alphabetical order by title)

A Gun Amongst Daggers, Jake Seresin, @desert-fern This fic is amazing! What would you say if I told you that Jake finally met his match? That match is none other than SEALs Team Leader and the most badass bitch of them all, Bear. He's whipped. Whipped, I tell you. It's so refreshing to see Jake's soft side and to see his dynamic with a woman who knows exactly what she wants and how to go get it, too!

Ghost, Jake Seresin, @dakotakazansky Dakota Kazansky has a legacy behind her surname and her dad's blood runs through her veins. It's no surprise then that she ends up flying. On her journey to Top Gun, she meets one Jake. They're instant friends, but what happens when they take the jump from friends to something more?

Hang Your Halo, Jake Seresin, @mayhemmanaged This series is amazing! Secret missions, angst, fluff, smut and more?! Hell yes. Also, Jake and Beckham have one of the best relationships I've ever read!

Is It Working for You? (+ Roo x Baby Girl universe), Bradley Bradshaw, @roosterforme Alright, so next up, I want you all to meet the queen of the Roo-nicorns. Em is a unicorn of an author and a unicorn of a person. Everything she writes is amazing! With Roo and Baby Girl, she creates the richest, most beautiful universe I've ever read.

Landslide, Bradley Bradshaw, @roosterbruiser So if you guys are in the Top Gun fandom at all, then you 100% should read Landslide. Millie is one of the best author's and sweetest people you'll ever interact with. And this story? It'll make you laugh, it'll make you cry, and it will 100% make you want to throttle some people.

Opposites Attract universe, Jake Seresin + assorted daggers, @topguncortez This series is amazing! G covers such a wide array of relationships so beautifully! Whether you read this for Coyote and Val, Jake and Shy!Wifey, Cerberus and Phoenix, or Dragon and Rooster, you will not regret it.

Red, White, and Rooster, Bradley Bradshaw, @cherrycola27 It's politics + the Daggers. But this AU has a sexy President Bradshaw and an equally sexy Vice President Seresin. This fic has its fair share of jaw-dropping, angst-inducing moments, and I loved every minute of this rollercoaster ride. Wise-woman is one of the most powerful female characters, and I adore her.

To-Do List collection, Jake Seresin, @thedroneranger In addition to curating this Be Kind Rewind, Jay is also one of the most amazing writers in this entire fandom. Her entire To-Do List collection is beautiful. Jake and Mrs. Seresin have a relationship that defies the ages and is way too damn sexy to boot. The chemistry these two have with each other? It's electric!

Creator's Own

Sometimes All You Need (A Getaway Car), Jake Seresin Jake's a getaway car driver and the sweetest man in the world in this series. I'm obsessed with him, and it's not just because I wrote him the way he is! 🤭

Tag list and friends: @petcr3 @desert-fern @Sagittarius-Lovewitch @mygyn @sweetwhispersofchaos @horseshoegirl @the-annoying-fan @dingochef @moon42flight @thecitysgraveyard @ereardon @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @galaxy-of-stories @taytaylala12 @malindacath @violyn20 @awildewit @potato-girl99981 @shanimallina87 @blue-aconite @djs8891 @linkpk88 @furiousladyking @daggerspare-standingby @princess76179 @jstarr86 @hecate-steps-on-me @darkheartcherry @soulmates8 @roosters-girl @dempy @roosterisdaddy36 @hangmanscoming @s-u-t @mavrellover91 @chicomonks @averyhotchner

A kind reminder, this is a 18+ blog. While not all stories in the recommendation list are 18+, please respect boundaries and do not interact unless you are 18 years of age or older.

#tgm be kind rewind #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #tgm #top gun #startrekfangirl2233

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Things

u-f-o

gold on my teeth and on my neck

kmsgmc

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