#not going to put this on ao3 bc it is so quick and short but am gonna plop it here!

[prettydeadwriter]

Bolin x Plus Size!Reader

a / n : in this mini HCS it's mainly just how I think he'd be with a plus size / overweight reader !! I'm personally plus size / overweight n thought this would be a sweet little treat for the other bigger people who love this dork

I will say this is kinda all over the place. it's 4:30 am, I'm sleepy and shaky bc of insomnia n this is mainly just some sweet fluff. most is just them in their relationship too :3

Let's be honest this boy will love just about anyone. doesn't matter looks as much as it does personality.

when he first meets you how you hold yourself — whether confident or shy — he takes interest!! this boy bout falls in love with you when you hug him for the first time months into the blooming friendship.

Bolin can understand insecurity. he sometimes feels he isn't enough either so if you're insecure about your chubby body, or your possibly any part of your body that you've deemed 'too big', he's very understanding and suggests talking to him about it.

he really cares, he wants to be there for you like you are for him so when he notices this insecurity he's quick to tell you he's there.

"just so you know, you can always talk to me you know?"

once you feel comfortable telling him about these insecurities — if you have them — he's listening with a caring stare and a hand on yours as he listens so intently. he never forgets what you said and always tries to pay attention to the parts you're insecure about, said parts becoming his absolute favorites when he looks at you.

if you're not insecure he doesn't mind either!!! he loves that you view yourself so well and that it doesn't affect you!! it makes him extremely happy that you're comfortable in your own skin because it means you're not struggling with this specific part. if you struggle occasionally and Bolin learns of this he's quick to come to comfort and remind you how pretty you are.

dates are fun!! he loves park dates but he prefers a nice date at home. don't get him wrong he loves going out to eat, he loves showing you off even more. but having the comfort of sitting on the couch, eating something homemade or takeout, maybe a mover is put on or you're both listening to the radio while cuddling.

Bolin himself , in my opinion , has a bit of a chub on his belly. it's more like muscle that's soft that looks like chub than actual chub/fat but still. he almost giggles if you like to play with his 'chub', even finds it affectionate when you do it and often will give you kisses in return

his favorite activity ever to do is to cook together. personally I don't think he's a great cook, ask him to cook something and it's likely a little burnt but he can boil water!! though seriously he's an ok cook, he's better at being the one to chop things up and let you cook than being the one seasoning or mixing things up.

he loves to hold you from behind with his hands holding your sides softly while he rocks you both side to side as you'd focus on cooking the meal. he'd finished prepping all the ingredients for you a couple moments ago and now continued his routine of cuddling you, rocking side to side like her always did. it was always comforting and a nice way to spend time together.

he loves to be the big spoon with you!! he loves to hold you close and softly pepper the back of your neck in kisses as he focuses on helping you fall right to sleep.

to be continued maybe :3

uhmmm this is kinda short iggg

please like + reblog if you wanna, I appreciate anything that comes my way

this'll be reposted on AO3 once I get an acc since it'll take till april 14th for me to get the invite so ugh,,

otherwise - ask to repost my works , I may be willing to officially repost them myself but yea!!

hope you all enjoyed this, good night 🫶🏻

#bolin x reader #bolin tlok x reader #tlok bolin x reader #tlok bolin #bolin tolk #bolin #bolin x reader headcannons #bolin x reader hcs #bolin hcs #lok bolin x reader #bolin lok x reader #bolin lok #lok bolin #bolin fluff #bolin x chubby reader #chubby reader #gender nuetral reader #bolin x gn!reader #bolin x chubby!reader #bolin x reader fluff #bolin tlok x reader fluff #bolin tlok #tlok bolin fluff #tlok bolin x reader fluff #tlok fluff #lok fluff #x reader fluff #prettydeadwriter

[infinite-orangepeel]

Oh my goodness - I love your writing, I haven’t stopped reading your stuff over the last couple days!!

Absolutely LOVE your new perv!Eddie x camboy!Steve - it’s absolute filth and I’m living for every second of it! The whole “pretty boy is small”, it’s so different and it has me feral, I’m I’m here for it all day and I’m almost sorry. And I know you said mentioned Eddie’s size - but imagine with me for a second this idea…

He’s a ✨big boy✨. Not necessarily long, but he’s thick and he doesn’t realise he’s bigger than average because he’s inexperienced. But then when pretty boy sees it… gets all whiny cause it puts a couple of his toy to shame.

Pretty boy needs two hands to stroke all of him; jaw is aching before he’s swallowed all of him; and the stretch…. The ✨stretch✨!!!!

(Totally understand if this was not your thing, or the direction you were hoping for this fic)

PT. 1 of the camboy!steve/perv!eddie fic on ao3

UM NO NO THIS IS ABSOLUTELY MY THING THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN, I WILL ACCEPT MORE OF YOUR THOUGHTS AT ANY TIME......I'M DROOLING OVER HERE JUST GIVE ME A SECOND 🤤🤤🤤

okay now that i'm more composed *clears throat* let's explore this wonderful idea of yours together :)

(also i'm so glad you said this bc i've had monstercock munson on the brain for a while now so this just really hits the ball out of the park for me)

steve's been doing this camboy gig for a while now.

it's gone pretty well for him--all things considered. he makes a decent living off of it. he likes the attention. he gets to chat with cute strangers.

receiving unwarranted dick pics in his inbox comes with the territory.

he's seen everything under the sun in terms of variation in girth, length, color, cut/uncut, piercings, tattoos, hairy, clean shaven, etc. most arrive with no message at all or something like, 'i'm so hard 4 u.'

when he first started out and was trying to amass a following, he'd respond to every single one (no matter how gross or weird the messages got).

he'd take on the bratty bottom role--that he's since mastered--and numb any part of him that might have been too disgusted to continue. replying with a short and sweet comment like:

'hmm hot, but i've had bigger down my throat.'

'looking good, handsome. do you think you could handle me?'

'i'll cockwarm you until you're crying and calling me 'mommy.' '

however, as time passed and his following grew, steve realized he didn't have to respond to all of his messages if he didn't want to.

each week, he'd scroll through his overflowing inbox, select a handful at random, have a laugh at the desperate behavior occurring on the other side of the screen, and respond with one of his pre-set templated replies before automatically deleting the rest.

that was, until he met eddie munson over a quick video-call and realized keeping his emotions separate from his job was going to be much more challenging than he'd previously anticipated.

it's a friday night. steve finished his stream a few hours ago, got thai food for dinner with his best friend--robin--at their favorite local spot, and is attempting to wind down for the evening.

but, it's no use.

he's horny. his mind is an impure palace of need. his hands trail over his chest and tease the sensitive buds of his nipples while he tries to focus on the netflix documentary he picked at random.

steve's little dick throbs in his silk pajama shorts where he lays beneath the pink sheets, tossing and turning, with only one person on his mind.

his cock's wet between his legs--head slick and dripping down his hairy thigh with all the filthy ideas of what he'd like to do to eddie munson if he ever gets the chance to meet him in person.

he has no idea what eddie's working with physically. he can only imagine what may hide behind the confines of that shredded black denim.

not that steve really cares about the size of eddie's dick. in the grand scheme of things, he likes him and that's plenty. but, it is something he wonders about from time to time. especially recently.

see--steve's thought process goes a little something like this:

if eddie's as small as he is or even smaller, so be it. he'll teach him everything he knows about pleasure, frotting, edging, and more.

if eddie's average, like he claims to be, steve won't mind. average is perfectly fine with him. he'll be easy to swallow down and impress. he'll be easy to ride in a multitude of positions.

from what steve had seen of his personality, he can't exactly imagine eddie being huge.

he's a self-proclaimed loser, halfway through his twenties and still a virgin, wears graphic t-shirts with anime characters on them and has one of those intense gamer-boy headsets.

horneir than he's been in a while, steve rolls onto his stomach and grinds into his bed to try to relieve the tension building at his core.

he grips the sides of his pillow, cutely tucks his chin into the plush softness, and mouths at the fabric while he rolls his hips in grinding circles.

steve loves making out.

he loves making out with cock even more.

mouthing over a cute boy's boxers until he just can't take it anymore and cums in his pants. steve would bet money that he could make eddie cum in his pants that way. he'd pull up his jeans for him after and make him spend the rest of the day walking around town just like that. messy, deplorable, and sticky in all the right places.

steve makes himself cum in under a minute. images of eddie whining and calling him 'mommy' in muffled tones dancing like sugar plums around his delusional head. he soaks through the silk fabric of his pajama shorts and watches as a damp spot blooms in the middle.

he giggles to himself. smiles softly.

wonders if eddie would have any interest in sucking on the soiled material while steve sucks him off...

usually, he'd go right to sleep after one round, but his cock is still aching with curiosity despite orgasming, so he lazily stretches to reach for his laptop and grabs it from the nightstand.

coincidentally, he makes the split second decision to check his inbox before navigating to his favorite porn site 'lovebunny.com.'

he's planning on just clearing out the messages as he usually does, when something catches his eye and his heart skips a beat, runs a marathon, and ends up trapped in his throat where he wants the sender's dick to be asap.

to: prettyboy86

from: ethebanished

sent at 10:53 p.m.

hey steve,

hope ur having a good night.

idk why i'm sending you this. sorry. i've never sent anything like this to anyone before. bc i'm a virgin and i've never had the opportunity, but um. here it is. my dick...if u were interested in seeing it?

it's not much. probably looks small compared to what u normally see. idk. i'm also kinda high rn and my friend gareth is in the next room and he told me not to do this, but i thought maybe u would like it?

excited for ur stream tomorrow. i tried pineapple on pizza last night bc u said it's ur favorite. not bad. i actually rlly liked it.

'night,

eddie m.

attachment: 6edf45lp.jpg

steve's throbbing.

he's got a hand--he only needs one--around the entire length of his cock and he's twisting tightly around the head as he downloads the image to his computer and waits for the file to open.

he's vocal.

he's considerably vocal.

he's tipsy off of a couple glasses of rose from dinner and he's arching his back like he does when he's on camera, but this time it's genuine.

'gonna show mommy your cock, baby?' he moans highly as the image loads and he strokes himself faster, 'that's it. that's a good boy. mommy's pussy wants to milk you dry. drink up all your big boy cum for you. oh--such a good boy for me--you can handle it. deep breaths while i make you feel good, sweet thing. almost there, hold still for mommy-'

a jumble of random pixels becomes a full picture and steve harrington is a mewling, whimpering, slutty mess.

he's fucking his hand, he's rolling his balls between his palms, he's taste testing the last batch of cum that he squirted all over the inside of his tiny pink shorts. he's rubbing it up and down his shaft like lube. shoving some in his ass with two fingers, clenching hard, and closing his eyes so he can pretend eddie munson just finished inside him. pervy little virgin would cum so quick.

the picture is fucking perfect.

eddie's standing in front of--what looks to be--a bathroom mirror. the lighting's shit, but steve can see clearly enough. his red and black checkered pants sit around his upper thighs. unzipped and tugged down--chains dangling. eddie's holding his fat dick in one hand and snapping the photo on his phone with the other.

it's huge. it's practically unreal. wider than any of the toys steve has in his collection. his own hand doesn't fit around it and it's long enough to rest a solid few inches above his belly button. steve's horny brain tells him that the slap it would make against his abdomen would probably be quite loud.

there's a vein running from the underside of his shaft to the tip and the whole thing is dusky pink like his nipples. his balls are round, perky, relatively hairless. there's a thicket of dark hair that starts at his navel and spreads out over his pelvis. his v-line is defined and there's a tattoo steve can't make out on his hip. he's biting his lip and steve can't tell if it's because he's nervous or thinks it's sexy, but it's working for him either way.

it's everything he could have ever wanted.

he's so gone. he's babbling filth and cumming onto his keyboard which is going to be a nightmare to clean up, but who cares? one of his mindless followers will buy him a new one if he complains about it loud enough with a glittery dildo up his ass.

'mommy's never taken cock that big, baby. you're gonna have to be careful, give it to me nice and slow. oh it's so fucking big,' he groans thumbing at his slit like it's a clit, hard and fast, 'mommy's gonna have to keep you away from all the other boys so no one else finds out what a fat cock you have hiding in there. mmm. if only they knew, but i'll never let them because i'm gonna trap you in my pussy and cockwarm you until you promise to be mine.'

when he cums for the final time, he kisses the screen. licks it clean and saves the picture to a folder he has labeled 'work.' the nastiest part of him wants to make it his screensaver, but if eddie ever found out, he'd likely never talk to steve or watch his stream again and he can't risk that.

'you and i are going to have so much fun together,' he says before falling asleep with his laptop on his stomach and eddie munson's cock watching over him like an angel from a very sexy realm.

thanks for reading ! feedback is greatly appreciated so please let me know what you think if you enjoyed this one 🥰

taglist (message me to be added/removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @thered-thread @ilovecupcakesandtea @asbealthgn @jjoesjonas @gay-little-bitch @carlyv @vampireinthesun @mcneen @corroded-coffin-groupie @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @anxiouseds @perseus-notjackson @malachitedevil @shrimply-a-menace @jhrc666 @they-reap-what-we-sow @three-possums-playing-human @lordrrascal @plutoshelm @gleek4twd @arkenstoned @eiddets @stevesbipanic @bestofbucky @pinkdaisies1998 @indiearr @bunnyweasley23 @novelnovella

#marissa's asks #this one is feral #you're welcome ily all so much #steddie #steddie brainrot #perv!steddie #perv!eddie munson #perv!steve harrington #camboy!steve #babygirl steve harrington #the babygirlification of steve harrington #steddie fanfiction #steddie writers #steddie ficlet #steddie modern au #steddie au #steddie fic #steddie fic recs #steve x eddie #eddie x steve

[sugar-petals]

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 💞

© 2017-2022 sugar-petals. all rights reserved. no reposts allowed. all depictions are fictional and for entertainment purposes only.

#charles leclerc #f1 smut #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 #charles leclerc scenario #charles leclerc au #charles leclerc hc #charles leclerc x you #formula 1 scenario #smut a-z #smut alphabet #formula 1 drivers #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc headcanon #f1 headcanon #sub!charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine

[nopeferatu]

Since the play implies that Ennis is still alive in 2013, do you think he ever went into town just to get something and end up seeing a pride march happening? I feel like he'd be trying to hide his jealously at seeing people being so open as disgust, and secretly be wishing him and Jack could have been open like that. And he would probably have seen a couple that reminded him of himself and Jack, just to twist the knife in further. (Also I think he would secretly pick something pride related up, like a tiny flag, something easy to hide and put it on Jack's shirt)

So I got this ask when I was on the plane ride back to the US and my interest was piqued, so I bought the 4hr British Airways internet package just to do some research; turns out that, from what I could find, the pride festivals in the bigger cities of Wyoming are all pretty recent? As in, I think the earliest one I could find started in Casper in 2015, which kind of goes to show you even further the kind of state that Ennis and Jack would have grown up in for the pride festivals in the BIG cities to have started so recently.

Even if he wouldn't have had the chance to see a pride march in 2013, the thought of Ennis existing in the modern day and age is really interesting to me. I think things have gotten to where even in a state as unpopulated as Wyoming queer people are becoming more and more visible, and so if he had to absolutely run to one of the bigger cities for some reason or another, the chances of him coming across a queer couple just living life like normal would be great and growing by the day.

Imagine Ennis wandering around, trying to find such and such shop for such and such thing that Junior needed for her family, when he sees a couple of young guys in their boots and wranglers. They're not doing anything unbecoming, just standing a little bit close, laughing and jostling each other, but not in any way that would set alarm bells off for him—until they lock their hands together and leave to wherever they're going. Maybe share a quick peck on the cheek before they go, dealing the final gut-punch of the day for him.

I'm honestly not sure how comfortable he'd be with the thought of same-gender attracted people like him and Jack being so open, but I do often think about how Ennis would react to seeing an openly gay couple for the first time in his life, maybe in his mid-to-late 40s. I think he wouldn't know what to do with himself. I feel like he'd stare, and he wouldn't be able to catch his staring in time, so he'd try poorly to play it off and keep on walking to wherever he had to be. I think he'd get angry about it, too. At them for flaunting their thing around like it's fine and dandy to do so, at himself for denying Jack for so long, and at the world for changing too late for them to have ever had a chance. Ennis is a very complicated man and so unfortunately I think his disgust at the sight would be real (there's a fic where he and Jack come across hippie boys who he talks shit about bc he doesn't like that they don't have the decency to keep themselves hidden, which is a very Ennis-thing to think, imo) but what is also so very real is his jealousy. He just wishes he could have had that kind of a life with Jack.

Anyways anon, your ask reminds me of another all-time favorite fic of mine, Might Seem Like an Ordinary Night by theswearingkind on ao3. It's a lovely little fic about Ennis reacting to New York legalizing gay marriage in 2013. Give it a read—it's very short but packs such an emotional punch.

#asks #brokeback mountain #ennis del mar #jack twist #still brokeback posting #bc im like a big canon purist i dont know that ennis would ever feel comfy with pride merch either BUT the thought is so cute and sad :c #in some world out there i hope ennis would come to feel comfortable in who he is someday #also i just got back to the us but im not exactly back at my home yet so im making a slow way through all these replies i have to get thru

[stevenose]

worship

kinktober day 10 - body worship (steve x reader) - for @moodring-eyes)

ao3 | masterlist

summary: steve wants you to see yourself the way he sees you.

contains: gender neutral reader; reader with boobs; reader with vagina; shy!reader; body worship; oral; nipple play; some mirror stuff bc u know how it is; steve just trying to make reader feel sexy!!

word count: 3.1k!!!!

minors and ageless blogs dni!!!

===

Steve can’t get enough of you.

He can’t get enough of the way you blush just when he looks at you. The way you smile and laugh at nearly everything he says. How you shake with anticipation when his hand brushes against yours. How your eyes can’t meet his sometimes. He just loves it.

And Steve admires all of you. Every inch, every dip, every pouch, every crevice. Can’t drink the sight of you up enough. Always craves more when you’re wearing shorts and skirts and dresses, when your shirt is tight against you. He could devour you in an instant, if you’d just let him.

But his touches were met with restriction and hesitance. You’d been seeing each other for two months, but physical intimacy wasn’t breached just yet. It’s something he could deal with, could take slow - but god, he really didn’t want to go slow. He wanted to show you how beautiful you were, but you never truly let him. He loves your shyness, but it’s frustrating. Because you’re so stunning, and you don’t even know it.

“Angel,” he coos, hand resting on your thigh as you sit in the passenger seat of his car. “One more kiss. Please?”

You smile and roll your eyes. “You’re very needy, Steve Harrington.” You’re blushing and it makes him blush, too.

“Cmon,” he whispers, scooting in closer to you, the center console blocking him from cradling you. “One more kiss? For my pretty little thing?”

You relent, leaning forward for a quick peck - but Steve’s hand comes up to the back of your neck and he deepens the kiss, giggling the entire time he does. You let him until your heartbeat makes it difficult to breathe, getting too hot from your own blush.

“Steve,” you mumble, pulling away and looking past him, unable to meet his eyes.

He usually loves it, but right now, he can’t stand it.

“I just want to show you,” he says, pouting, rubbing his thumb along the bare skin of your leg.

“Show me what? How horny you are?”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes. “I want to - just - I want to show you how much you mean to me. How pretty you are.”

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. You’re not taking him seriously, hand reaching for the handle of the door to get out and go inside for the night. Steve grabs your hand gently, though, stopping your movements.

“Please.” He’s sporting big puppy dog eyes. “Take me seriously for once. I want you to know how much I like you. How gorgeous you are.”

“You said ‘pretty’ earlier.”

“You’re both. You’re every good thing.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, looking over your shoulder to your apartment. “And how, exactly, will you show me?”

Steve pauses, fingers now drumming against your thigh in anticipation. “I want to prop you up in front of a mirror. I want to explore every single inch of you. I want to find out what tickles and what feels good, what you hate. I want you to see how pretty you are when you’re blushin’ for me. And I want to find out how sexy you look when you come.”

Your eyes become a bit glazed over, because it’s more than you could ever expect to hear from someone like Steve. Someone so beautiful in his own right, and charming. He could have anyone he wants, but he’s chosen you. You’re not in anything established, attempting to take things slow - but his offer, though intimidating, is too hot to refuse.

“Wallet?” you ask.

Steve’s brows furrow. “Did you just hear me?”

“Wallet,” you repeat, holding out your hand.

He’s confused, but pulls it out and puts it in your hand. “Do I need to pay you to screw me?” he jokes nervously.

You fish out a condom and hold it up triumphantly. “Just checking.”

“You could have asked,” he says, smiling and taking his wallet back, letting you keep the condom. “Wanna know something?”

“Sure.”

“I put that in my wallet right before our second date.”

You still, blushing. “Oh, so you’ve been waiting for this?”

“You have no idea.”

Inside on the couch, Steve’s kissing you. Steve’s kissing you more than you’ve ever let him before, and you feel like you’re going to explode. He’s so skilled, and you never even noticed it before, because you never let him practice. His tongue slips in against yours, all slow and gentle, plush lips moving erotically. You feel so silly for how hard you’re panting, sitting in his lap while he really, truly takes his time with you.

“Steve,” you moan when he finally pulls away. Every inch of skin that Steve can see is red. “You’re killin’ me here.”

“Tell me about it,” he muses, gently grinding up against your clothed core. “You taste good.” He leans in to kiss you more and you let him, going slack in his arms when he licks over your bottom lip. You feel so useless, but it’s his fault. And you’re nervous. Letting him kiss you like this was vulnerable enough, but when his hands tug at the hem of your shirt, you freeze up.

“Um,” you whisper. “Can we - let’s keep the shirt on.”

“Okay,” he says, rubbing your back. “Are you okay? We don’t have to do this.”

“I’m cool.” You clear your throat. “It’s just - you’re you. You’re Steve. And you’re so beautiful and you’ve - I just don’t get - I don’t think you understand what you’re getting into.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

You blush and stare past him again, trying to calm down enough to speak. “I’m just some guy. You know? But you’re not. And I don’t know what you think you’re going to find in me, but I think you’ll be disappointed.”

Now Steve’s more determined than ever. “Disappointed? How could I be disappointed? How could I be disappointed when you’re this funny, this smart, this talented? This beautiful? You’re not going to change my mind, sweetheart.”

You shift in his lap at the nickname, trying to ignore how good it feels. “It’s very hard for me to be vulnerable.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Do you think you can be vulnerable with me, angel? We can stop whenever you say the word. But I need to show you so you don’t go another day thinking you’re a disappointment.”

You chew on your lip and look at him - a challenge to do, but you force yourself. You’d rather do this with Steve than anyone else. He’s done nothing but be kind to you, make you feel like a normal person worthy of adoration and attention.

“Fine,” you sigh. “If you’re that obsessed with me.”

“I am.” Steve kisses you again, quick, then pulls back to say, “Just tell me when to stop and if you don’t like something. Alright?”

“Of course,” you breathe. I can’t believe this is happening.

“You got a mirror in your room?”

===

“Have you ever touched yourself?” Steve asks, breath hot against your ear as he stands behind you, making sure your reflection takes up the mirror.

“Yes,” you whisper. It’s hard to talk when he’s touching you like this, hands splaying out over your chest and stomach, reaching between your legs and back up again.

“How do you usually do it?”

You swallow hard. “Um. You know. I just use my fingers. I - I usually just get off with my clit. I’ve never really fingered myself. Maybe a few times.”

Steve’s so hard behind you. “Do you get naked? Leave your clothes on?”

“I take my pants and underwear off.”

“Let’s do that then. That sound good?”

“Sure,” you breathe, parting your legs and letting Steve reach around to unzip your shorts before pulling them down your legs. You’re left in your underwear and it’s equally embarrassing and hot. “Steve.”

“I’m here,” he coos. “God, you’re so beautiful. Look at yourself. See how pretty your thighs are? Just wanna bite them, babe.” His hands reach down to grip them softly and you arch back into him, staring at yourself in the mirror. “Think you can take your underwear off for me?”

“They’re wet,” you squeak.

Steve laughs. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

You nod, and reach for your underwear, slowly pulling them off. You can’t believe he’s seeing your core before seeing your chest. It feels like you skipped a step, but this is much more natural to you than having your top off.

Steve makes a noise behind you - something between a groan and a cough. “So beautiful. You look like a painting. So soft and smooth. Can you turn around for me?”

Gently, you do, still unable to look him in the eyes and instead staring at his sweater. Steve takes a good look at your backside in the mirror and gently places his hands on the flesh, sighing as he does, like he’s waited his entire life for this. “You’re so perfect. So pretty down here.”

“God,” you groan, more in embarrassment than anything else.

“You doing okay?”

You nod, tangling your hands in his shirt. “Now what?”

“Can I see the rest of you?”

With another nod, he spins you back around, facing the mirror again. The way Steve’s looking at you in the reflection gives you confidence, and you remove your shirt, leaving yourself bare for him.

“Holy shit.” Steve’s always been a boobs guy. “Can I touch you?”

“Why not?”

Your smile turns into a moan when Steve’s hands cup them, thumbs running delicately over your raised nipples. “Fuck, they’re so heavy,” he moans, pressing into your backside again. “Bet they taste so good.” His fingers gently twist at them and your legs buckle slightly. You’ve never been touched like this before. Steve ducks his head into the crook of your neck and kisses, making your eyes flutter shut in pleasure.

“Can I taste you?” he whispers. “Been dying to for weeks now.”

“Wh- Where do you want to taste me?”

“Everywhere you’ll let me.”

“Steve,” you moan, holding onto his arms so that you don’t fall down.

“Can I, baby? It’s okay if I can’t. You’re just so beautiful.”

You nod, mouth agape as his fingers continue moving against your nipples. “Yes. Yes, please, Steve.”

He sighs, maneuvering your bodies so that you’re sat in his lap again - though this time, you’re facing the mirror. You can see yourself over Steve’s head as he dips down to suck hickeys into your neck and chest before moving to your breasts, fondling them again. When he takes a nipple into your mouth you moan wildly, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he grits, hips jerking up into yours before continuing to suck and gently bite at you.

“Oh shit. Oh, fuck. Steve.”

He moans into your skin before pulling back, replacing his tongue with his thumb. “You like this, then? Like having your nipples played with?”

You nod, open-mouthed. “Feels so good.”

“Watch yourself for me.”

You’d much rather stare down at Steve, watching his pink lips wrap around your bud - but you do as you’re told, making eye contact with yourself in the mirror. It’s actually hot - your hands tangled in Steve’s hair, back arching at his ministrations. You feel good about yourself, getting more turned on at the image of yourself. You feel Steve’s erection against you and you sigh, starting to grind down to get friction against your clit.

“Your skin tastes incredible,” he breathes, finally pulling back from you. A speck of purple blooms around your nipple. “Can’t wait to taste you in other places.”

“Like where?”

He grinds up into you and smiles when your eyes fall shut. “Like there.”

“Well - I - I’m ready when you are.”

Steve’s arms tighten around your waist and he grins smugly up at you. “Enjoying yourself?”

“You’re very good at this.” Your fingers play with a stray piece of his hair.

“It’s not about what I’m doing, it’s about you. Do you feel beautiful?”

You half shrug, half nod, and Steve yet again rolls his eyes.

“I saw how you were looking at yourself in the mirror, you know.” He helps you up off of his lap and pulls you into his chest once standing. “For the record, I think you look amazing. Absolutely stunning.”

You blush, but you don’t look away or argue. Steve takes it as a win.

“If we want to keep up with the mirror thing, we’re going to have to use a different maneuver.”

“Like what?”

“Like, you sit on my face.”

You hit his chest with the back of your hand. “Steve! No way! I’m not sitting on your face!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” he shushes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “On the bed, then. You okay with me getting between your legs?”

“That’s better than me suffocating you.”

Steve groans, moving you over to the bed. “Believe me, I’d love it.”

Before you can answer, he’s kissing you again. He moves his knee between your legs and you gasp at the feeling of the stiff denim. You grind on him while he kisses you, hands moving down to cup and play with your breasts. He sucks on your tongue and you whine, grabbing his shoulders and trying to pull him down onto you. “I need you,” you whine, throwing your head back and moaning as you continue to get off on his leg.

“Jesus,” he whispers, pulling back to watch your face. “Oh my god. You’re so - holy shit. So good for me. So sexy like that. Lemme taste you, just a sec -”

Steve pulls away to rip his shirt off and you gawk at the sight of his chest. You knew he was hairy, but seeing it is better than you could ever imagine. Steve suppresses his smile as he crawls back on top of you, kissing your forehead and rubbing your nose against his. “Okay if I…?”

“Yeah.” You swallow hard, apprehensive. “But, Steve - I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“I will,” he promises. He blushes slightly and chuckles. “You don’t know how many times I’ve gotten off to the thought of tasting you.”

“Oh. R-really?”

“Really.” Steve takes hold of your hand, bringing your fingers up to his lips to kiss them tenderly. After kissing your pinkie, he puts your hands together. His cock kicks at the sight - his fingers are so much bigger than yours. Yours are so tiny. He knows his fingers can stretch you open so much, pretty pussy wrapped tight around them, your gorgeous face twisted in ecstasy as he opens you up. He has to look away, moving down the bed to settle between your thighs. He’s still blushing. Your pussy is pink and wet and everything he’s ever thought of, dreamed of.

“Steve?”

He finally breaks out of his trance. “Yeah?”

You bite your lip. “Do you like it?”

“Angel,” he purrs, “I love it. Can I kiss it? Please?”

You nod. He can tell you’re still hesitant, so he takes it slow, pressing a gentle kiss to your folds. You gasp above him, lips parted as you watch.

“So beautiful,” he says softly, looking up at you with blown pupils. “Can I taste?”

“Do - do you think you’ll like it?”

“I know I will.”

“Okay. Just - you don’t have -”

He cuts you off, licking a stripe up your folds, parting them with his tongue. His tongue feels hot against you, feels different than anything you’ve ever felt. When it meets your clit, you gasp, grabbing the sheets beside you. Steve groans, circling your sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue before pulling back. A string of arousal connects him to you. “You taste so sweet. Knew you would, baby. How’d that feel?”

“Think - think I might get addicted to that,” you pant. “Are - do you like it?”

Steve shushes you, presses a kiss to your inner thigh. He takes note of the way you jerk - you’re ticklish there. “Ready?”

You nod timidly.

When Steve leans back in, he’s not holding back. He’s still moving slow, but his movements are more assertive. His tongue delves in deeper, flicking over your opening before moving up and wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking. You gasp and buck your hips, so much so that Steve has to wrap his arms around your waist to hold it down. He’s using his nose, too. Nudging it against your clit while he tongue fucks your hole.

“Tastes so good,” he moans. “So soft.”

“Steve,” you cry. “It - oh, God -”

He replaces his tongue with his thumb, rubbing gently over your clit to keep you on the edge. “Wish you could see yourself. God, you’re beautiful. Unreal. And you taste so….” He dives back in before he can even let himself finish. He keeps talking with a mouth full of you, and though you can’t understand him, the vibrations of his voice add to your pleasure. You squeeze your thighs around his head involuntarily.

“Steve - think I’m close -”

Steve’s lips wrap around your clit and he sucks again, forcing a gasp from you. “Fuck! Like that, please don’t stop, please - yes, shit, fuck Steve!”

Steve lets you ride it out, eyes caught on your body the entire time. It’s this moment that he knows he is so, truly fucked. You’re stunning, so gorgeous with red cheeks and messy hair, stomach quaking as you climax. He thinks he really might be falling in love with you. At the very least, seeing you like this, in a moment of beautiful vulnerability and release, gets him close to getting off on his own.

He stops when your ankle kicks lightly into his back. His head moves to the side and he kisses your inner thighs again, alternating between the two and smiling as you twitch. He presses a gentle kiss to your clit again before pulling himself back up on top of you, cradling your cheek in one hand. “How are you, baby?”

You’re still panting, still flushed. “Holy shit,” is all you can say.

“That was everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” he whispers. “You’re so gorgeous.”

And for maybe the first time in such an intimate moment, you’re able to look him directly in the eyes. “Steve. I feel so pretty with you.”

“You should feel pretty without me, too.”

“Think I’m getting there.” You stretch your neck to kiss him sweetly, getting lost in his lips and the taste of yourself.

“Hey,” Steve whispers, resting his forehead against yours again. “Let me hold you.”

Your brows twitch together. “Don’t you want anything?”

“Just you,” he says, kissing your cheek. “Just you.”

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #kinktober #stevenose posts #ns/fw #steve x reader

[starlightkun]

genuine question, how do you write so fast? 😭 i feel like you’re so quick with your works, both writing and putting them out!!

also i found your tumblr on ao3 and i have to say that you are carrying nct fics on ao3. i hope you never stop writing cause i could be 40 and i would still read your stuff 🫶

i think a big thing has been getting out of my head abt writing! like i only write when i want to, i don't stick to word counts (minimums or maximums), and i dont compare myself to other writers (not that i read a whole lot of fic anymore, but there's a few that i still keep up with and one of them churns out fics way faster than i do, and another who posts like maybe two or three times a year but i still love them!) like i've def said this before, but for me, writing fic is fun, it's something i do bc i want to and if i open a word doc and i'm genuinely dreading it, i'm not gonna do it (my adhd brain simply will not make me lol--tho that is a double edged sword bc i do have to chase myself into doing something i like sometimes, but the ritalin has helped a lot xx)

i also dont go into my fics completely clueless anymore. like, i for sure don't know everything, i learn a lot along the way, and tend to change stuff (and get surprised by my own fics, which is always fun!), but i definitely have more of an outline and general sort of sketch of the fic in my brain and in my word doc before i start actually writing real scenes of any sort, which has definitely helped. like, starting with one little idea isn't bad at all (strawberry sunday literally just started w the fact that i liked the title of a song that i hadn't even heard yet and it turned into like 10 fics??), but i dont just start writing head empty anymore (i used to get a tiny spark of inspiration and try to write everything start to finish immediately because i thought i'd lose it if i didn't, and it'd burn really short. now i sort of just sit with it and slowly tend to it like fire instead and it lasts a lot longer and gets a lot bigger). i ruminate a lot before anything that looks remotely like a story leaves my ideas doc and gets its own doc

idk if this necessarily makes me write faster, but i also edit as i write? like, sometimes i open a fic and i don't have anything in me to write, but i'll reread what's in the draft so far and edit, make little changes, fix continuity errors, etc. not only does it keep the whole plot so far fresh in my mind as i continue writing, but then i have a lot less to proof myself when i finally finish the whole thing because i've already caught a lot of spelling, grammatical, and plot errors! i used to find editing a slog to do bc when i finished my first draft i would be so excited and wanted to just post it! and didn't want to reread all this stuff i just wrote several times to try to find typos, and now it's usually a breeze bc my first draft isn't really my first draft, it's been continually revised as it was drafted. and sometimes i open a doc, won't feel like writing, tinker around with some editing, then suddenly have a lightbulb moment while i'm editing and jump into writing

#its been soooo mindset and not fighting how my own brain works for me lol #like this is not my job its supposed to be fun and if its not then i simply will not do it #and i really look forward to coming home and writing fic #i think getting out of academia has helped bc this is what can scratch that itch for me now without burning me out lol #<<< former english major #answered #anonymous #talk #text #mine #fb #writing tag

[waffles-for-brunch]

20 questions for fic writers!

tagged by @lovevamp

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

4. One's an okay oneshot, then I did a fix-it after 15x20, then I lost my mind completely and spent three years on a season 12 rewrite and now I'm back again writing another fix-it. My twilight zone is self-inflicted.

2. what’s your total Ao3 word count?

540,492 (insert kevin james shrugging meme here)

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Just Supernatural. I started writing a fic for Baldur's Gate Bloodweave but then Destiel dragged me back to the dark side. Maybe I'll finish that one eventually.

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

they're not gonna be in order bc I'm just gonna go thru my bookmarks real quick but - "And this, your living kiss" by opal_bullets "On labor" by a_good_soldier (i reread this one twice this week) "The Nanny" by Kitmistry and those are the ones i feel like mentioning. :)

5. do you respond to comments?

Admittedly rarely. Mostly because I'll open my email when I'm getting up in the morning and read them and then work all day and forget to respond. I do appreciate all the comments I get tho. And a lot of the really kind ones I send to my groupchat and/or save in a folder on my email labelled "nice comments" also just sometimes I don't feel like I have anything to say. Like idk sometimes thank you just seems too small or something you know. It's strange. Then I'll just get in my head about it and say nothing and the cycle repeats lmao. But I do read them all.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Dog you know I'm not writing any angst without a happy ending. I can't take that shit lmao. It's happy endings only in this house. Happy and found family and loveliness. :)

7. what is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I literally end everything the same way. Please I have the worst case of projection imaginable with these fics.

8. do you get hate on fics?

If I do I'm unaware. But I'd probably know it if I do, I stalk my own name and fics wherever I can because I'm insane and nosey. But nah the most I've gotten is just people being mad about a certain character's actions, but like that's not even hate it's just frustration with a character which is a given in certain circumstances. Now if someone was like "wow bad characterization" I'd be like girl, but no I think people are pretty respectful in my corners for the most part.

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

Bro let me tell you in "Our Old Heroes" I wrote like a singular sex scene and like maybe one or two other hot and heavy ones and good god did they take me so long to write. Like I'm not a very sex oriented person in general so writing this stuff out? Bro it's embarrassing how much poetry I put into that in retrospect (i jest, it's fine) but like I don't generally orient towards it just because it's very time consuming for me. It has to be very intimate and just right.

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you've written?

So short answer no, I haven't. Longer answer I love the concept and would be open to it. Particularly if it involves Dean being psychoanalyzed in some way because that's my favorite thing to write so it would probably be criminal minds. I think crossovers have so much fun and wonky potential tho.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope someone printed my fic to bring into prison and make a black market hot commodity. It would be the highest honor. I guess that's not theft, it's just the free market. But so I guess really no, if I have I'm unawares.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I'm aware of but I have had people comment in other languages or on twitter people will talk about it in a different language, which is pretty crazy. It's so wild we can be so connected to a story in that way despite not speaking the same language or growing up in the same environment.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

no! but as @lovevamp has said we've talked about a few that I'm certain one day we will follow through on. I've also talked with @icaruspendragon about maybe doing one at some point bc we seem to have the exact same mental illness that is the dean winchester brain disorder.

14. what’s your favorite all time ship?

I live breathe and bleed destiel, it's truly unfortunate for me.

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I just have a lot of ideas in my docs that will probably never become more than the ideas they are. Usually when I start a fic like for real I follow through with it. I would feel bad if I didn't lol.

16. what are your writing strengths?

I've been told my characterization is pretty good, which I appreciate. If it was bad I'd probably kms (jk). But fr idk that's the biggest comment I'll get is in regards to that which I really do like because I spend a lot of time trying to find a balance and make sure I'm expressing everyone the correct way they'd express themselves or not express themselves.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Sex scenes aside I do struggle with action mostly because I find it boring to write out. You just have to try and find so many different words. Ugh. I love dialogue. That's really where I start getting going. But writing action? I tend to do that last because I wanna get through all the good bits first then circle back and do the boring bits.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

listen I can barely remember english i'm sorry

19. first fandom you wrote for?

i'm an og baby i started here (destiel) and this is where i'll die (maybe not, we'll see)

20. favorite fic you’ve written?

Well, I don't really have many so it's probably the massive one. "Our Old Heroes" by adelaclancy (that's me). I was really in a bad place when I started it and I kind of just gave myself this crazy project for several reasons. One I was stopping drinking so I needed something else to do with my time. Second I was jobless and goalless and really didn't have a lot going for me and writing was really the only thing I have ever had consistently so I was like okay well I'll start this stupid project and it's gonna be like 26 chapters and 500,000 words long and it's gonna delve into all my issues through projection of these fictional characters and if I actually manage to finish it I can finally say I finished something. So I did. And I actually managed to work on myself a lot in the process. So over all that time I went from living in bad straights as an unemployed drunkard to a full time worker with a few years sobriety under their belt and a better sense of my own boundaries and thriving friendships and I dunno man, in a way that fic really was a bridge for me and I think in that too for a lot of the readers they get to see that now too. Like they can see my little notes at the beginning of chapters and how they change over time alongside the characters in the book and it's kind of an experience in that way I suppose. If not through Dean Winchester and Castiel then maybe through me, if someone out there finds a little bit of hope from that silly little mess of words then I suppose that's something to be proud of then, isn't it? Anywho...

tagging: @icaruspendragon

(Bro I know like two people sorry)

#there we go #not to get sappy #i'm not a sap i'm a big strong- *gunshots* #destiel #destiel fanfic #supernatural

[eddiebillysteve]

cat and mouse

(( harringroveson prison au ))

chapter seven | find the rest here

pairing | billy hargrove/steve harrington + billy hargrove/eddie munson + billy hargrove/eddie munson/steve harrington

summary | poor stevie finds out what happens when you disobey/piss off billy

a/n | plEASe take notice of warnings for this one because billy is being an asshole lmao feel free to leave me any comments/messages with any thoughts/ideas you may have!! find it on ao3 here !!

warnings | punishments, burns/brandings, violence, possessiveness + billy being controlling and toxic bc he likes to treat his cell mates like his property, ends with a nsfw moment that includes rimming and a quick mention of fisting, dom/sub talk, daddy kink, steve being a gay panicked confused mess (this is a permanent tag), general prison talk, stuff like that !!

tag list | @whoringrove - let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future updates !!

“I told you not to say it,” Eddie hissed to Steve as they made it back to the cell Hargrove and Harrington now shared. It used to be his own little home, but it wasn’t anymore. Now he only ever really visited for quick shags or punishments. “And in front of all those ears. We’re fucked. He’s so pissed.”

“But I didn’t even do anything,” Steve blurted, quickly following along. “Everyone has a name. I don’t understand why he’s so angry about it.”

“Everyone has a name on the outside,” Eddie shut the cell door behind them. “But not in here. Hurry, take your clothes off.”

Eddie, unlike his counterpart, didn’t hesitate to start stripping himself off, the fresh clothes just put on being discarded onto Billy’s top bunk. “When he’s pissed, this is what you do, okay? You strip off and kneel down here. Keep your head down, too. Look at the floor. Don’t look at him when he comes in.” 

“Can you just hang on for a minute?” Steve held his head in his hands, trying to understand what the fuck was happening. It was just a name and they were acting like he’d committed murder.

“No. Because he could be back any second and if we’re not where he wants us to be, we’re double fucked, man.” Once Eddie was completely naked, he reached for Steve, hurriedly trying to yank his clothes off.

“Eddie, stop!” Steve nearly shouted at him, in his face, overwhelmed and freaked out, and Eddie paused for a minute. 

“Steve, I’m trying to help you. You don’t know the way in here. I’m trying to make it easier on you,” Eddie stressed. “I can’t stop. I wish I didn’t have to make you but you’re not giving me much of a choice here.” 

“It’s not your choice to make,” Steve shoved his hands away. “Stop acting like him.” 

Eddie physically flinched at the words, coiling away from him. They hurt. He’d been trying to be kind and gentle to Steve, had been trying to be the person he’d wanted when he’d first arrived, but Steve still thought he was cruel and violent, clearly. “Fine,” his voice was short, and he took a step back before kneeling onto the cold, hard floor. 

Silence followed. Eddie didn’t move, as still as a statue despite the pain in his knees, eyes trained on the floor and waiting. Steve sat on his bottom bunk and kept his head in his hands for awhile before speaking up again. “What’s he going to do?” He asked, but Eddie didn’t reply. His messy hair was hiding his face. “Eddie?” 

“Be quiet. Don’t be caught speaking when he comes in,” he muttered. 

“This whole situation is fucked. You’re scaring me.” 

But Eddie didn’t reply, didn’t say anything else. He was just silent, even when Steve called his name. 

Steve was about to give in and copy him, strip naked and join him on the floor, when the cell door opened. 

“At least one pet knows how to follow my rules,” Billy had his eyes narrowed at Steve as he wandered in, one hand immediately going to Eddie’s hair. He pet over it, touching his face, his cheeks. Eddie was physically relieved; his body relaxed muscles Steve didn’t know he was tensing. 

“We’ve got to talk about this,” Steve tried, standing up from the bunk. “This is insane. You’re acting insane.” 

“Am I?” Billy laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant one. It was scary sounding, maniacal almost. “Eds, baby. Do you think I’m insane?” 

“No, Daddy,” Eddie was trying to nuzzle against his hand. He knew what to do, how to obey, and he’d learned very, very quickly. He’d been falling over himself to obey Billy from the second he’d entered the prison because it meant he’d survive and have protection. Steve had no idea how stupid he was being. 

“See, Stevie. Eddie’s a good boy. Eddie follows my rules. He fucked up by telling you something he shouldn’t have, but I know it was an honest mistake. I can tell. But you? You’re a naughty boy. You’re pushing my fucking patience,” he pulled his hand from Eddie to point at Steve. “You’ve got thirty seconds to get your clothes off and join him on the floor, or you’re going to be very, very sorry if I have to make you.”

Eddie shifted closer to him, wrapping himself around one of Billy’s legs. He clung to it and rubbed his hands up the length of Hargrove’s body, up his legs and to his chest before back down to palm at his cock. He thought maybe it would soften him up, make him feel a little less mad, because Steve was making no move to get nude.

“Tick tock,” Billy taunted, letting out another cruel laugh before looking to Eddie. “My boy, you can get dressed. I want you to go and get Argyle and tell him to bring me the shit I asked for. You’re doing so well.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate to scramble up and onto his feet, quickly pulling his clothes back on and rushing out the door. He didn’t know what it was Billy was wanting, but he assumed he and Argyle had discussed something during the time he and Steve had walked to the room. 

“Now, Sweetheart. I gave you a chance to be punished like one of my pets,” Billy started, getting out a cigarette to light up. “And you chose not to obey. So now I’m going to give you a punishment I’d give any of the other inmates if they so disrespectfully called me something they didn’t have permission to. My pets have lucky privileges, including slacker punishments, but you don’t yet realize who you belong to, so I’ll have to give you a permanent reminder.” 

Argyle wasn’t far. He had already gone to get what Billy had wanted and Eddie had been able to catch up to him just down the hall. He was with someone Eddie didn’t like too much, a dumbass lackey named Tommy that would have kissed the ground Billy walked on despite not being a pet. He was jealous of Eddie for being Billy’s special someone, and now that jealousy would extend out to Steve, too. He was always extra harsh when he got a turn, leaving love bites and bruises without permission and forcing himself inside dry, just as a little added fuck you as if it was Eddie’s fault that he was the one Billy had chosen.

Billy didn’t need to say anything when the others entered his cell. Eddie immediately climbed up to the top bunk to stay out of the way, Argyle handed over whatever it was he had in his hands to Billy, and Tommy immediately moved to pin Steve down and over the bottom bunk. 

Steve let out a shout and fought against him, but it was useless. Tommy was about his size, but much stronger. He worked out at Billy’s side every single day. “Let me go!” Steve cried out, trying to push against the mattress as if he could throw the man off. Tommy snickered, and Billy yanked Steve’s trousers down past his arse. 

“Shut up,” Billy snapped, sending a hard enough slap to his bottom that Steve let out a yelp of pain. He didn’t shut up, though; instead he started babbling on about how he was sorry, about how he’d listen and obey. It was music to Billy’s ears, and he let him go on with his blubbering for a few minutes just to enjoy the sound.

After a second of muttering to Argyle and having a good look at Steve’s bottom that was in the air, he took his trousers and underwear off all the way in one go, only to shove the underwear into Steve’s mouth as a makeshift gag. “I said, shut the fuck up. You may be a little slow at catching on, but you cannot possibly be stupid enough to not understand what I’m saying,” he sneered around his cigarette, shoving the fabric in far enough that Steve gagged on it. 

Steve immediately tried to spit it out, but Argyle had already handed over what they used for binds — torn up sheets. Billy wrapped it tightly around Steve’s mouth, locking the fabric in place by tying the strip behind his head.

How hard he panicked made him feel like he was choking. It felt like the cloth had a vice grip on his throat, cutting off all the air he so desperately needed. 

“Relax, Stevie,” There was cooing in his ear, one of Billy’s hands stroking over his hair. “Calm yourself down before you make yourself black out. Breathe through your nose. Come on, be a good boy. In your nose, out your nose. You can do it.”

There was rustling going on behind him, but Steve couldn’t focus on it. He had to focus on breathing, like Billy was telling him, because he was starting to go light headed and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay conscious while panicking around the gag. 

“That’s right. Good boy. Calm right down,” Billy soothed, rubbing his hand over the part of Steve’s back that Tommy’s wasn’t blocking. “Now, sweetheart. I tried to punish you like one of my pets, did I not? I told you to strip and kneel and wait for me, and you disobeyed me. People do not disobey me, especially not someone that belongs to me. I hope whenever you feel the urge to say something you’re not allowed to, you think of this.” 

There was a searing pain and Steve screeched in a way he never had before. The fabric muffled it a fair bit, but even if the guards heard, they wouldn’t have come running. He’d never felt any sort of pain even remotely similar to whatever they were doing to his backside. 

It felt like it lasted forever and when it stopped, it didn’t really stop. It took everything in him to keep from screaming again, and again, and again. 

“This here, Stevie, is a H. You see that?” There was something put near his face, some sort of metal wire in the shape of a ‘H’. He couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t figure out what it was, because his rear was on fire. “H for Hargrove. My name. Every time you call me something different, I’ll add another H to your sweet body until you’re eventually covered in pretty little H shaped scars.”

Billy flicked his lighter on, held it under the metal, and Steve finally understood what had happened as the metal started to get visibly hot.

He’d been branded. 

A letter H was officially seared into his skin forever as if he was just another cow being used for meat on a farm. Even when he left, he’d never be able strip naked in front of anyone ever again without having to explain how he’d gotten the undoubtedly messy looking scar. Billy smirked like he could read Steve’s thoughts. 

“Next time, it’s not going to be somewhere so hidden. I’ll do it right here, on your neck,” Billy taunted, reaching out to touch a part of Steve’s neck. Whether or not he was being serious was up to Steve to figure out. “And then, after that, I’ll leave one on your cock. Maybe that’s where I should have put this first one, but I’m still going easy on you, pretty boy. The sooner you understand that I own you, the better. This could have been entirely preventable. You made me do this.” He moved away from Steve’s upper half to look at the burnt skin, plucking his cigarette out from between his lips to hold it in his fingers, instead. “What do you think, Eds? Should I do the rest of my name? Or is it good just being a H?” 

Steve started to sob, desperately trying to get up, to free himself. Eddie was going to tell him to do the rest because he’d been a fucking jerk and told him to stop acting like Billy when Eddie really had just been trying to help, and Steve couldn’t blame him. 

“Think it looks good like that,” Eddie’s voice was small from the top bunk and Steve smushed his face into the mattress to muffle his tears that had suddenly turned into ones of relief. The underwear in his mouth did a much better job at quieting his tears than his screams.

Eddie still had his back, even when he so easily could have turned on him. 

Steve didn’t think he deserved his friendship, at least not in that moment, not to that degree.

“Yeah? Me too,” Billy grinned and then he looked to Steve once more. “Hagan here is gonna get up off you now, baby. But you’re not gonna move, because I said you’re not. You reach for your gag and I’ll snap your finger, got that?” Only when Steve nodded did Billy gesture for Tommy to get up and out of the cell. He only ever gave Tommy the tiniest scraps of attention for doing the dirty work, yet the boy lapped at it like his life depended on it. “Good boy. That wasn’t so hard now, was it? Things will go so much smoother for you if you just do as you’re told.” 

After ushering Argyle out, as well, Billy reached out to palm at Steve’s bottom, the cheek that wasn’t burnt, massaging it roughly in his hand. “Goddamn, Stevie. I can’t wait to see my fist buried in your tight ass. You hard from that, baby? Hard knowing that my mark is on you forever?” He yanked Steve’s hips down so he could reach beneath him to touch his cock. It wasn’t hard, and Billy pouted a bit. “You’re not turned on by pain, huh? It’s alright, sweetheart. Daddy’ll fix that right up. Eddie wasn’t either in the beginning, now he fucking loves it.” Steve had gone a bit limp against the bed, trying to disappear into the mattress, and Billy sent another smack to his asscheek, again the one without the brand on it. “Think I’m gonna have to keep that gag around. Real nice in the quiet. Don’t you think, Eds?” He gave Eddie his cigarette before bending down and spreading Steve’s cheeks. “Just look at that hole. Brand new and waiting all this time just for me. So pretty.” 

He leaned forward, buried his face close enough that his tongue was able to sneak out and flick over the little hole, and despite the pain he was feeling, Steve’s whole body reacted. His cock came to life, hips stuttering, mouth letting out a gasp around the fabric. Billy made a gesture for Eddie to take the gag off of him, wanting to hear him sing. 

No one had ever used their mouth on him there before. He’d never even thought it was a possibility, and yet the feeling had turned him into pure putty. He jutted his hips forward, wanting some friction on his cock, and could feel Billy laugh against him. “That feel nice, baby?” He murmured as he pulled back. “You never have anyone eat your ass before? So glad I get to take so many firsts from you.” 

He wanted to train Steve’s body to get off on the pain, to get turned on from it, but it had been a punishment, after all, so he stopped long before Steve could reach any orgasm. Instead, he got him hard and leaking, watched him try to fuck Billy’s hand and cry into the mattress, before letting him go and pulling his trousers back up. “No getting off for you. Not for the rest of the day. Maybe not for the rest of the week. Depends if you decide to try to make it up to me or not,” he smirked as Steve let out the most pathetic little whimper. “Now, you’re going to stay here, and you’re going to feel that pain, and you’re going to think about what you’ve done. If you even consider touching yourself or getting up from this bed, Eddie’ll tell me, and we’ll deal with that when I’m back. You hear me, pretty boy?” He reached down and smacked his arse loud enough to make him yelp in pain. “Be good, and be quiet. It’s that simple.” 

#harringrove #mungrove #harringroveson #harringrove fic #harringrove fanfiction #mungrove fic #harringrove au #billy x steve #billy x steve x eddie #billy x eddie #my writing #tw: torture #tw: violence #tw: branding #tw: possessive behavior

[trickstarbrave]

i actually don’t think ppl understand how little the younger generation has been taught about navigating online spaces. this isnt just “they are so entitled and stupid lol” bc i feel like thats just an excuse to feel intellectually superior and like they were personally lazy and thats why they never learned. 

when i was growing up we were taught how to type at a keyboard. proper placement of fingers. internet safety (dont give up out your full name, address, parents names, where you go to school, etc). how to look something up and do research, filters on various archives and engines, and how to troubleshoot things 

to us these are basic skills for using the internet. requirements really before we were let loose on it. did we always follow them? no. but then when we didnt other people will quick to point and say it was our fault (even when it could be really inappropriate to do so and is was just victim blaming)

but that was because the internet had not invaded all of our lives yet. using the internet required you to know how to type, read, and navigate it. not everyone could afford to buy a computer, and dial up was slow as shit and inconvenient. then people started putting their babies in front of tablets like they did TV and let them loose on youtube, then youtube kids. smaller social media sites aimed towards kids vanished bc they werent as profitable. facebook killed privacy and now the goal was to extract as much ad revenue as possible. this is the internet they grew up with: short form content filled with ads, plastering your name around, and only being able to hop from content to content without much control 

and because these kids have grown up with a tablet in their hands since they could grip things and react to lights on a screen everyone just assumed they knew how the internet worked. that they all just figured out these skills we used to teach people. that they learned to type the most efficient way, that they wont give out personal information, and that they know how to look something up and evaluate academic sources. i mean look, they can navigate youtube by just typing in a bunch of random words and typing to find a video that doesn’t look like shit, obviously they know how to format a question and use filters!

except they don’t. not to mention the rise of unrelated hashtags to reach as wide an audience as possible means once some of these kids get to ao3 their brains are programmed to skim over them and just click on whatever title sounds interesting. they don’t know how to search for stuff without just typing related terms and tropes into the search bar and don’t know how the filtering works, even though AO3 doesn’t have any more complicated of a filtering system than most other archives.  

you can blame their parents and say they’re lazy pieces of shit who should have taught internet safety and never gave their kid and ipad, but it goes deeper than that. the death of TV wasn’t caused by them. underfunded education systems that didn’t teach them this weren’t caused by parents. this is a society wide issue and should be more concerning than “teenagers are annoying online” because corporations have just trained an entire generation of kids to not be able to fact check or stay safe online and rely on them to curate content for them because they never learned how to do it themselves. and this is only gonna get worse if we don’t address it and talk about it and the root issues without going “its those damn kids that don’t know how to take care of themselves, back in MY day--”

#inb4 anyone says they are 14 and taught all this in school: great im glad u were genuinely #a lot of ppl in ur generation werent.

[sparksnevadas]

I have finished reading the latest GIHASM chapter and I am here to let it be known that I am once again wailing sobbing crying about mumscarian.

I feel like it can’t be said enough but the way you write them together… they’re just so soft. The little domestic scene of Scar and Grian cooking together. The implicit trust between Mumbo and Scar as they talk about how they are doing in the wake of everything. Grian trusting Mumbo to be there while he and Pearl preen and Mumbo getting the courage to speak about his experiences with the HA inspired by Grian. I could probably write a whole novel about how much I love the tender affection between them and how absolutely romantic your depiction of them is <3

(Side note: the way you write cooking has really reminded me that I do indeed love to do that)

The dancing scene needs a special shout-out, okay? I had to keep pausing to hide my face because it was just so good. I love your redscape dynamic so much, I think about them often.

The bit about Bdubs’ driving was great too! You got so much of his chapter into such a short bit.

And the parts about Grian’s complex emotions about the HA </3 they were so realistic and I loved getting to see that (especially with the added context of that post about why you named the chapter as you did).

I know you’ve said you are starting to wrap up GIHASM and while I am obviously excited to see what you come up with next, I am definitely going to miss this AU a lot. Every time I get that AO3 update email it puts a smile on my face and I drop whatever I’m doing to go and read it immediately. I love GIHASM so much and if anyone who is still reading at this point hasn’t read it yet I highly, highly recommend you go and check it out!

void!!! my friend <3 i had not noticed you sent this, i am genuinely sorry!

i love little domestic scenes, even if these idiots wont admit they're in love, they will cook for each other, sacrifice for each other, let each other sleep in and distract each other when its needed.

this is a very minor thing but i feel like in popular media and fic, once a character finds out they like someone, its very fast: attempted confessions, miscommunictions (my dearly detested), etc. etc. my thing is like... i wanted to explore what it would be like to fall in love with your friend over a year and not notice. and what'd be like to figure out you kinda see your nemesis as a friend (and maybe more, as you get to learn more and more about him). and even when you do find out, are you really that quick to turn around and risk something you value so much? maybe, maybe. Im trying really hard to find a balance between the two ends i suppose. its very slow going, but im glad everyone seems to be enjoying the ride? But anyways ya, ya, they are in love, but more importantly, they are best friends :)

(I LOVE COOKING!!!! the recipe for the spanish omelet is a mix between official recipes (putting it in the oven) and my own (adding bell pepper occasionally. it adds flavor and color))

its really funny to me that when i started drafting this fic, my head was so full of redscape stuff. and then i kinda realized i needed to focus on grian, so then i went full scarian mode for a bit. grumbo is the ship i feel like in a way i've had to put on the back burner for most of the fic bc mumbo wasn't "there" for the first half. anyways i love redscape. it consists of one Anxious but sweet man and his Confident but too sweet man wholoves him very loudly (but maybe not loudly enough?). and theyre best friends :) and they were roommates!

<3 <3 <3 i think i havent made it super clear in the fic up until this point that everyone and everything is morally gray, including the like. ig antagonist? of the fic. The HA has good people in it, and it has people who are not so good. everyone has different opinions on what should happen to it, and they are all valid in their own ways. given that a lot of readers were rallying against the HA, i was like :3c time to reveal why grian likes bleaching his wings and why he loves the HA and will always feel mixed emotions about it.

(can you tell i like writing about complicated relationships? lmao)

i have about 2 more story beats to finish off on..... i have also been saying i have two more beats for about 2-3 months. I say "soon", i have no idea how much longer this fic will take to write. for example, i thought of the stuff for this chapter within the last three weeks. so it was a last minute beat add. soooooo idk. "soon" but like. im gonna take any excuse to write more domestic scenes lmao. a meandering "soon"

anyways!!!! hi void my friend!!! thank you so much for this long ask i love long comments so much i love seeing what everyone picks up on and what parts are fun to read!!! genuinely the interview part was nervewracking for me to write bc i was like... i hope i dont sound preachy but journalism is important to me, and morality is important. anyways, i wont ramble any longer, but i lov u!!!

#its void! #gihasm

[arwainian]

My Reading This Week

This week I 'read less than I would have liked' (honestly i still read a good chunk) as in. I was super busy writing a paper I'm super proud of for school, so I didn't have time to read a bunch. Also as you shall see, i struggled to find something to read in the first place

Abandoned:

Dead Dead Girls by Nekesa Afia

The Bachelor's Valet by Arden Powell

both of these I've been meaning to read for a while. unfortunately i just did not connect with/like the POV character and they weren't interesting enough to me to push through despite. you'll remember me saying I started Dead Dead Girls last week and that if i didn't hook me by 25% I'd drop it. well I got to 30% and it still wasn't right for me so i moved on.

bachelor's valet i didn't even give to 25%, i gave it two chapters, and the pov character was too much of a privileged child of a man for me to tolerate watching his valet be stoically in love with him. onward and upward to better reads

Started and Finished:

"Anything That Can't Go On Forever Will Eventually Stop: Ticketmaster and Ideas Lying Around" by Cory Doctorow on Medium

congrats to this thing being the first like, article/essay not read for school that I have recorded here! again. reading log, rather than book log. Honestly, because I want to record articles I read, I'm gonna try and make a habit of clicking through and reading articles I see quoted and passed around on tumblr and this was one of these

Chapter 8 of the void, through your body by zerodignity on ao3

(i think ao3 fics, or anything else published that i read in a serialized manner, shall be logged by chapter) I've been really loving this fic, and I actually read the second half out loud to myself bc I was really feeling my voice at the time

The Bride Was a Boy by Chii, translated by Beni Axia Conrad

Super Late Bloomer: My Early Days in Transition by Julia Kaye

My Life in Transition: A Super Late Bloomer Collection by Julia Kaye

the three above are collected volumes of shorts comics written and drawn by trans women about their transition journeys! The Bride Was a Boy is from a woman in Japan and it's mostly about her love story with her husband, and what the law surrounding trans people in Japan is which was cool to read, and the story is so sweet

Julia Kaye's super late bloomer stuff is more slice of life-y with each comic being a vignette from a single day, which cover a huge swath of her experiences over a long period of time, and is a really cool read

Against Queer Presentism | How the Book World Neglects the Archive by Colton Valentine

another article/essay! reading this has put like... 20 books on my tbr, bc i made a list of all of the historical writers mentioned and all of the scholars preserving their work and writing about them, so that I could come back to them. if you're interested in queer history and queer art from the past, check this out

Started and Ongoing:

The Secret to Superhuman Strength by Alison Bechdel

honestly this and all the comics mentioned above i read in like the past 2 days bc I was sad I hadn't read more, and wanted to read something quick and easy. however Bechdel is not a quick and easy cartoonist. I'm gonna take my time going through this bc again, i've been meaning to read this for a while

Things skimmed after reading thoroughly a while ago so I can properly cite them in the 20 page essay I'm writing (yes I'm going to keep bragging about that)[yes this counts as reading this weak goddammit]:

"Blurring the Lines: Reinforcing Rape Myths in Comic Books" by Tammy S. Garland, Kathryn A. Branch, and Mackenzie Grimes

"Performing the Female Superhero: an Analysis of Identity Acquisition, Violence, and Hypersexuality in DC Comics" by Matthew Nicosia

various issues of The New Teen Titans, Tales of the Teen Titans, and The New Titans in order to collect images for the appendix, and to double check my recollection of events

#arwainian princessoid decrees #bookblr #cal reading log #cal reads comics

[sunflowersandscreams]

i hope ur doing ok

Written for @solangeloweek ​ Day 3: WIP dump

this is a deleted scene from my christmas fic! this is only a short scene i wrote before i had to scrap the little plotline due to lack of space. I regret not developing Nico’s and (especially) Will’s relationships with their families more, and barely mentioning will’s life at all lmao. this is mostly unedited and not super developed so enjoy this little wip :) I won’t be continuing or adding onto this obv bc it's a deleted scene.

read on ao3

context and the actual fic are under the cut:

title from a text my friend sent me while i was having a breakdown everyone say thank u lori’s friend

supposed to take place end of chapter 6/start of chapter 7

CONTEXT: Kayla, Austin, Solía (my OC haha), and Gracie are his half-siblings by Apollo. Michael and Lee were Will’s older brothers that were killed in an accident (I never figured out how, just some sort of violent incident). in the fic Will was super run down and exhausted and he and Nico were gonna go on a whole shopping trip for his siblings’ christmas presents. at the end he collapses and breaks down and he and nico connect about their dead siblings. anyway it never got included but it was a cool plotline that i kinda wish i'd kept. but writing is an eternal process and i am constantly improving so! things to think about for my next multichap :))

The day was mostly warm so far. Nico liked it; sure, he tended to dress in tight, black clothes all the time, but a little bit of sun could do him some good. Sometimes winter just got too cold for him, so Nico relished the moments of warmth when he could.

Someone knocked on the door. By the specific force, speed, and rhythm of the knocking, Nico could figure out who it was and that he should be quick. He scurried to the door and unlocked it, finding Will hovering on the doorstep panicking.

“Nico!” Will cried, hands shaking just slightly. “Are you free right now?”

“For the next few hours, yeah,” Nico replied, frowning. “Is everything…?”

“Are you good at buying Christmas gifts for people?”

“Am I what?” Nico was thrown for a loop. He hadn’t expected Will to ask this.

“Christmas is in, like, a week, and I haven’t gotten anything for my siblings, and I need to ship the gifts because they live elsewhere, and I’m panicking, so… what do I do?” Will looked to be in despair. “Please, you’re my last hope.”

“I… okay,” Nico said, already pulling Will inside. “First, a plan.”

Nico made Will sit down at his kitchen table and write a list of his siblings’ interests, possible gifts for them, and where they could go together to buy something. By the time Nico was ready to leave, Will had completed a list.

Nico ran his finger down the page, counting the number of people. “Kayla… Austin… Gracie… Solía… Lee and Michael?” Nico stopped, coming to a couple of names that haven’t come up in conversation between him and Will before. There was only one bullet point under each of their names; Michael’s said a replacement figurine and Lee’s said leather bracelet.

“Oh,” Will stopped. “I… I didn’t- I didn’t need to put them on there, I’ve already got their gifts.”

Nico tilted his head at Will, who still wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “…Okay. Well, we can focus on the other four. It looks like we could get this all at the local shopping center, so should we head there?”

“That sounds good.” Will swallowed, looking like he was biting his tongue. He released some tension, and his posture melted back into something more relaxed. “Yeah. I, um, just realized I have something else I need to do today. Can we go tomorrow?”

Will looked uncertain of himself, which… it wasn’t unusual for when Nico had first met him, but Will’s confidence had seemed to be growing. Nico just hoped he was okay. “Yeah, that’s totally fine. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Will smiled brightly, running a hand through his hair. “Totally. Just tired. I should go take care of the something else, so, uh… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nico responded automatically, still puzzled by Will’s slightly volatile behaviour. He didn’t know what Will was upset by, but he knew Will would come to him when (if) he was ready.

Will got up, almost tripping over his own feet. Nico left the house keys and wallet he’d collected in preparation for their outing on the table, letting Will out the door.

Before he left, Nico caught Will’s hand and pulled him into a quick hug. “I don’t know what’s bothering you, but I hope you’re okay. Or that you’re going to be.” Nico released Will with one final squeeze.

Somehow, Will looked more shaken than before. “Uh. Thanks. Th-thank you.”

Nico watched with a crease in his forehead as Will stumbled back to his own house. Something was obviously troubling Will, but he didn’t know what, and it worried him.

#lori writes #solangelo week #solangelo week 2022 #solangeloweek2022

[unbridgeabledistances]

hi!!!!💘 here have another “ian processing things” ficlet inspired by this post i saw today by zo @grabmyboner <3

(contrary to zo’s amazing post, ian does not have a new instagram in this to fuel the slight angst🤕)

--

He was having a weirdly good morning when it happened— it was Sunday, and he and Mickey had woken up late tucked together in a warm cocoon under the sheets, legs tangled and bodies pressed close, with Mickey breathing out huffy, just-waking-up breaths into Ian’s neck that tickled his skin until Ian had rolled onto his side and playfully shoved him away.

They’d laid under the sheets for what felt like hours, lazily scrolling on their phones, with Mickey letting out puffs of air through his nostrils in a silent chuckle every time a particularly outdated and stupid meme came across his Instagram Explore page— and of course Ian had to combat Mickey’s intense glee at holding up dumb Instagram memes too close to Ian’s sleep-bleary eyes by clicking open his own phone and thumbing over to the pink and orange app on his home page, to try and find some other stupid shit that would make his groggy half-asleep husband laugh.

It was then, when he opened the app and passively flicked over to his notifications, when he saw the memory:

See your post from 6 years ago today.

Before Ian even clicked on the thumbnail of the picture, before he touched the pad of his finger to the blurred, too-small image beside the words bolded in black, he felt the telltale tightening creeping into his chest— the one he couldn’t really explain most of the time, the one that snuck in and left his heart rattling and pounding against the walls of his ribcage despite the shaky, measured breaths that he tried to sip in and out to fight the rush of feeling.

But out of curiosity, or maybe a little bit of self-sabotage, he clicked on the image—with Mickey still obliviously smirking at his phone screen beside him in the bed, his free arm draped casually across Ian’s chest. So Mickey didn’t notice, really, when Ian pulled up the full post on his own screen— a pixely photo, taken on a now-outdated iPhone in the hazy darkness of the Fairytale.

Ian’s pale skin, the strobe lights bouncing off of it, was the only really visible item in the foreground— and in the shadows behind him, a group of unfamiliar faces. It didn’t even really look like him— his heavy-lidded gaze was murky, definitely hopped up on some bizarre cocktail of drugs quickly taken in a dirty bathroom stall with shaky hands. Ian— Ian in the photo, Ian at the club— was leaning sloppily against the chest of a grey-haired stranger in a dark button-up; glitter on his hollow cheeks, a barely-there mesh top, smudged eyeliner almost masking the purple shadows under his eyes. A black feather boa wrapped tight, too tight, around his neck— an older man with his hand snaked around Ian’s waist, another with his fingertips tangled in the end of the boa.

The tightness was still there, a rubber band wrapped snug around his chest. Aside from the shame and disgust swirling somewhere in his gut at seeing this stupid fucking picture, the thing that Ian felt most was the annoyance welling in him, thick and heavy— what fucking person couldn’t look at a picture of themselves being a stupid teenager? What type of person still felt the aftershocks, like fire and ice and fucking bee stings swelling under his skin, just by looking at a fucking old Instagram post?

“Hey man, are you good?”

Mickey’s phone was now face-down on the blanket, his body twisting under the sheets towards Ian. His eyes flickered to the phone clenched tight in Ian’s hand, undoubtedly searching for the reason that Ian’s heart was thrumming just a little bit too quickly under where Mickey’s hand was still limply resting on his chest.

Ian tried to swallow down whatever was in his throat, whatever was on his tongue. “It’s fine. Just thought I deleted all these old pictures and shit.” And despite that, he couldn’t really look away. “I guess I only got rid of the ones with the sleazy comments. And the videos or whatever.”

Mickey’s brows furrowed. They both weren’t really social media aficionados— if anything, they’d only really gotten into it recently, after the wedding and the move and needing some way to keep the rest of the Gallagher clan plus Kev and V in the loop about their various gardening endeavors and pictures of Baz sleeping, and to see Lip and Tami post baby pics of Freddie and his new little sister. Ian had rebooted his old Instagram account, the one he’d made in his final moments of high school and posted heavily-filtered pictures with Mandy on before joining the army. When he’d started working at the club back then, the Instagram quickly became a place to drum up business, to post specific photos and to flirt with clients in the comments— and he thought he’d deleted all of them when he redownloaded the app, keeping the pictures of a freckled 15-year-old Ian and removing the rest up through youth center brunches with Geneva. Apparently he’d missed this one, and all the memories that could come flooding back with it— and neither he nor Mickey had really noticed.

Mickey’s eyes stayed frozen to the screen— cautious, thinking. “Just fucking delete it, man.”

Ian thumbed over the red delete button, sending the picture into some sort of pixelated oblivion. But even that couldn’t really scrub the image out of his mind— the fingers pressed into his hip, the scratchy feathers tangled around his neck, the now-heavy boulder lodged in his chest. He ran his free hand through his hair, trying to ground himself in the face of whatever weird floatiness he was feeling—tugging at it, just a little.

“Hey.”

Mickey reached over— gently plucking the cell phone out of Ian’s white-knuckled grasp, placing it beside his with a soft thud on the bedsheets. Running his own hand through Ian’s hair— a hand that was gentle and slow, a hand that slightly dulled the buzzing in Ian’s brain, soothing the pain at the roots of his hair.

“Sorry.”

Mickey opened his mouth to protest Ian’s apology, but the words kept spilling out. “I don’t know why seeing stuff like that still makes me feel like shit. It’s like I forget it actually happened.”

He was healthy now— he was stable. He had an apartment with his husband, and a dog, and a savings account. How could he feel so fucking good one second, be laying in his bed from Ikea under a fucking duvet next to the love of his life, and feel so shitty in the next when he looked that version of himself in the eye?

It was stupid— it was so fucking stupid, but the feeling didn’t stop. He closed his eyes— he tried to focus on Mickey’s fingers, still scratching a slow pattern onto his scalp.

“You’re okay, Ian.” He let himself release a slow breath as he absorbed Mickey’s words. “You’re not there anymore. You worked fuckin’ hard to get here.”

Ian forced his eyes open. Mickey squeezed his wrist, tangled their fingers.

“I wish I could erase all that shit.” He hated how thick his voice sounded.

“You already did, Gallagher. Look where the fuck we are right now.” Mickey gestured to their white-walled apartment, their minimalist furniture.

Ian breathed out a throaty laugh. “Yeah. I guess.”

Mickey pressed a quick peck of relief to his temple, and Ian felt the warmth of it trickle down his spine. “You don’t gotta think about that shit anymore. It’s still gonna be there— but you’re filling everyone’s fucking Instagram feed with fucking tomatoes these days. You definitely ain’t the same person you were back then.”

Ian felt the corners of his mouth creep upwards. “You love my tomato pictures and you know it. And you love my captions even more.”

Mickey rolled his eyes— and leaned in close, settling again against Ian’s chest.

“Yeah, I guess I fuckin’ do.”

#anyways go check out zo’s social media AUs they r the greatest!! #not going to put this on ao3 bc it is so quick and short but am gonna plop it here! #day 1833943284739 of me projecting my life experiences onto ian gallagher #not to be tmi lol but a picture of me and an intensely toxic ex-partner from an intensely hard point in my life popped up on my instagram #earlier today and i was feeling!! things!!! #so i wrote about sappy husbands supporting each other to make myself feel better!!!! #okay this is a classic rori tag ramble full of too-deep emotions ANYWAYS i hope u all are having good sundays ily<3 #ficlet #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ixm #ian x mickey #tw self harm

[cafeacademic]

Hi Dahlia - and omg congrats!!! 💖 I am so happy and excited for you!

Could I please request Cody x f!reader with either of these prompts (your pick!)

13 - “No way. If you are gonna go home with someone from 79s, then it’s gonna be me.”

52 - “Just because you're pretty, it doesn't mean you can just get away with anything." / "You think I'm pretty?"

I still get so excited when people whose writing I love also like my writing. That is so cool and blows my mind every time I get a comment or a like or a rb. Having a community is so cool :')

Anyway-- I hope you enjoy my dear! I had a bunch of fun writing this one (mostly bc I love writing Cody's character)

Schrodinger's Commander

I refuse to let go of this title I think it's hilarious I take no criticism anyway click above to read on Ao3

Pairing: Cody x Reader

Rating: Explicit (minors begone)

Warnings: Spanking, Unprotected PiV, mentions of oral sex (f receiving), fluff at the end <3

Word Count: 2.3k

It was a terrible idea, and Waxer and Boil had spent the better part of an afternoon trying to talk you out of it.

“You’re being dramatic. There’s no way it could be that bad,” you said as you pulled on your dress. It was short, with a little flirty skirt that swished as you moved your hips, all in a perfect 212th orange. A friend had mailed it to you when you had confided in her about your little plan, and it came with an attached note that read ‘good luck.’

“No, you don’t understand. You should’ve seen him on Christophsis. There was this clone--” Boil was cut off by Waxer.

“Yeah, turned out to be a traitor. Maker, I really thought Cody was gonna put a bullet between his eyes right there,” Waxer finished, and you just shook your head as you looked over your appearance in the mirror.

“So you’re telling me that Marshal Commander Cody, bastion of control, level-headed strategist, able to put up with General Kenobi on the worst of days, actually gets mad? Are we talking about the same person?” you laughed at the mens’ looks of horror. “I think the angriest he can get is a passive-aggressive jab and maybe a glare,”

“Look, we’re doing this for your own good. We want you to be able to walk at any point in the next week. Hell, we don’t want him killing our vod. Why do you think we didn’t volunteer to help you out?” Boil said.

“Because you crack too easily under pressure?” you suggested playfully. Waxer threw up his arms and Boil gave you an incredulous look.

“You’re insane,” Waxer scoffed, and you just shrugged.

“I’m not insane. I’m just trying to get him to admit that he actually does like me,” you said, fixing the last bits of your hair and grabbing your bag. “Besides, it’s not like we’re actually together or anything. How mad could he be?”

The answer was pretty damn mad. Cody was gripping his glass so tightly that Boil ended up taking it from him, fearing it would shatter and cause a scene. His eyes never left you, not even as Boil extracted the drink from his hand. You had just finished dancing with a trooper, some shiny from some battalion that he couldn’t place right now. Another clone had caught you by the waist as the next song started, and you wasted no time in pressing your hips back, swaying in time with the music.

When the trooper’s hands landed on your waist, Cody sprung up from his seat. Waxer and Boil looked at each other before settling up at the bar and leaving, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire if a fight broke out. With surprising grace, Cody weaved his way through the crowded dance floor until he was close enough that you locked eyes with him.

“Hey! Didn’t think you’d be here!” you called over the music and waved, still dancing with the trooper behind you. Cody took another step forward, and the other trooper finally noticed who you were waving to.

“S-sir!” he stammered out, snapping into a quick salute. Cody gave him a polite nod. The trooper relaxed out of his salute but still made an excuse to bolt off the dance floor. You turned back to Cody with a fake pout.

“Come on, I liked him!” you complained, giving the commander a playful smack on the chest.

“I could see that,” Cody responded bitterly. You smiled at how well your plan was working before remembering your facade of annoyance.

“I’m never going to find him now that you’ve scared him off,” you pouted. “I was going to ask him over for a drink at my place,”

You laid your final nail in the coffin, and Cody’s hand shot out to grab you by the wrist. His face was completely impassive, but his grip on your arm was so tight that you were sure it would bruise. You looked up at him with mock indignance.

“Cody!”

“No way. If you’re gonna go home with someone from 79s, it’s going to be me,” he growled as he began walking. His pace was so quick you almost had to jog to keep up with his long strides. He was quick to hail a cab, ushering you into the back seat with a hand on the small of your back.

The ride to your apartment was quick, although you became more and more jittery with every stoplight. Cody’s hand never left your body; it wandered from your waist to your thigh to your hand in an almost anxious way throughout the whole ride. When you reached your apartment, you made for the door as he settled up with the driver as fast as he could. As soon as the door swung open, Cody was pushing you inside, hands eagerly trying to hold as much of you as he could.

“You have no idea what you do to me, cyare,” he muttered as he walked you into your sitting room. “Fuck, can I kiss you?”

“I’d be more upset if you didn’t at this point,” you teased, eliciting a growl from the clone. He caught you in a kiss that was softer than you expected as if he was trying to convey as much emotion into the action as he could. You looped your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as you could.

“Couldn’t stand seeing you with those shinies. They wouldn’t treat you right. Not like I can,” Cody muttered absently against your lips. You smiled, kissing a line down his jaw as you reached to palm the bulge you could see growing in his blacks. “Want to fuck you so bad, cyare,”

“Well get on with it then,” you said, prompting Cody to once again grab you by the wrist and drag you down the hall to your bedroom. He tossed you onto the bed with surprising ease, holding back a laugh as you bounced on the mattress. You drew your knees up to your chest as he stalked over to the bed. From where he stood at the foot of the bed, he was able to see directly up your skirt to where your thighs were shiny with your slick.

“No panties?” he said teasingly. “You really are a dirty girl,”

You watched, enraptured, as he began to undress, shedding the few pieces of armor he had left on for the night out. Once he was in just his blacks, you let your eyes roam all over his body appreciatively. Pulling off his shirt as quickly as he could, Cody climbed into the bed, caging your body with his arms. He slotted one thigh in between your legs as he leaned up to kiss you once more.

“Cody, come on. I’m not gonna break,” you whined, eyes pleading as he pulled away from the kiss. He grinned wolfishly, grinding his thigh against you. You tensed up at the contact and resisted the urge to whimper; you weren’t going to reduce yourself to begging just yet. Instead, you schooled your face into a pout, trying one last thing to rile him up. “Waxer and Boil really didn’t know what they were talking about,”

“What did you just say?” Cody tensed above you, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with something darker. You sighed dramatically.

“They made all these big claims about how you’d be so mad if I went out and danced with other guys. Said I ‘didn’t know what I was getting into’ or something. Guess they were wrong,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. Cody froze for a moment, and you worried you had done something wrong. However, you were snapped out of your concern as he flipped you roughly onto your stomach, one hand pressing you into the bed by your shoulder blades.

“Is that what you want? For me to wreck you? To make you forget everything but my name?” he growled in your ear. You nodded frantically. Cody yanked the zipper on your dress down roughly, pulling the garment off and tossing it to some corner of the room. “Guess the boys will be right about one thing. You really don’t know what you’re getting into,”

Cody landed a hard smack on your ass, causing you to yelp at the sting of his palm. You arched into his touch, but he pressed you back down onto the bed.

“No, you’ll take what I give you,” he said, punctuating his sentence with another rough smack. This time, you were prepared enough to hold in the squeal that threatened to escape you.

You heard the rustling of fabric from behind you, and you craned your neck to look back at Cody. He had rid himself of the rest of his blacks, and any other time, you would take the opportunity to memorize every part of his body, from his toned thighs to the plains of his chest, which were littered with scars of various sizes. Now, however, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his cock, which he was stroking slowly. Your mouth hung open slightly, and he chuckled darkly.

“Wow, okay,” you said quietly. Cody leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your cheek, breaking character slightly.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with, cyare,” he said softly, and you smiled at his concern. With a devilish glint in your eye, you pulled back.

“Cody?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Don’t be gentle,” you said with an innocent smile. Cody growled and kicked your legs slightly wider, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Always knew you were filthy,” he groaned as he pushed in. You would have typically preferred a little more foreplay, but you were so aroused that he slid in with little resistance. You hissed at the slight stretch, and Cody waited a moment for you to adjust. When you started to push back against him, he slid out before slamming back in, the sound of skin on skin drowned out by your loud moan.

Cody didn’t falter in his pace, slamming into you hard enough to knock you up the bed with every stroke. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt so full. With every thrust, his cock brushed over spots inside you that made you see stars, and you were letting out a steady stream of whines as he fucked you.

“Cody, fuck, please!” you stammered, unable to effectively voice what you were feeling. Without faltering, Cody leaned down to completely cover your body with his, your back pressed against his chest. From this angle, he was able to press sloppy kisses to the back of your neck and shoulders, ever so often sinking his teeth into the skin.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he groaned against your skin. You whined, trying to give some sort of response. Cody nipped at your shoulder, soothing the bite mark with his tongue. “I’ve thought about this so much, sweet girl,”

You felt your chest grow warm at the confession. Twisting awkwardly underneath him, you turned to capture Cody in a kiss that was much sweeter than the brutal way he was fucking you. He stopped for a moment, and just as you were about to complain about the loss, he flipped you over onto your back. One hand hooked under your leg, throwing it up onto his shoulder as he continued to drive into you. Now that you were on your back, you could see Cody’s face, tinged pink with exertion and adoration. You reached up to kiss him once more.

“Thought about you too,” you confessed with a grin. Cody smiled and kissed you again, letting the hand that wasn’t holding your leg up trail down to your clit. You gasped into his mouth when his fingers made contact with the bundle of nerves.

“Want you to come, sweetheart,” Cody said breathlessly. His thrusts were becoming erratic, and you could tell he was getting close as well. The way his calloused fingers were working on your clit made your brain go hazy, and you struggled to form words.

“C-Cody!” you stammered out, nails clawing at his back as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. You were teetering on the brink of orgasm, only a few moments away from unraveling. In your haze, you managed to capture the man in another kiss, muttering against his lips. “Fuck, I love you,”

Cody came with a shout, and the feeling of him pulsing inside you triggered your own release. You rode out your orgasms together, Cody giving a few more shallow thrusts as he came. When the two of you had sufficiently calmed down, he pulled out and rolled off of you, collapsing in a heap beside you on the bed.

“Did you really mean it?” he asked softly. You both knew what he was referring to.

“Yeah, I think so,” you replied, too shy to look over at him. Cody remedied that problem by pulling you towards him for a kiss. It was sweet, almost lazy, and your heart swelled with adoration. When you pulled back, you could see that he was looking at you reverently.

“Good. I think I love you too,” he said, causing you to break out into a silly grin. As you were about to kiss him again, you felt some of his cum slide out of you and onto the sheets. Cody laughed at your grimace. “Let me clean you up,”

You were just about to point him to where you keep your towels when he crawled in between your legs and licked a long stripe up your folds.

“Shit!” you couldn’t contain your moan. Cody smirked up at you from between your legs.

“Don’t look so surprised. I said I was gonna clean you up, didn’t I?”

#commander cody smut #commander cody #commander cody x reader #commander cody fanfiction #marshal commander cody #tcw fanfic #star wars x reader #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #cafeacademics 104 celebration

[kashimos-hajime]

interlude | l.a.

summary: levi pulls you away from some rich-ass party for far more interesting activities. you’re just too goddamn pretty for him.

WARNINGS: smut!!! (18+), handjobs, oral (m-receiving), sub!levi, big pouty boy, ok hes just like really sexually pent up and this is how hes going through it, hints of jealousy, teasing, swearing, closet sex, established relationship, but also fluff :), levi is a bratty mf pairing: levi ackerman x survey corps fem!reader word count: 2.3k

a/n: written just bc i felt like it! enjoy my subby needy take on levi in honour of levi coming back all sexy this coming sunday ndklsnf LMAO enjoy!!

crossposted on ao3 x

His fingers are insistent, wrapped tight around your wrist as he pulls you through the empty corridors of the Mitras palace, and you glance back at the party they’ve left abruptly. Erwin will surely be missing their absence, even in the crowd of superiors he’s surrounded by and you frown. Jerking your long Scout jacket tighter across yourself, you glance out at the sunset painting the sky a rusty orange, before glancing back at the Captain, mouth dropping open in protest.

“Levi, what—”

With a sharp tug, you’re pulled into darkness, out of nowhere, and you let out a yelp before hands find your waist and desperate, seeking lips press tightly against your own. A small, strong body is flush against yours as the door clicks shut under your back, and you sag into hands that are flat against the wood underneath your shoulders as your arms drape over a sloping frame, eyebrows furrowing, returning the kiss just as fiercely.

A needy sound pries out of Levi’s mouth as he bites on your lower lip before moving away, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, across your chin, down your neck and your head tilts back, your breath coming out in punched gasps as his hips jerk against your own.

“L-Levi?” His name comes out choked and his head pulls back. In the darkness, you can’t even make out the blueness of his eyes but you know they burn you—you can feel them on your mouth all the same. And then, his head tilts forward, brow against your collarbones and your hand lifts from his shoulders, finding the knob and twisting the lock with a quick flip of your fingers. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles. “I just needed to feel you.”

“Here?” you prompt as his ragged breaths push against your shirt. Your other hand rakes lazily through his hair and he arches into you, nails scraping into the wooden door as your fingers scratch at his scalp. “What—”

“You’re pretty. Too pretty,” he grits out. “Stop it.”

Unamused: “Stop being pretty?”

“Stop teasing me.”

A delighted current runs through your heart at his order and you smirk. Now that your heart is racing, and you’re all alone in a tight room with just him, you can smell his intent all over him, radiating like a frustrated animal. 

Leaning down until your lips brush the shell of his ear, you feel his shiver as you whisper gently, “I’m not doing anything, sweetheart.”

“F-fuck—“ His voice comes out shaking, and he hunches over, jaw clenched. “Never see you like this. All political, charming the brass. It shouldn’t work. Nothing should work.” Your hand falls away from his hair and you run your hands down his tense, lithe body, smiling to yourself as he continues to grumble, “But every single fucking time, you just have to be there. Smiling sunshine piece of shit—”

“You talk too much, Captain,” you whisper, your fingers finding his belt buckle of his own formal jacket and pulling it undone easily. The jacket falls in a pile around his legs and feet shift against stone as you continue onto the buckle of his pants, tugging his tucked shirt free. “You’re wound up.”

“You knew what you were doing,” he continues accusingly, his head still against your chest bone and you smile, craning your neck to kiss the side of his head. He lets out a growl.

“You just thought the premiere’s son looked at me funny.”

“He did.”

“Tch, Levi,” you sing, slowly unwinding leather from loops, “green has always been a pretty colour on you. If this whole act continues, I might just lead him on to see what gets a rile out of you.”

He scoffs, hard and hot against your collarbone. “Manipulator.“

“Bastard,” you quip, grinning. “We match.” Fingers curling over the waistband of his pants, you push them down before cupping his head and lifting a soft face towards your own. “Hey, there.”

You feel the flush searing his cheeks, and you know without the light that his eyes are blown out and hazy, lip caught between teeth as he tries to restrain the wanton desire burning through his system. You understand. It’s exactly the same way you feel whenever you’re remotely in the same room as him and there isn’t enough space to contain their impulses without everything exploding.

Tilting his chin, you kiss him softly, warmly, gently, and his fingers find your wrists, wrapping around them insistently, tight enough to bruise. You smile when his nose nudges against your cheek, lips still seeking more. Indulging him for only half a second, you tilt his head up, feeling his mouth fall open as nails dig into your wrists, a warning and an ask.

Drawing back just enough to breathe but not enough that their lips ever part, your words push into his mouth in a heady sigh.

“We have to be quiet, alright, Captain?” You smile crookedly as he nods, the fringe of his hair brushing along the line of your nose and fluttering over your eyelids. “Good. Now, relax…” Sinking to your knees, your hands find lean, burning thighs and you huff to yourself, trailing a finger up to the apex of his leg and you find the knob of his hip bones before anything.

You know exactly what’s staring at you in the face. You just refuse to acknowledge it.

Travelling inward, you trace his V-line until the heat of his blood is so hot it’s near unbearable and when your hand merely brushes against his cock, his body collapses forward, hips jutting with a sharp, tight groan. Above you, you hear an elbow collide with the door and by the way he doesn’t move back, you know he’s leaning heavily on his arms.

Fingers delicately finding the base, your digits dance up his length, smirking at the tiny noises you pry out of him with your teasing, and a hand shoots down to your head but he still doesn’t move you as your thumb presses against the tip, finding precum already leaking down his cock.

“I’ve barely touched you,” you note, wrapping your fingers around him and rubbing your thumb all over the head. A short, choked noise rips out of Levi and you smile, reaching blindly for his other clothes and stuffing them under your knees. Leaning in close, your breath puffs against your hand and him as you slowly let go. “How long have you been hiding this?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he replies dryly through gritted teeth and you chuckle, spitting into your palm. It drips down your fingers and you grab Levi’s thigh with your clean hand before shifting yourself closer. “God, if you’re not going to—“

Whatever the rest of his sentence was going to be fades away when you wrap a hand around his cock and slide it down to his base, excruciatingly slow. His hips jerk forward, sending his dick the rest of the way through the tight fist you have on him and you laugh, kissing the tip teasingly.

“What? Does that feel good or something?”

“You fucking know—ngh—fuck, yes.” His hand tightens in your hair as you pump your hand, grip tight yet not enough. Your thumb runs along the underside, rubbing over the weeping slit before tracing back down again and the rest of your fingers squeeze, teasing the shit out of him, smearing precum all over his dick.

Your hand on his thigh reaches up, sneaking underneath his shirt to hook on his hip bone and you spread your fingers, feeling the tightness in his abdomen as you continue to jerk him off, kissing the tip with a silly grin every few seconds.

Your name comes out stuttered, torn from Levi’s throat, and you don’t have to remind him to be quiet because those sinful noises he’s so desperately trying to chain back only serve to inspire you, to slow you down, speed you up, tease him until his grip on you is blistering.

It’s funny. Captain Levi Ackerman of the Scouts, Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, and he’s malleable when you put a hand on his cock and a mouth at the tip.

Captain Levi Ackerman, and he’s moaning your name.

It’s a thought that makes you smirk as you squeeze the head, your thumb rubbing teasingly over the slit again and his hips jerk forward so violently you think he might lose his footing but he doesn’t. 

Captain Levi never slips.

He does, however, have a mouth on him. Something you intend to make full use of.

“Fuck you,” he spits.

“Later,” you promise. “For now…” His abdomen clenches at your words and you smile, tilting your chin to kiss the underside of his cock and resuming the leisurely place of your strokes. His groans bounce off the walls, sharp gasps, raw noises that make your thighs clench together as you lean to kiss his hip bone, around his base, all the while fucking him into delirium with just a single hand.

You try to guess how long he’ll last. Another part of you wonders if anyone’s made the connection between your disappearance and the Captain’s. 

That thought, that idea, that some noble with a stick up their ass could have a remote idea what you’re doing with the esteemed Captain, sends a wicked flare through you. Your wrist twists, squeezing nearly painfully hard and Levi’s hips roll forward, a guttural moan spilling out of his mouth.

“Shit. Shit, don’t stop,” he whispers. “Harder. H-harder—”

“Harder?” you echo innocently, your fingers tightening and you feel his abdomen go rigid underneath your fingers even more if possible. “Harder, Captain?”

“Ngh—fuck. Harder.” His voice is a broken rasp as you speed up and his breath quickens. Wrist burning, you pump him through your fist and you feel it the moment he reaches the precipice. The way his cock twitches, the way his voice pitches just enough that you know he’s about to lose it, and you shift on your aching knees as your hand trails down his hips again, finds the back of his thigh, and you feel his leg quivering. “I’m close. Close—shit, I’m— you— Where? Just—just tell me where.”

“Don’t worry, Levi. Just let go for me, love,” you whisper, so quietly, you’re not even sure he can hear you before you take him into your mouth and it’s only one more thrust against your tongue curling against the underside of his dick before he’s cumming into you, a fist slamming against the door above you. Jaw opening up wider, you take him in deeper, hands grabbing at his legs and tugging him closer as his fingers on your head hold him up and hold you still.

The broken litanies of your name are the only sound, only breathed through his ragged gasps and you breathe in deeply through your nose, swallowing him deeper into your throat as he thrusts forward, the waves still crashing over him. You don’t mind, using your tongue to coax the last few threads of pleasure through his body and sucking him off.

It’s only when the hand on your head relaxes does he finally pull out of your mouth and a strand of spit and cum links your lips to his dick, only broken when he falls to his knees in front of you. His bare knees against your clothed ones, you only have to hold out your arms before an exhausted body is pressed against your own, a head nuzzled into the curve of your neck while you trace the curve of his spine, your hands sneaking under his shirt to explore a muscled back.

“Levi,” you hum, amused, and your only reply is the shift of his head against you, the way his breaths puff against your jaw, and your hunger only grows at the idea of his fucked out face, the blush no doubt flooding his cheeks with red, his eyes—eyes that can’t focus on anything. Hazy, blurry, blissed. “Levi, sweetheart.”

“F-fuck you,” you hear his coarse mumble, and you smile, lifting a hand to thread fingers through his hair before tilting your head and slotting your mouth against his. The edge of his jaw pokes against the fleshy part of your thumb, and he grabs the back of your neck, deepening the kiss immediately. Tongue dipping into your mouth, you wonder if he tastes you just as much as you can taste him still. Sighing, your body melts against him and your stomach cramps when he pulls back, thumb rubbing roughly at your chin. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“You’re the one who dragged me in here,” you point out. “But if you want me to pay, Captain, I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

“Don’t give me any ideas.” He pulls back, and you hold back another smile, looking down at the floor as he grabs his pants haphazardly, the belt clinking against stone. Lifting your knees and sitting back, you pick up his formal jacket, flapping the wrinkles out as best as you can while he buckles back up, but it’s no use.

In the light, it’s going to be a mess of creases and implications.

“I think we have to go home early,” you tell him, looking where you think his face is. He looms over you now that he’s standing and you’re crashed against the door, and you hand him the jacket which he takes but doesn’t pull out of your grasp. Fingers brushing along your knuckles, he leans down and places a gentle kiss against your brow. “Sorry.”

“Oh, I’ll accept your apology,” he murmurs, tilting his head to whisper his soft lips over your temple. A delighted shiver shoots down your spine and as he trails a finger down your cheek, over your swollen, used lips, you hear his deadly smirk laced with promise in his tone. “If you can’t tell, I’m positively devastated.”

#fic: interlude #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman fic #levi x reader #levi x you #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #snk x reader #snk x you #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin x reader #snk imagines #levi ackermann x reader #levi ackermann #aot #my writing

[clareguilty]

Juniper and Pine

read it here on the AO3

A/N: Im so glad Geralt is sterile bc i hate pregnancy but love breeding kinks. I barely know anything about the witcher but I know I wanna suck this man dry like a capri sun.

Geralt of Rivia/Reader Rating: Explicit | smut, breeding, reader has a coochie and hair long enough to braid Word Count: ~2300

You found him at the inn. Shrouded in shadow, tucked away in the back just as always. Two flagons before him, one empty and the other half full. He had likely already eaten his fill.

 You sat across from him, ordering your own food and drink. Neither of you spoke.

 He watched you. Mostly hidden by your cloak, he watched your hands as you cut your meat and sipped your ale. Caught a glimpse of your eyes when you chanced to meet his gaze.

 Tension radiated from him. The set of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw. Icy rain pelted against the nearby window. The wind groaned lowly outside.

 A group of men erupted in spontaneous cheers on the other side of the inn, and he turned quickly to glare at them unnoticed before turning back to his intent study of you.

 So you studied him right back. Watching him from beneath the hood of your cloak as you ate. The meat wasn’t as warm as you would have liked but it was much appreciated after your many days of travel.

 He hadn’t shaved in a few days. And silver scruff was filling in along his jaw. His hair was pulled back away from his face, and you watched the crease in his forehead occasionally deepen as he considered you. He was unarmored, though he still had with him a sword smaller than the greatswords he usually traveled with. His arms were bare, his sleeves pushed up to the elbow, and his dark shirt was half unfastened down the front. He must have been unaffected by the cold winds and rain that had overtaken you on your journey.

 Your plate was cleared. Your cup was empty. You handed the barkeep your coins and offered your sweetest smile. Still, they scurried away when he stood, looming behind you. He had pulled his own cloak on, and you could feel the heat of him against your back.

 You walked in front, but he was leading you. As you navigated the muddy, moonlit streets, he silently directed you. A heavy wooden door, a cold dark corridor. His footsteps behind you. You stepped into the room and heard the bolt set in place.

 You unfastened your cloak, folding it neatly and laying it across the back of a chair.

 “You were supposed to arrive at sundown,” he said. You glanced to see him standing before the fire, eyes focused on the flames. They reflected the light like molten gold.

 “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. A storm slowed me down.” It wasn’t a lie. The weather had not been kind the last few days of your journey. You unfastened your belt, leaving it with your cloak, and pulled the plaits from your hair, combing your finger through the strands.

 “Did you keep to the river?” he asked.

 You hadn’t.

 You were glad you were turned away from him so he couldn’t see your face. You know he had asked you to travel along the water, keeping to the valley. He was right that it was safer, but there were reasons for you to travel through the forest. Reasons he disapproved of.

 Fingers shaking, you started on the lacing of your surcoat.

 He stepped away from the fire, moving to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You leaned back against him, relaxing as he pressed his nose to your hair. His hands took over for yours as he undid the lacing. You trailed your fingers over his arms.

 “I smell the spruce of the mountains,” he said.

 You froze.

 “Juniper.” He inhaled again, breathing in the scent of the forest that you had unwittingly woven into your hair.

 He loosened the last of your laces and placed his hands over yours, holding you by your wrists.

 “I can smell the North on you.”

 Damn witchers. Damn them and their ridiculous senses. You tried to tug away from his hold, but he held you still.

 “You disobeyed me,” he said. “And then you lied to me. Your heart hasn’t stopped racing.”

 The rapid beat of your heart was only partially because of your dishonesty. He just had that effect on you. Surely he would know that by now.

 “Geralt-”

 He spun you quickly, backing you against the wall and leaning forward until his gaze was level with yours. His knuckles pressed to your throat, forcing you to lift your chin. “I told you it’s dangerous to travel the mountains alone.”

 “I had to go,” you insisted. “It didn’t take me any longer to travel, and I made it back just fine.”

 “And you thought I wouldn’t know?” His voice was low, a rumbling growl right beside your ear.

 “I thought it would be best to ask forgiveness than permission.” You raised your head, firm in your decision.

 “Of course,” Geralt scoffed. “It was foolish of me to even try and stop you.”

 “It was,” you agreed. You moved to step forward, to wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. You had missed him, and you wanted to be close to him. He kept you pinned to the wall.

 “I believe you were supposed to be begging for my forgiveness?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

 Your eyes widened.

 “Go on then,” Geralt shoved you to your knees. “Beg.”

 Your knees would surely bruise from how hard you hit the floor. You reached forward to brace yourself on his thighs. He was watching you with smug satisfaction, already reaching to remove his belts and unfasten his trousers.

 You watched his hands, eager for what was to come. Your lips were already parted, tongue swiping over them unconsciously. Geralt chuckled and pulled his cock free.

 You stroked him gently at first, swiping your thumb over the tip and squeezing all the way down to the base. He was so thick your fingers couldn’t meet around him, but you didn’t mind. You loved the way his hips moved as you twisted your wrist. His stomach tensed and he inhaled with a hiss.

 He quickly grew bored of just your hand, though. His fingers threaded through your hair before he tugged sharply, pulling you towards his cock. You wrapped your lips around him obediently. Slowly, he pulled you farther down his length. Each movement of your tongue or lips earned you a reaction from him, and you turned your eyes up to watch his expression change.

 "You're going to take it all," he said, his voice low and rough.

 You moaned, eager to do exactly as he said. He rocked his hips forward at the same time he pulled you in by your hair, and you were silenced as he forced his cock down your throat.

 It was rough. Punishing. Exactly what you had earned by disobeying him. You weren't sure that obedience was worthwhile when this is what you got from going against his orders. You loved the scratch of his calloused fingers against your scalp and the low moans that escaped him every time you wrapped your lips around the base of his cock. He was taking his pleasure however he wanted, selfishly fucking your mouth.

 And you were dripping down your thighs with arousal. Geralt was so strong and ruthless -- but rarely with you. It was seldom you got to see him this way and you loved it. He must have missed you while you were away.

 "You’re an eager little whore aren’t you,” he growled, holding you down on his cock so he could fuck your throat. “Disobedient. Stubborn. Look at you.”

 Your eyes brimmed with tears, cheeks hot and flushed as you let him use you.

 “I’m close,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut and head tipping back. His pace quickened, and then faltered. You held as still as you could as he finished down your throat.

 He pulled away as gently as possible, carding his fingers through your disheveled hair as you gasped and coughed. You nearly collapsed on the stone floor, but he was quick to catch you, taking you into his arms and pulling you to his chest. You let your fingers trail over the skin exposed along his collar. He pressed his lips to your hairline, carrying you to the wide, low bed that occupied the far wall. You pulled him down alongside you before he could get very far.

 “I need you,” you whispered, voice raspy. He let slip one of his rare smiles, pointed teeth gleaming in the low light, and you did your best to commit it to memory.

 “I can’t believe you took the mountain path in such a short amount of time,” he said, stretching out long on the bed and pulling you to lay against his chest.

 “I didn’t want you to know. It only takes four days to travel through the valley.”

 “Yes, and it takes six or eight to take the mountains. It’s impressive really.” His fingers absently searched out any bare skin they could reach, tracing idle shapes into your skin. “You’re nothing but trouble.”

 “I keep things exciting,” you teased. “But maybe I could put in a little more work to earn your forgiveness.” You let your hand trail over his chest, across his hard stomach and back over the fasten of his trousers.

 He raised an eyebrow. You could tell he was interested from the way his cock twitched beneath your palm. Sitting up, you removed the rest of your clothes. Geralt’s eyes never left you. It wasn’t until he caught sight of the glistening mess between your thighs that he moved.

 He was on you before you blink, looming over your back as he pressed a hand between your legs. “I could smell that you wanted me, but I didn’t know it was this bad.” He rubbed your pussy with the pads of his fingers. “You’re so needy. Like a bitch in heat.” His voice was right in your ear, warm breath fanning over your skin.

 You whined, rocking your hips against his hand. He pulled away just long enough to drag his shirt over his head and fling it away. His teeth latched onto your shoulder lightly as he pushed his trousers off as well. He pressed his cock against your ass, chuckling low as you pushed back to meet him, desperate to be filled.

 “Geralt, please,” you moaned.

 “Ah, so now you beg.” His voice was light and you wished you could see his smile. He settled his hands on your hips, lining himself up and sinking into you with a slow thrust of his hips. God, he was big. “You want me to breed you? To fill you up? Is that what you think you deserve?”

 He was enjoying himself. He wasn’t usually so talkative, and you loved the sound of his voice in your ear as he pounded into you.

 “Yes, please,” you nodded. He pressed you into the bed, pinning you beneath him and holding your hips so he could fuck you as hard as he liked. It was a blinding, delirious pleasure that you let yourself fall into, surrounded by Geralt, safe, protected.

 He pulled you from your haze by reaching to press two fingers to your clit. You came almost immediately. He didn’t let up as you shook through your orgasm, clenching around his cock and crying out in pleasure.

 “That’s it,” he said, never slowing the pace of his hips. “You’re going to come for me again.”

 It didn’t seem possible. You were already so overwhelmed. But he changed the motion of his fingers, and you felt it building again. He was getting close as well. You could tell by the way he occasionally slowed to savor the feeling of you around him, almost immediately followed by a blinding pace as he chased his own pleasure.

 His grip on your hip tightened, his teeth sinking into your shoulder once more as he rutted against you. The sharp sting of his canines made you gasp. Spurred on by his own impending orgasm, he pressed harder to your clit. Your eyes rolled back as his rough fingers, slick with your own arousal, dragged you to a second climax.

 He came as you did. His hips pressed tightly against yours as you shuddered and collapsed beneath him. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, filling you with his seed.

 A long moment of quiet, just the sound of your heaving breaths and the crackle of the fireplace. You melted onto the bed, stretching your limbs out long and sinking into a blissed out daze. Geralt wasn’t much better, laying half on top of you with his cock still buried inside. His breathing was evening out and you feared he would fall asleep.

 “Geralt,” you mumbled half-heartedly.

 “Mhm,” he responded, chest rumbling with the sound. You thought he was going to ignore you, but he moved after a second, pulling out of you with a hiss and searching for a way to clean up your mess. You rolled over, listening to your pulse gradually quiet and slow.

 It wasn’t much later that you were beneath the coverlet, once again nestled against Geralt’s side as he lay still. You weren’t sure if he was sleeping, his eyes were closed and his breaths so even and slow. You admired the softness in his features that you almost never got to see. It was only at times like this that you could catch him without a stern expression.

 “What are you looking at,” he asked, not opening his eyes.

 “You.” You splayed a palm over his chest. “I like it when you look happy.”

 “I am happy,” he said, not moving. “You make me happy.”

 You were glad he wasn’t looking so he couldn’t see the effect his words had on you. Your face grew hot, and you couldn’t hide your giddy smile. Curling tighter against him, you rested your head against his chest and let your eyes drift closed. “You make me happy, too,” you whispered.

Tip Jar: (please please please consider tipping!)

Ko-fi | Paypal

Masterlist of my other fics

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt/reader #geralt z rivii #witcher #the witcher #geralt of rivia/reader #geralt of rivia x reader #smut #lemons