#ok i cheered myself up i think

[frodothefair]

Frodogold wedding outakes, aka Dessert

(a lot of this may or may not make it into the final work; just having fun @konartiste)

Since many hobbits get married the year after the Scouring, Pippin, being in possession of a good voice and a felicity for composition, made a tidy sum performing his songs at wedding banquets. Briefly, the Planning Committee wondered if was right to ask Pippin to work at Frodo’s wedding, but it did not take long for them to agree that Pippin delighted in being seen and heard, and indeed they were not wrong: Pippin showed up with fiddle and sheet-music before they had even finished asking him.

----

At the pub, Gaffer laments that a daughter marrying into the gentry is not the boon everyone thinks it is – at least not in the short term – because of the "little matter" of the wedding gifts.

----

“If this ankle doesn’t a-meel-yore-ate anytime soon, I won’t be able to walk Mari down that aisle,” gruffed the Gaffer, raising his foot to the table for Sam to see. The bee sting shone red and lurid, like a ripe berry. “I might have to della-gate that bit to you, son.”

Sam considered for a moment, his heart sprinting in secret, the thought of walking down the aisle towards Frodo.

“No chance that a father of mine’s going to be missing out on that walk," he shook his head. "You keep off your feet all week, and I’ll ask Mari to make you a compress.”

----

There were, of course, a few other things that caused Marigold a great deal of distress, and those Sam would not reveal even under the influence of drink. For instance, that the Gaffer had made him read every line in the marriage contract twice in case “not all that glittered was gold,” and that even though Frodo was paying for the wedding and had declined a dowry, the Gamgees were still scouring their coffers and calling in favors and stretching their budgets as thin as threadpaper to make sure that their gifts to the couple did not look wretched alongside those from the Brandybucks and Tooks.

----

Hobbits do not use wedding rings - far too much risk that they’ll get lost while gardening. Marigold wearing a ring is also out of the question - not only bad memories for Frodo, but she is far too busy with her hands. As a result, Marigold gets Belladonna Took's necklace as an engagement gift - it has a choker and cameo design with a locket. Everyone has something to say about it: some think it too dear and too fancy, some think it not nearly dear enough. Marigold likes it because it is understated and does not clash with her existing outfits. 

----

Pippin likes to catch the bouquets at weddings, so his only ask of Frodo and Marigold is that Marigold throw her bouquet to him. When they wonder why he wants that, Pippin announces proudly that he’s caught four bouquets at weddings already, and it leads to jolly good fun, because there’s no better way to get a bevy of indignant lasses to chase him, and if he’s lucky, pile on top of him. He then adds that weddings are a “great way to meet people.” Frodo shakes his head and reminds Pippin that he isn’t even of age yet. 

---

“Marigold, how are you at throwing?" Pippin asked.

“Passing fair, I reckon,” she replied uncertainly. “I have three brothers.” 

“Great! Then you’ll throw the bouquet to me? It’s the only compensation I ask.”

----

But on the day, Marigold has such poor control of her faculties due to nerves that the bouquet ends up in the party tree.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

was talking to my brother the other day after i rewatched dark phoenix and he was like 'why is everyone so mean to charles in this movie?? were they always this mean to him ?? is it cause he's bald now- he lost his pretty privilege??' and i fear i havent recovered

[avalencias]

red moon rising….

[bizlybebo]

i want to say so bad that xyz character did nothing wrong but unfortunately they did in fact do Everything wrong

[monster-every-day]

day 71 - 3/11/24 - candle construct

the lighting on this one is atrocious please don't look at this

anyways this design originally came to me as a concept for a regi. like from pokemon. a fire-type regi, it's a volatile ball of flame encased in sacred wax by ancient people. the reason its sacred wax is because you dont have to worry about it melting it regenerates. anyway it obviously wouldn't have looked like this.

[zhuhongs]

resisting the urge to reply to my coworkers text a day later like "hey, sorry for the late response even though i initiated this conversation. its been a strange week, long story. also i hope i didnt come across as creepy asking for your number lol. how are you?" im not sending it but i need to put it out there so i can proceed in a way that doesnt read as .. awkward as hell

[akireu-13]

finally did the math and i have/will be working 65 hours in one week lol, average of 9hrs per day, which is more time than i spend sleeping

not counting the time i spend travelling, which would make it ~73, which means an average of 10hrs every day

could pick up a shift tomorrow and make it 71 (80 with travel)

[sleptting]

felt silly

[ludwigplayingthetrombone]

Post war/coma comic about Gai struggling with his recovery

Since tumblr hates long form comics, I have to split this into 2 bc its 36 images. This is the first part, part 2 i'll either do as a reblog or a separate post right after this, stay tuned! Links to support me in pinned post <3

tw: s*icidal thoughts, injury, a little blood

Bisuke: Gai's Back!

Gai: GRAAH!

Kks: Im home Gai: Welcome back Kks: [wheels rolling] Hey,

Kks: Ga-!? Gai: Im fine. The tile is cool on my face. Kks: Wanna go lay down in bed? Gai: I am so /sick/ of lying down. Kks: Ok. What do you want for supper?

Gai: You're not going to comment? Kks: I already know what happened. You overdid it again. I should be able to keep up with chores, kakashi. Kks: You can. Just don' bull through it all in one go. Do you want to end up in the hospital again? Gai: Please don't. Kks: I know sitting still is hard for you, and "too much" is in your DNA, but you have to take this slow so you don't exacerbate your injuries, Gai. You went from hyper-aware to pretending your body limits dont exist. Gai: Like you haven't done the same.

Gai: You've proved your point. Kks: It's not about that. And you've dragged me to bed and out of bed repeatedly when I needed it. You were burning alive from the inside. Tsunade told you your immune system is out of whack. You need to take it easy. /I/ know you're capable, but are you trying to prove to /yourself/ you are? Gai: You want me to admit my embarrassment? Kks: If something serioud happens, You'll be even more embarrassed then

Gai: How could you possibly know how I FEEL?! How could you EVER KNOW HOW I FEEL?! Kks: I DON'T! But I've /been/ the one ouking and sobbing on your bathroom floor because I couldn't take living anymore! And I don't want that for YOU!

Kks: I'm sorry, Gai. Gai: I'm sorry

Kks: I can't stand knowing you're in pain, and I can't get you help. If there was a way, I'd do anything. Gai: You do so much to help me already.... And I yelled at you Kks: I've screamed at you so much, that was pretty tame. I wish I was like you with things like this. Not great with what to say...... But I can listen.

Gai: I hate feeling so weak. I'm tired all the time, in constant pain, I can't even walk-..... I can tell tenten and the boys worry despite my efforts to appear positive. Kks: They're just not sure how to react. They know you hate being babied, but don't want to push you into hurting yourself. You hate being told you can't do something. They love you. You get stronger everyday, everyone is cheering you on.

Gai: I know it's irrational, but... I feel like you gave up the Hokage position to take care of me. Kks: Haa!? I'm grateful if anything. I'd be retired too if I could. That'd be amazing. I'm dreading just helping Tsunade but as long as you're by my side, I'll be fine. We're still equals, rivals, friends, partners

Gai: Even if I can't- Kks: /Always/ wil be, dickhead. Gai: You worry about me hurting myself? Kks: I know you think about it

Kks: We're the same in that regard Gai: I would never act on this, please believe me, these thoughts are rare........... Kks: It's ok, Gai. Gai: Sometimes I think i should have just died. I feel so out of place on the streets I used to feel so at home at. I never asked to live. I didn't plan to. I just don't know how to-...

Kks: I understand that. Though, dying didn't feel any better. Gai: I know I didn't fully pass like you did. I didn't see papa. Just for a moment, I wish I could have seen him.

Kks: As much as I'm sure he wants to see you again, It's too soon. Dai'd slap the shit out of you for wanting to waste your youth just to see him. Gai: [chuckle] probably. Kks: I have those thoughts less and less now, but they're still there. "why am I the one who survives?" "Burden" "Gai will come to his senses eventually"

Gai: FALSE!! None of my grief is with you! I love living here with you! My love for you only burns hotter each day! You're so lovely inside and out! Kks: Maa What did I do to deserve such praise from teh mouth of the hottest man in Konoha?? Gai: YOU STILL THINK I'M HOT?! Kks: YOU-! [CACKLE]

Kks: Your bad taste is the only reason I had a chance before someone snatched you up. Gai: The worst. Kks: Thought we'd irritate eachother, but it's been pretty smooth. Even though you still get played by the dogs. Gai: You really wanna throw those stones?

Gai: They play you just as easily. don't lie. Kks: My point is, whatever you need from me, you have it. No questions asked. Even if you yell and scream, i can take it. You held me together when I was unraveling, and I'll never forget it. Didn't trust anyone else to see me like that. Broken

Gai: I never saw you as that. Kks: I'll never see you as that

[tordthing]

also warning ignore this post it's a vent to get my undeniable rage out of my body. just because i have to share my body with other bitches doesn't mean i have to share it with the unquenchable thirst for bloodshed and the insatiable anger my soul is filled with (<villain monologue before i kick a rock and huff like a 4 year old over literally the most trivial shit ever)

[doromoni]

Not Over the Papaya | OP81

⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Ships : Oscar Piastri x Popstar! Reader , Ex!Lando Norris x Popstar! Reader

Genre : Fluff Smau

A/N : I missed you all 🥺. Again I’m sorry this update took way too long~ Thank you for the people who wished me better (really, ily) . I’m devastated with the news about Logan 😭 poor boy just needed his confidence back I swear.

Face claim : Jennie Kim

Warnings : Cursing, Grammatical Errors

Summary : Y/N and Oscar cope with their own breakups by making the Heartbreak Club.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

< Previous | Part 8 | Next >

f1wags

f1wags Y/N in the paddock! Welcome back Queen 👑

user1 She’s finally here 😭 We missed you Y/N!!

user2 She’s literally glowing , Oscar’s so lucky!

user3 Are they dating? I thought she was with Lando??

user4 Girl were where you? A LOT has gone down 🙂‍↕️.

user5 Honey let me catch u up. Lando cheated on Y/N with her friend during the winter break. Lando then posted a breakup post stating that the breakup was on both sides and they parted on good terms which Y/N has denied (it was MESSY). Then Oscar and Lily was rumored to have split (they did, Oscar later posted a shady breakup post; Lily was allegedly cheating). Then Y/N and Oscar started hanging out (sometimes with Logan). + After Oscar’s win in Hungary — He was then spotted in America for Y/N’s show the day after. Then they were spotted several times together after and they are now allegedly dating (not yet confirmed).

user3 WHAT.

user4 MESSY RIGHT?!!

user3 Is Lando still with Y/N’s friend??

user5 She’s also in the paddock rn 🤡

user3 wtf?? the audacity??

user6 lando FUMBLED so bad. SO BAD.

user7 Literally not thinking straight. I swear Lando.

oscarpiastri 5 min

story replies

Y/N. I guess soft launches aren’t our thing , Ok understood 🙂‍↕️

oscarpiastri Its not launching if we aren’t officially a thing yet, dear 🫶

Y/N. Oh right!! were only friends babe 🥰

oscarpiastri best of friends, Luv 😘.

Y/N. Ur so annoying , I love you 🙄. Have fun w/ ur interviews

oscarpiastri Thanks dear, Love you more!

charles_leclerc is this a hard launch 👀

oscarpiastri I don’t know, is it??😇

charles_leclerc don’t be smart with me boy . I didnt raise you like this

oscarpiastri you didn’t raise me at all! you were too busy flirting with the dutch boi .

charles_leclerc I—

oscarpiastri you are silenced old man

danielricciardo oi seat stealer, please tell Y/N to answer my messages. She keeps inboxing my messages! I need my cowboy hats 😩

oscarpiastri i prefer to call myself a mental health saver. I guided you back to Red Bull 🤓☝️

danielricciardo And got me my contract money 🤑. Back to the topic! come on pls tell Y/N! she promised me a cowboy hat from florida. pls pls pls

oscarpiastri Its in our luggage, calm down.

danielricciardo Damn “OUR” luggage. I still can’t believe you pulled Y/N from him. Cheers to you mate

oscarpiastri boi you still hold grudges with Lando huh.

danielricciardo him and the entire team can burnn 😀. Im saying this again, mate… watch your back.

oscarpiastri I know danny, you’ve warned me hundreds of times.

landonorris You little shit. You really brought Y/N here. You have the fucking balls huh

oscarpiastri I did, I do . What’s it to you?

landonorris You’ll regret this Oscar.

oscarpiastri Try me.

landonorris I’ll get her back.

oscarpiastri lmao sure you do.

Y/N. 3 min

story replies

oscarpiastri oh hello self! nice seeing you here

Y/N. He’s cute right? Such a pookie

oscarpiastri I’ve seen better 🤷‍♂️

Y/N. Really?? I haven’t. He’s the cutest to me 🥰🥰🥰

oscarpiastri So i assume that we’re ok with posting each other then 🫣

Y/N. Hell yeah! I ain’t hiding you boi. Ur mine.

oscarpiastri Possessive… i like it

Y/N. oh you’re FREAKY.

Y/bf. And Oscar has made the public ig 🥳

Y/N. I assume u approve of Osc then

Y/bf. Out of everyone you’ve dated he’s the most decent

Y/N. Decent 😖

Y/bf. That’s a COMPLIMENT

danielricciardo OI Y/N! don’t ignore my messages!

danielricciardo MY HAT WOMAN! MY HAT

Y/N. OK CHILL! I have it you crazy aussie. Osc will give it to you tomorrow before FP1.

danielricciardo Thank you 😇.

*Incoming call from Norris

Pick up or Decline

Pick up

“Hello?”

“We need to talk. Now”

“I didn’t unblock your number so you could disrespect me”

“I’m sorry… Can we talk in person?”

landonorris 1 min

*messages are disabled

Series Taglist : @champagneproblems17 @itsjustfranzi @cheriwritesig @forza-charles @awritingtree @sltwins @gr1mes-cc @hwalllllllelujah @btsfluffsworld @tillyt04 @landotd @booksandflowrs @czennieszn @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @tellybearryyyy @wobblymug @alittlechaotics-blog @bingussthirdtoe @mirrorball-6 @demandealalune @heartsforleclerc @yoongi-holland @maneskin-slave @alenix @forensicheart @bloodyymaryyy @stereading @hahahjej @youre-on-your-ownkid : closed

Maintaglist : @myescapefromthislife @peterholland04 @charlottef1 @fangirl125reader @mel164 @gnarlycore @chloelovesln4 @vickykazuya @merchelsea @ln4author @qzmef @nxk1309 @styl1shl1v @lottalove4evelyn @gr3yhues : closed for now

[felixknow]

Hi! Can you do Hyunjin 39

39. "I moan your name when I masturbate."

gn!reader, not edited, drunk hangout, truth or dare, poorly written bc we're just playing around and having fun ok let's goooooo

“Channie, truth or dare?” Felix asks, breaking the momentary silence in the room. Chan chuckles and puts his phone down, stretching his arms over his head and his legs out in front of him, letting his lithe body form a line as he slides down the couch cushions and onto the floor.

“Mm… dare,” he settles on.

“I dare youuu… toooooo…” Felix drawls, trying to think of something good. “Send a selfie on Bubble and say ‘oops, wrong chat’.”

Chan chuckles while Seungmin scoffs.

“Good one,” Seungmin says.

“The hardest part is going to be finding a selfie to send them,” Chan says, picking his phone back up. A few minutes later, after the messages are sent and the boys have a good laugh at the reactions coming through, Chan puts his phone away again.

“Is it my turn to ask then? Y/nnah, truth or dare?”

You startle and scoot a little closer to the group. You’d been sitting to the side, mostly keeping to yourself since half the boys had gone out to pick up dinner, including the two who tied you to the rest of the group in the first place.

“Um, truth.”

“Are you nervous to be around us without Hannie and Minho here?” He smirks and you scrunch up your face like a kid who’s being teased, because that’s exactly what it feels like.

“And so what if I do?” you playfully retort. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself. Also, it’s a little odd being left with my friends’ friends before we in this room have become friends.”

“You don’t think we’re friends?” Felix asks, giving you a dramatic set of puppy dog eyes. “I think we’re friends, Y/nnie.”

“I think we are too, Lix. At least I hope so!”

The game continues on for a couple more rounds until Han, Minho, and Hyunjin come back with dinner and alcohol.

“Let’s make this a party!” Han cheers, and Minho rolls his eyes.

“You’ll be drunk in half an hour, jagiya. Eat your dinner first at least.”

Han bashfully responds with a “yes, hyung,” never quite the fan of being called a lightweight.

Han’s not the only lightweight in the room, though.

“Oh my god, we should play truth or dare again,” you say excitedly, an hour after dinner and several shots in. “Hannie, we played truth or dare earlier! We should do it again! Truth or dare?”

“Dare!!” he responds excitedly, matching your bubbly and drunk-dazed excitement.

“I dare you to get Minho to kiss you.” You giggle, while Han whines.

“Noo, that’s the worst because you know he will! He’s all over me at home, I can’t get a single night’s sleep without him trying to give me a bedtime kiss first!”

“Someone has to tell you goodnight and sweet dreams, otherwise you’ll have nightmares,” Minho says simply. Then he smirks as Han turns toward him. “Now come here and give me a big, juicy kiss.”

“No!” Han exclaims, struggling and squirming, trying to push back against his roommate’s chest as the stronger of the two slowly reels him in. The group gets a good laugh in before Minho finally wins out and plants a kiss to the corner of Han’s mouth.

“Ew,” Han says over-exaggeratedly, wiping his mouth, and Minho rolls his smiling eyes.

“Your turn now, Hannie. You ask someone.”

“Okay. Changbinnie. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Put on the underwear I got you for your birthday,” Minho quips.

“Hey!” Changbin shouts, ever so easily worked up. “It’s Han’s turn to dare someone, not you! Stop being a creep!”

Minho laughs hard, throwing his head back and cackling until he has to turn and lean on Han for support.

“Ignore him,” Han says. “Changbinnie, I dare you to take two shots back to back.”

“Jesus,” Changbin scoffs, widening his eyes. “Damn. Okay. Someone’s annoyed he isn’t the only drunk one,” he says, watching as Jeongin pours him a drink. One shot goes down. Then a second one, less smoothly.

“This shit is disgusting. Alright, husband of mine. Truth or dare?”

“Hm?” Hyunjin sits up, rejoining the group. He’d been laying down on the ground, somewhere between food-coma and introvert’s recharge. “Truth.”

“Are you crushing on anyone right now?” Changbin asks, smirking. Hyunjin scowls at him, and the two make a show of switching expressions, trying to make the other laugh. Changbin winks cheekily, acting cute, and Hyunjin huffs and pretends to gag. Changbin makes kissy faces and holds up a heart to his cheek, and Hyunjin rolls his eyes and bluntly says “no.”

“That’s so not true,” Chan chuckles.

“No to Changbin. Yes to the question.”

“Damn,” Changbin sighs. “My husband is cheating on me.”

“Never, baby. You know who I go home to at the end of the night.” Hyunjin winks at him, finally play-flirting back, making Changbin and several others laugh.

“Okay, okay. Y/nnah. Truth or dare?”

“Hmmm,” you hum, long and drawn out. “Truth.”

“Didn’t you do truth earlier?” Seungmin asks.

“Yes, soooo?”

“Sooo.” Hyunjin draws out the syllable, thinking of something to ask. “Oh! What were you doing when you butt dialed me that one time?”

“Huh?”

“You butt-dialed me! Didn’t I ask you about that? I think it’s because you were doing something but you were saying my name, or something like it. I just heard, like, shuffling and your voice a little and I was like, ‘hello?’ and you didn’t answer so I hung up.”

Your face is burning in embarrassment by the time he’s finished his spiel. 

“Um… Dare…”

“Noo!” several of the boys chant and insist. “You can’t change your mind now!” Jeongin says.

“Answer the question!” Minho insists.

“Yeah, I’m curious now,” Han agrees.

“I really-- I can’t--”

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin says, shrugging. “I told Changbin about it and he said you could have been having sex. I thought maybe you were looking for your lost phone or something… until you moaned.”

“I WHAT?!”

The group laughs, Han and Felix both turning toward you and hugging you.

“Ohh, Y/N. Don’t listen to him, he’s just messing with you!” Felix insists.

“I never said that!” Cahngbin insists. “He’s joking, Y/N, I swear. Please don’t be embarrassed. Guys-- stop! Don’t laugh!”

“It’s okay, it’s fine, I’m totally fine, I’m totally not about to die of embarrassment or anything.”

“I really was kidding,” Hyunjin says, bowing all the way to the floor in front of you. “I’m so sorry! Please forgive me. There was no moan. I just thought it would be funny!”

“Please get up,” you laugh, patting Hyunjin’s shoulder. “It’s fine, really. I could tell it was a joke,” you lie. “You’re a dumbass, though, by the way.”

The group bursts out in laughter once again, and the night moves on, the incident almost forgotten, until…

The night is winding down, the group is cleaning up the mess they’d made, putting Chan and Jeongin’s furniture back where it belongs, cleaning dishes, taking out the trash.

You pass Hyunjin in the hallway as you’re leaving the bathroom, and he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“It was what I thought it was, right? When you called me.”

“What, the phone…? Yeah, I was, um… looking for my phone,” you say nervously, unable to meet his eyes.

“No, not that… you were… moaning.” His gaze locks onto yours and your heart feels like it’s going to drop out of your ass.

“Well…maybe…”

“So you think of me? When you play with yourself?” He asks so quietly you almost don't hear him. You can only nod to confirm.

A slow smirky smile grows on his face.

“Call me next time. You don’t have to play by yourself, if you don’t want to.”

[gumdefense]

I love presenting profiles to people but in regards to the Feys it’s so. Why would you do this to me. I’ll write it down bc it’s too many screenshots to fit in one post but man. This is all from 2-2 since that’s where I’m at in my replay

Presenting Pearl’s profile to Maya:

Maya: Pearly… She definitely has more than me…

Phoenix: Huh? What are you talking about?

Maya: Who I think the next Master should be… I mean, she’s got more spiritual power than me, and she always works really hard at her training…

Presenting Maya’s profile to Maya:

Maya: I… I can’t face myself…

Presenting Maya’s profile to Pearl:

Pearl: I look up to Mystic Maya a lot. She’s my role model. She’s so smart, and pretty, and kind, and loving. She’s always cheerful, never gets sick, isn’t picky, and has good sleeping habits. She always wakes up before me, and always eats breakfast before me too. [part I didn’t manage to screenshot because it skips automatically but it’s basically "and she has you and you two are so cute-"]

Phoenix: Ack! OK, OK! I get the idea! (She really thinks the world of Maya, doesn’t she?)

Presenting Pearl’s profile to Pearl:

Pearl: To tell you the truth, I really want to grow my hair out, just like Mystic Maya.

Phoenix: [something about how her hair is cute and suits her I didn’t screenshot it either]

Presenting Mia’s profile to Pearl:

Pearl: I knew her for a little while. Mystic Mia was your teacher, right? I’m sure she was a great Master of Lawyers.

Presenting Maya’s profile to Mia:

Mia: I can’t see Maya… when I’m in her body like this… But I can tell. She’s very lonely and sad. Take good care of her, will you, Phoenix?

Phoenix: I-I will…

Presenting Pearl’s profile to Mia:

Mia: Pearly! She’s really grown up… I left Kurain Village a long time ago. She probably doesn’t remember a thing about me by now…

Presenting Mia’s profile to Mia:

Mia: That’s right. I’m already dead. But I feel very grateful to have been born a Fey… so I can talk with you like this…

And it’s not a profile but presenting the magatama to Mia:

Mia: This is something very important to me. Take good care of it, OK?

Phoenix: (She’s looking at it with a soft look in her eyes…)

[shu-porang-porang]

Love Me Until I Love Myself

♡♡♡ Minho wants to make sure you know he loves you ♡♡♡

Pairs: Lee Minho (Lee Know) / fem!reader

Rating: Explicit

Theme: Angst, Fluff, Smut, 18+ NO MINORS.

Warnings: oral (female receiving), fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex (do not try at home!), reader is insecure and doesn't like herself

Word count: 3 k

You and your boyfriend are on the ride back home from an awards show after party. It was exhausting. You used to think they must be fun, getting to chat and party with celebrities, but nope. You’re not built for this. You wonder how he could do it, especially after performing those taxing choreos. You could never. All night he was so bubbly and cheerful, while you tried to hide in shadows and attract as little attention as possible. Well, it’s not like people cared about you anyway, you were an outsider, a peasant who was offered a chance at a royal ball.

Halfway through it you questioned why you even accepted to participate, and then right away, you remembered why. Another girl approached him, congratulating him on their win and talking about memories you weren’t a part of, laughing at inside jokes you couldn’t understand. Of course, he would be comfortable with these girls, they’re coworkers after all! He’s known some of them for ages, way before you guys met, and of course you had no right to tell him to stay away from them or anything. The best you could do was to stick around, so the girls were aware of you as his girlfriend, or he knew you were there, lest he decided to do something naughty with one of them...

You know you’re being unreasonable; you know he’s loyal, and they’re just friends, some of them are even like his little sisters, but you can’t get these thoughts out of your head. Your insecurities won’t let you. After all, those girls are famous idols, loved by millions, always so dolled up and pretty, acting cute and shit. You think it’s just a matter of time before Minho realizes the timid plain you ain’t good enough for a star like him. Although he always fondly smiles at your dorky made up dance moves, you think some performer who could actually dance and shared his passion for dancing would be more appealing to him. You feel you lack a lot, and you can’t justify why someone like him would be interested in someone like you.

You feel pathetic. You let out a sigh subconsciously and Minho gently puts a hand on your thigh, asking if you’re ok. You reply with a nod and a weak smile. You’re afraid if you try to talk, tears may spill. His hand remains on your thigh, so you hold it to calm yourself down. His soft hand that you love so much. You love everything about him, you’re crazy about him. You wish you didn’t love him so much, then he couldn’t one day break your heart. You wish you were another person, well, you wished that almost your entire life until you met him. Having him, convinced you that you were alright, the person who you were and hated for so long, was the same person who got you to him, so it was alright. But here you are again, doubting yourself. You think you’re just broken and can never be fully fixed. So maybe it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to stick with you…

You arrive at Minho’s place. You moved in with him a few months back, so it’s technically your place too, but you don’t dare to indulge yourself in that idea, you think you don’t deserve it, you’ll lose it soon, so better to not get attached, but it’s already too late.

Home, at last. As soon as you enter, you are greeted by the cats. Minho picks one up cooing at it. You walk past by him into the bedroom. You just wanna rid yourself of the party attire and go to sleep, right now the only thing that could stop your train of horrible thoughts is sleep.

Minho joins you soon after, walks towards you and wraps his arms around you from behind as you’re taking your jewelry off in front of the mirror. He nuzzles his nose against your neck, inhaling your scent.

“Hey let go, I’m tired. Just wanna get out of this dress and go to bed.”

“But I want you to stay in this dress a bit longer. You looked so pretty tonight, babe” he leaves kisses on your exposed shoulder that make your breath hitch in your throat. But you’re still upset about the bleak night you had.

“Oh, is that why you spent the whole time talking to other girls while I was sitting right there?” Your bottled up emotions force you to blurt out.

He lifts his head up, looking you in the eyes through the mirror. His expression is baffled, he’s trying to figure out what he did wrong.

“What are you talking about? I thought we had a nice time there!”

“Well, you obviously had, giggling with them all night.”

You try to break free from his arms but he won’t budge.

“Hey! You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s exactly wrong.”

You try to form sentences that would explain why you’re feeling like this, but you feel stupid for bringing it up in the first place. You break into tears as you’re tired and helpless and don’t even know how to make sense of your feelings. Silent tears start streaming down your cheeks, you’re never one to sob loudly. Worries written all over his face.

“Baby tell me. What did I do? Did someone say something to you?”

You shake your head “no”. He lifts you up and carries you to bed, sitting you on his lap. You show no resistance, your hands are balled up on your lap and your head is down, trying to cover your crying face with the lose strands of your hair, which he tucks behind your ear immediately. His thumb is caressing your tear-stricken cheek. His other hand is soothingly massaging your thigh.

“It’s okay baby, you can talk to me. Please. It really hurts me to see you like this and not be able to do anything about it. Tell me what’s wrong sweetie. We’re gonna fix it together.”

You don’t wanna hurt him. Hurting him is the last thing you would do. So, you try to fight the tears and speak.

“I… seeing you tonight… the girls all pretty and talented… the things you have in common… how close you are… I wonder… how long… till you realize……….”

“Till I realize what baby?”

“I’m not… good enough” your voice is shaky, again on the verge of tears.

He’s in disbelief. His mouth slightly agape in shock. His grip on your waist tightens.

“Why would you even think that?” he says as if asking himself, not really waiting for a response from you.

His brows are furrowed. He’s thinking to himself.

“I get it now. You were sitting right there, and I kept talking to other people as if you weren’t. But I just thought you weren’t taking part in conversations coz you didn’t want to be bothered… but you actually felt excluded from them. Is that right?”

“Almost. That alone wasn’t a problem, but it made me think you deserve to be with someone who’s more like them and less like me…”

“Woah! Where did you get that from?”

“You’re too good for me… it can’t be right. I’m afraid you’re wasting your time with me…”

“Hey! You don’t get to decide that for me! Do you think I couldn’t have any of those girls if I wanted? The thing is, I don’t want them, I want you.”

“Why do you even love me? Even I can’t love myself…”

“Where should I begin? I love everything about you, and I make that my first priority from now on, to make you see all the things I love in you, and to make you love them too.” He finishes his sentence with a soft kiss on your collarbone.

He plants a few more kisses on the expanse of your chest before pulling back and looking into your glossy eyes. You give him a thankful smile as your hands reach for his nape and pull him in for a kiss. His lips feel like heaven against yours, soft and plump. The kiss starts with languid movements of your mouths. Neither of you are in a hurry, you both need to savor this moment. He drags his tongue on your bottom lip and you let it in. As your tongues are dancing, the temperature rises. His hand that was on your waist, travels up to grope at your clothed breast, the other hand is tangled in your hair, keeping your head in place for him to abuse your lips.

He lays you on your back on the bed, momentarily disconnecting your lips which makes you whimper in loss. It encourages him to get back to kissing with even more fervor. His hands are pulling the straps of your dress down, trying to gain access to your breasts. He trails kisses down your jaw and across the column of your neck, to your shoulders and collarbone. They alternate between feather like pecks to purplish hickeys. He can’t decide what he wants. He wants it all, he wants all of you, he can’t get enough.

He stops to admire his work of art. A hand cups your cheek gently which you lean into, closing your eyes.

“You’re so perfect baby,” He plants a kiss to your forehead. “Even in my wildest imaginations I couldn’t picture someone this pretty,” Another kiss to your nose. “Inside and out.”

You open your eyes to see his lovingly stare back. You pull him in for another taste of his lips.

“So, do you still wanna get rid of this dress?”

“I do, if you want to.”

“As gorgeous as you look, I can’t wait to see what’s underneath.”

He takes it off and your left in nothing but your black lace panties. You tug at his dress shirt, signaling him to take it off too, which he complies, followed by the unbuckling of his belt and his pants follow suit.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I want you to never forget that.” He says as he hovers over you once again. You open your arms to invite him into your hug. He lowers his body onto yours, slightly circling his hips against your crotch. You feel him twitch in his boxers.

“We don’t have to do it if you’re not in the mood, you know.” He says searching your eyes.

“I want it baby, I need you, I really do.” You say as your hands are mapping his toned chest.

With a little smirk on his lips, he goes back to business. He kisses your chest, right above your racing heart, then latches his mouth to your left nipple. He sucks and bites at it till its raw, while trying to give the same amount of attention to the right one between his fingers. You squirm beneath him as your nipples get too sensitive and can’t handle more. He gets the cue and snaps out of his uncontrollable desire to ruin them. Instead, he gives them both kitten licks and pecks in turn, to compensate for the rough treatment they just received.

Moving down your naval, he’s all soft and sweet with butterfly kisses, loving pecks and whispering sweet nothings in between. He’s slotted between your thighs as he reaches your core. Eyes darting up to ask for your permission one last time before he’s completely unstoppable. You give him a nod and he places a kiss to your clothed mound. He teases by nudging his nose to your clit and licking a stripe from your hole to it. Tasting the arousal leaking through the fabric, he lets out a satisfied hum that sends shivers up your spine. You’re growing impatient but he’s taking his sweet time with peppering your inner thighs with kisses and hickeys. You feel more of your juices flowing out and you buck your hips up.

“Stay still princess. Let me take care of you, hm?”

“Minho… please…” You whine. You trust him that he’ll take good care of you, but you can’t wait anymore.

He finally gets rid of your panties and the cool air hits your pussy, followed by warm puffs of his breath.

“So pretty… all mine” He says before diving down and starting to make out with your pussy lips. The lewd noises that fill the room make you forget why you were even upset earlier. The only thing you don’t like about this moment is how little pressure he’s putting on your clit, enough to keep your juices flowing, but not enough to make them gush out all at once. You’re a moaning mess, your fingers pulling at his roots, trying to keep his face close to your core. He’s finally sucking at your clit, suddenly the pleasure gets overwhelming as he inserts two fingers inside you. You feel the knot in your stomach tightening to a snap. A few more strokes of his tongue and your coming undone. Your thighs shake around his head, one of his hands comes up to fondle your breast, his mouth still attached to your core, drinking the elixir of life straight from the fountain. He waits for you to ride your orgasm before he crawls back on top and gives you a taste of yourself. His mouth and chin are glistening with your juices. What a sight to see! You feel extremely lucky to be the one who caused this scene.

“That was …amazing… Thank you” you say while trying to find the normal rhythm of your breath.

“I told you I know how to take care of my girl.”

“Now it’s your turn.” You push him on his back and now you’re on top.

First thing you do is taking his boxers off and finally freeing his aching cock. You wonder how he managed to focus on pleasuring you while he was this hard. The sight alone makes you all turned on again. You thought you’d need more time to build a second orgasm, but you’re already throbbing.

Now it’s your turn to mark him, to shower him with kisses, to try and pour as much love as possible onto your every touch. Starting from the sensitive spot on his neck, you know you can’t mark him here, still you suck it a bit harsher than you should. You leave open-mouthed kisses all over his chest and where it is safe, give him a few hickeys too. You lovingly kiss the scar on his abdomen, the fact that it’s another thing that only a few have seen and you’re one of those few, is really endearing to you.

His member is twitching between your bodies. You slide your wet pussy on it, earning a groan from him. You decide he deserves a quicker release, so you stop grinding to hold it and align it with your entrance but he stops you.

“Wait baby. Let me do it.” He says as he’s stopping your hips from moving.

You’re confused but you go with it. He gets on top again.

“Tonight is about showing my baby how much I love her.” He says with a fond smile.

“I wanna make sure everything feels good for you.” He puts a pillow under your hips to gain a better angle. He inserts the two fingers from before in your pussy, checking how wet you are and scissoring them to loosen the muscles.

“Minnie I’m fine… it’s not my first time…” you try to say in between gasps as his fingers alone are doing wonders inside of you.

“Oh but it is sweetheart. I’m gonna love you all over again.” He inserts a third finger.

“Gonna make sure to give you all the love you deserve.”

He clashes his lips to yours as he replaces his fingers with the tip of his cock. The stretch is pleasant, you want more of it. You moan in his mouth as he slowly inches inside you until he finally bottoms out. He stays still, your warmth engulfing him, turns his brains to mush.

He whispers in your ear: “I love you so much”

He starts moving as he nibs at your earlobe, giving you words of praise now and then. Your arms wrap impossibly tight around his shoulders, leaving no space between your chests.

He slowly picks up his pace. Your nails are digging to his biceps now. Beautiful moans fill the room. His lips won’t leave your skin for more than 3 seconds. He pats down your left arm till he reaches your hand and your fingers intertwine as if they have brains of their own. He pins it above your head and his other hand is beside your head, supporting his weight as his movements get faster and less precise.

“ ’m close…” you manage to let out.

“Go ahead… I’m right… behind you”

A few more thrusts and you’re second orgasm hits you as your head falls back and your eyes screw shut, his name like a prayer on your lips. You’ve made a habit out of saying his name every time you came or it wouldn’t feel right.

As your walls convulse around him, he can’t hold it back anymore. Ropes of white hot liquid paint your walls. He collapses on top of you. He tries to pull out but you stop him.

“Wanna stay connected to you a bit more…” You wish you could merge with him into one person, but having him inside a bit longer, would do too.

His head finds its place in the crook of your neck. One of your hands is in his hair and the other is resting on his back. You whisper a “I love you” to his hair and kiss the top of his head and he lets out a sigh. You don’t want this moment to end. If he can love you this much, maybe you should give it a try too.

[babybinko]

Made a TON of Venture Bros. genderbends :D

Bonus + some of my thoughts on all the designs under the cut:

This is from a conversation I had with a friend about how Dermott and Hank would behave in this AU (its exactly the same as normal)

Ok now some thoughts on my design process

Hank: I think I drew Hank's face actually perfect, I made her so cute. I also feel like there's a common trope with genderbends where athletic characters get short hair so I gave her long hair and gave Dean short hair. I actually think the longer hair fits her perfectly. ALSO I LOVE HER BOOTS.

Dean: I gave goth Dean more Accessories than normal because normal goth dean had no fucking swag (it was besties idea to make her pants ripped). Even before I started drawing college Dean I knew I was giving her those legwarmers you can pry them from my cold dead hands. Same with the legwarmers I knew the first dean design needed a Jean skirt its just the vibes.

Dermott: The millisecond I even thought about doing Dermott I KNEW she would be 2012 grunge girl aesthetic. Gigantic shoplifting energy. Love her.

Rusty: I wanted her to look like a mean mom and I believe I accomplished that goal. Absolutely had to add the glasses strap. Very Jamie Lee Curtis.

Brock: I drew the one with the hair down first and my friends preferred the one with the hair up so I just did both. I wonder if she was a cheerleader in college and killed another girl on her cheer squad by throwing her too far/dropping them.

21: I drew 21 then I realized I had just drawn myself with bangs. Also I drew her with a blunt because there's an episode where 21 has a joint in his mouth the whole episode the other henchmen are standing in stupid poses in the background and its maybe one of my favorite bits in the entire show its so stupid.

24: 24 took several attempts to get the hair right I kept drawing it short and curly and my friend told me to give her Elaine from Seinfeld hair which I think ended up working really well.

Monarch: One of my favorites I did. I feel like this one you can definitely tell how Bayonetta completely re-arranged my brain chemicals as teenager. I love the hip cutouts, I made a tummy cutout to kind of mimic how Dr.GF's monarch costume is kinda skimpy. It's also hard to tell because of the cowl but I tried to give her like a finger waves hairstyle.

Dr.Gf: I tried a bunch of different hats but my friends liked the brimless hat the most and completely doomed him into looking like a Bellhop (more than he already did). Its giving Tyler the Creator at the 2020 Grammys. I still think he's cute though :)

Billy: I really didnt want to just draw her in a suit because thats boring. The show always gives me 60s vibes despite being set in modern day (I'm sure its on purpose) and I definitely channeled that with Billy. It took a couple tries to find a balance between fitting her body but still looking adult but I think I got it in the end.

Pete: YAYYYY PETE YAAAAYY!!! ^_^ Shes so Ava Max Coded. I also gave her giant buckles on her shoes to match his stupid ass one two buckle my shoes ass shoes.

Triana: Very much looks like putting emo boy in the Pinterest search bar. I made her thigh highs into his sleeves and I gave him square bangs like her.

Dr. Orpheus: NEEDED to make her a hot milf and I did. Its a little hard to see but her shirt has lace over the open part. I love the hair Jewerly at the bottom of her braid. :)

[leclsrc]

you know it ✴︎ cl16

genre: porn WITH plot (for once?! everyone cheered), humor, bit of fluff... oh inaccurate depictions of the 2022 season sorry

word count: 7k

Charles is a bit disappointed the pretty girl he harbors a crush on doesn’t have him listed as a Formula 1 crush. He is a lot disappointed that you two can’t fuck.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... degradation, praise, charles is a bit switchy here lol, penetrative sex, a bit of ass play sorry...., oral (m receiving), semi public sex, yeah

title from this. i love u guys im so sleepy

Joris insists there’s some big present waiting for Charles in his car, to celebrate the middle of the season that has, and will no doubt continue to stretch into a period of conflict and strategy woes. He yanks off the beanie sitting on his head, listens to small talk drifting between Joris and Carlos as they all walk toward their cars to alleviate the bubble of nerves in the low of his stomach. 

Sure enough, there’s an unassuming box lying on the driver’s seat. Joris slides into the passenger seat after Carlos drives away with his girlfriend, his grin shit-eating and mischievous. The door is half open when Charles takes the box to inspect it. White, with the Ferrari logo printed neatly on the centre (very classy touch), the sides are signed by different members of his team. He scratches through the seal and pulls the flap open.

He’s been given a quasi-official Ferrari box of condoms.

Thirty-six condoms, at that, small squares neatly lined up next to each other. Talk about a welcoming present. Not a camera, not racing memorabilia, not a new pair of shoes. Just condoms. Thirty-six of them.

“A mid-season pick-me-up,” presses his friend, giddily. The shorter male lounges comfortably on the seat, a blissful look of pride on his face. Laughing with exasperation, Charles wedges the box shut and tosses it carelessly into the backseat, preparing to drive. This isn’t his first rodeo with weird gifts—he’s half-sure he got adoption papers from an especially excited fan once before.

“You are such an asshole.”

“It’s also a congratulations on winning literally every race so far present,” Joris adds. It’s hyperbole but has a ring of truth to it. As the season closes, Charles’ chances of holding up the trophy this year increase. 

Despite himself, Charles has a better outlook on his chances for the remainder of the season, driving-wise. He’s given it his all so far, and the rest looks promising enough. He only hopes he’s right. Netflix also increased the amount of people getting into the sport, so he’s dealing with tons more fans and nosey DMs, but it’s not too much of an impediment to a hopefully stellar season.

Charles makes a right. “Do you plan to use them?” Joris asks then, a teasing tone taking on his voice as he scrolls through his phone.

“No, not really,” Charles says, lying straight through his teeth.

“You’re a fucking liar, you are.” He whips his head toward Charles, observing his stoic side profile. “You’re single, haven’t gotten laid in months—”

“—weeks.” Corrects Charles with a cough, the defense coming at an embarrassing speed.

“…Case in point. And sports gets everyone horny. And if you didn’t know, Mattia actually OK-ed the condoms, so you’ve basically been greenlit by your boss to fuck half the world. Thank me later. I’m proud of myself.”

“Sports gets everyone competitive. Because it’s sports. Which, you’re conveniently forgetting, is my life profession.”

“Loosen up,” Joris whistles lowly. “You think Lewis got seven titles by being a closed-off celibate? It’s practically tradition to fuck around if you’re single in sports. And, for others, being in a relationship is barely an obstacle, anyway.”

Charles hates to admit that Joris is right—because he is. Racing isn’t racing without the extravagant parties that follow, and the girls and guys brought back to hotels for reasons known to everyone. People from everywhere come to the paddock and the clubs—models, influencers, actors. The pent-up energy has to go somewhere, he supposes.

But even if the little shit is right, Charles still maintains a level of dignity. Ergo, he’s steadfast in his belief that he will not be sleeping around or putting this godforsaken box of condoms to any semblance of use while the rest of the season progresses. He just hopes he won’t eat his words.

—

Monza kicks off with a 1-2 and secures Charles with a comfortable lead ahead Max.

He is high on adrenaline all night, toasting and chugging to the win, snapping pictures with Carlos, proud out of his mind. It’s everything he’s wanted and more, a quench to the thirst he’d developed over the season, a slap in the face to his doubters, a kiss on his. He texts his family, friends who aren’t present, some other people who he feels are deserving of a personal announcement, and pockets his phone.

“Now would be a great time to put that gift to use,” Carlos says at some point, when everyone in the garage is kicking back alcohol and slowly preparing to move the celebrations someplace else.

Charles cringes visibly, having almost forgotten about the dreaded gift, and totally forgotten Carlos’ knowledge of it. Even with the recent win, he’s already thinking of the next, the promise of a two-peat, another podium, hell, another 1-2. The condoms were honest to God the last thing on his mind.

They break apart an hour later, when Charles is heading to the hotel and Carlos is headed somewhere else. He’s almost to the exit when someone calls his attention in a curt English voice.He turns and finds Lewis jogging toward him, outside of his race suit and back in the fashionable apparel Charles merely wishes he could pull off.

“Lewis,” he waves, pacing toward him to save the extra few seconds of waiting. 

“Amazing, amazing race, man,” the elder compliments. “You’ve got the best chance at the title here.”

Warmth melts into Charles’ body and he offers praise back, which—praising Lewis is just about the easiest thing in the world. Nerves bleed out of him as the conversation continues, the atmosphere of a finished race a welcome accompaniment to their strategic talk. 

“Headed to a party, yeah?” Lewis asks when they’ve both exhausted the topic. Charles gives a half-hearted shrug, already energized enough from such a momentous win, and he nods in response. “Nah, I get it. Sometimes you just gotta sleep. But hey, if you’re ever free, we should go get dinner sometime.”

—

The “dinner sometime” happens in Singapore. Having gotten P1 beside Lewis and therefore once again high off the adrenaline, Charles claps Andrea on the back and retrieves his phone to view two texts. One reads Put the condoms to use yet, champ? from Joris, and the other Can I take you up on the dinner? from Lewis. One goes answered and the other goes muted on his iMessage.

A little something he failed to remember was Lewis’ plant-based diet, a fact that hurtles back toward him when he can’t find steak on the menu of this classy, hole-in-the-wall type of restaurant. Of course Lewis would know these types of places, he thinks. He’s a millennial semi-hipster with a separate Instagram account for his dog.

Charles ends up ordering pasta, and Lewis beside him orders a cacophony of very vegan, hippy sounding meals, the quantity of which could feed the two of them. “I hope you don’t mind,” Lewis says when the waiter departs, “but a friend is actually joining us tonight.”

“Sure,” Charles says honestly. As long as it’s not some deranged hyperfan, he does well in social situations. Right then, Lewis calls someone over. Charles looks up, squints through the dim mood lighting to try and make out the nearing figure. And then you’re sitting down across them, smiling softly, exchanging hellos with Lewis.

A little something Lewis fails to remember is his “friends” can just as well be called “celebrities,” because he is, after all, a sporting legend. So if Lewis says “friend,” Charles will assume it’s a “friend,” and not a world-famous model whose face is plastered everywhere on and offline.

“Charles Leclerc,” he says blankly.

You introduce yourself, sliding easily into a bout of questions, apologies for missing the race, you’re impossibly jetlagged, it’s crazy. Lewis chips in with something about how he’s already ordered food for the both of you, and this and that, and Charles is hopeless, staring at your face the entire time. He hopes he looks more sexy than aloof or, worse, starstruck, because it’s turning out to be the kind of situation where he looks like the deranged hyperfan, and not the other way around for once.

To be clear, Charles isn’t a fan of you. He just knows of you, because honestly, who doesn’t at this point? You’re talking on and on about how your latest shoot with Jacquemus was a pain because you shot in a tank top in sub-zero weather, but you express it like it’s the most profound topic on Earth.

Lewis turns to him and, in an (eventually successful) effort to include more of Charles in the conversation, goes, “She’s a big Formula One fan, Charles.”

Okay. Common ground. Charles lifts both brows smugly, his eyes flickering back over to you. “Really?”

You meet his eyes and smile, looking downward and blinking owlishly. You’re so pretty, long lashes fluttering as you blink and try to find an answer. Christ, you’re so painfully his type.

Lewis chimes in again—“Really. And not just because she and I are friends. I mean she was into racing before we got acquainted. Honestly. Quiz her and everything”—then excuses himself to “take a call.” (His phone wasn’t even ringing—total bullshit—but Charles is ultimately grateful for it.)

You make a face of shut up toward the departing Lewis, and Charles exhales a quiet laugh at your defiance. You clear your throat and come up with an answer.

“I’m not a big fan,” you say. “I’m more of a casual, ‘every once in a while’ type of fan.”

“That’s what every big fan of sports says,” Charles says smoothly. 

“Is it?” You ask, cocking your head to the side, making a tch noise. You chuckle before going, “Well, if you insist, I’ll be honest. I didn’t want it to come to this, but okay. I am a fan… of Red Bull.”

Charles fakes extreme offense, his jaw dropping as if totally scandalized. You laugh, throwing two hands up in faux surrender. “Not Red Bull,” he says, his tone making him sound even more devastated. “You’re telling me you—don’t tell me you think Max Verstappen is attractive.”

“I mean, a bit!”

Charles makes sarcastic sounds of disapproval, and you laugh. Charles leans forward, and you do, too, both of you smiling. “So you’re into the angry drivers?”

“I’m not into a specific kind of driver,” you say casually, your tongue peeking out to lick over your bottom lip. Your voice is as soft as it is firm, slow and demure, matching the way your eyes glint. You’re impossibly pretty. He almost can’t handle it.

“So who’s making the cut?” He prompts, interested.

“Well, for starters, drivers who are my age,” you say slowly. “I turned twenty-four this year, so anyone within that bracket.”

“Oh?” Charles pretends to delve into deep thought, teasing. “Maybe Stroll? He’s very funny, speaks good English. You can never really say no to a Canadian.”

Your face warms, and you hope your flustered state isn’t too obvious as you shake your head. “He seems fun, but I prefer somebody a bit… a bit older.”

“Older…” he hums. “Pierre, perhaps? Tad bit older, real charming, great driver. I can introduce you. We’re good friends, you know.”

You click your tongue, smiling shyly. You bite your lip and it takes everything in Charles to not turn on his horny gears when he sees you, big eyes and lip bite, look so pretty. “You tease me,” you say meekly. Charles covers a cough with a chuckle and adjusts his position on the seat.

Later, after Lewis comes back in (“Long call, eh? It was about Roscoe.” Bullshit again) and you all get to order drinks, and you’ve departed in your private car, pressing an air kiss to Lewis and waving goodbye to Charles, he turns to the Mercedes driver and hums.

“Next time you have one of these”—he points to the restaurant, gestures to the front door—“dinners, let me know, okay?”

“Ah.” Lewis winks, smirking. “I’ll be sure to.”

—

Understandably, your schedules never seem to mesh well together. Lewis ends up giving Charles your number as compensation.

He stares at the contact longer than he’d like to admit, when he’s marinating in the sweltering heat of Austin. He’s finished much of his work for this half of the day so he’s mostly watching the engineers work on the last bits of modification for Sunday; he cherishest the free time and drafts, reads, and rereads texts, scours Google and Instagram for pictures of, and anything related to, you.

There’s a few new articles about buying a new car (a Benz, much to Charles’ chagrin) and new photoshoots intermittently scattered across Europe, with all sorts of brands. He sees a picture you’ve posted of yourself smiling at the camera and thinks of how pretty it would look as his lockscreen. 

Am I seeing you soon? He texts finally. He hopes it’s enough to let you know who he is.

Hopefully is the reply. He smiles the whole day.

—

You’ve been texting and calling almost everyday, conversations stretching continents. He only sees you next in Mexico, Friday night, at a club Lewis has rented out for a crazy price that will no doubt be replenished in days anyway. He’s dropped to second here, but the thrill riding in him makes up for his disappointment. The place is so crowded—everyone and their mums seem to have been invited here—room blinking purple and blue, each step vibrating with the heavy bass of EDM. He catches you right as you exit the washroom area, and you look pleasantly surprised to see him.

He saw you earlier, when you were doing shots of tequila and chatting with with Bella and Lewis, but just as quickly as he spotted you, you’d dipped back into the sea of people. Now is better, he thinks. You two are alone.

“Charles, hi,” you say casually. You’re wearing a tight top and a short skirt that, despite Charles’ best efforts, always cast his gaze downward. He wonders what’s underneath, hungers to get his hands there. But he’s nothing if he’s not patient, willing to play the long game.

He takes a step forward, his gaze steady on you. Charles isn’t the tallest driver, but he’s got a big presence. You swallow, taking a step back to accommodate him. He smirks. “You look pretty.” 

“You flatter me,” you say thickly, smiling, inviting him closer. The air is hot around the both of you—when your eyes flit around, they see nobody. You’re alone together. His eyes pierce into yours so deep you feel like breaking eye contact, exhaling as you take another step back—evidently, you’re distracted, because you stumble.

His arm circles around your waist, and once you steady, the hand moves down to your hip. It stays, a reminder of what you might be getting soon. You smile curtly, wondering what this might look like to a bystander, a stranger. Somebody might want to piss and walk in to see the strongest world champion contender’s hand on Chanel’s poster girl’s waist.

“Is this okay?” He asks softly against your ear.

“More than.” You say, breath shaky. “It’s more than okay.”

He chuckles. “Good. I’d hate if we couldn’t fuck before Abu Dhabi.”

Your finger traces down and wraps around the belt loop of his jeans. “Who said anything about fucking?”

Charles exhales a laugh, his lips curling upward into an amused smile. “Ah? I can’t fuck you, then?”

“I’ll let you fuck me when you’re holding up the world champion trophy,” you say sweetly, tugging him closer. “That’s okay, right?” You stare up at him, blinking, pouty. He wonders, is this how you might look with your lips wrapped around his—

“That’s about a month away.” His composure barely wavers, his hand traveling lower, blunt nails digging into your ass. Your breath hitches. 

“I’m aware,” you say lowly. So be it, Charles thinks—he’s got thirty-six condoms for a reason.

“Define fuck,” he says, voice rough.

“Penetration.” You’re quick with it, cocking your head to the side. You lean back confidently, testin him, eyes batting flirtatiously. 

It’s time he get a little creative.

—

Daytime weather is hot and the paddock is swarming with people, but Charles has his sights set on somebody sitting in the Mercedes hospitality. He manages to get out of morning meetings earlier, wedging himself out of the room and passing by a mirror to fix his hair with admirable concentration. He’s in the middle of combing through it when a force tugs at the hem of his polo, causing him to stumble backwards.

“Uh—Carlos? What the hell?” He asks, brow raised defensively. Facing him are Carlos, Joris, and Pierre, arms crossed over their torsos and amused expressions on their faces.

“What are you doing?” Asks Pierre, cocking his head to the side.

“Fixing my hair.” 

“Pussy appointment?” Joris interjects; the vulgarity of his statement earns him a poke on the side from Carlos, who clicks his tongue.

“Wh—I don’t—”

“You are shit at lying, mate,” says Pierre, his lips curled into a devious smile. “Who is it?”

“It’s nobody,” he lies.

“Charles,” says Lewis suddenly from behind them, waving his arms to get the former’s attention, “are you going to go over and say hi?”

Hook, line, and sinker. He’s been caught. “Well, well, well,” Carlos starts, mischievous.

“Guys—” Charles says, attempting to make an excuse.

“Looks like your vow of celibacy isn’t so far off after all,” Pierre adds. “That one over at Mercedes is going to break it, eh?”

“Yeah.” Joris says, smirking.  “Lucky George, huh.”

The three face him, incredulous. “I was kidding,” he fibs, once he realizes his epiphany is wrong. “Kidding.”

Charles walks off, and ends up seeing you right where he expected you, sitting beside Lewis in a tiny dress with your hair pinned up into a bun. Almost naturally, your words fall into the flirtatious back-and-forth you’d started at the dinner, hyperaware of the cameras snapping your pictures. At some point, the Brit excuses himself to “take a call” (again, bullshit) and leaves the two of you alone.

“See anything nice on the paddock?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with a teasing smile, head cocking to the side to gauge his reaction. He chuckles.

“Did you get a picture with Max?”

“Only a ton.” You pause. “And Daniel, too.”

“Ah, you’re just crushing on the whole paddock, now are you?” He pokes his tongue into his cheek, leans forward.” Uh, Checo?”

“Pass,” you say with a nose scrunch. You’re so fucking pretty.

“Lewis.”

“God, pass. He’s not ugly, but he’s my brother at this point.”

“Pierre.”

“Horribly French, but… smash.”

“Are you not into the French?” He smiles. “Good to know. Hmm—Carlos.”

“I’d be stupid to say anything other than smash.” You narrow your eyes, licking over your lips. “I’m into the Ferrari guys, is the thing.” His gaze travels to your crossed legs, long and disappearing into the hem of your dress.

He smirks. “Are you?”

“I really am,” you hum.

“Are you staying long? All weekend?”

“Yeah, I’m free from work for now,” you say casually. “Any recommendations on what fun things I can do here?”

“I can think of…” he says, smirking a little. “A few.”

—

Stupid places to have sex, number one: a motorhome.

Still, Charles is crowding you up against the wall of the room, swallowing the whimper that leaves your mouth with his own. And still, this isn’t sex. At least not the kind he wants the most. He mentally praises Carlos for being able to decipher the typo-laden text he’d sent out on the way here, one hand around your waist, the other barely capable of typing with how fast his brain ran. Clesr the fuckng room npw now npw it read. Thank God.

Your mouth tastes like champagne, and everywhere else smells divine. Your hands roam impatiently over his shoulders and you make muted noises of frustration at your inability to pull his shirt off. You settle for letting your hands crawl underneath it, stroking over his abs.

“D’you remember what I told you,” you pant, his lips insistent on your neck, “at the club?”

“Yeah,” he says, grunting at the memory.

“Okay.” You breathe. “Let me suck you off.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “Jesus. Okay. Fuck.”

You giggle, and he watches intently as you drop onto your knees, looking up at him through thick lashes. You’re insistent, pulling the zip of his jeans down and tugging his cock out. It’s pretty, thick like the rest of him, already hard. 

He’s at his limit, having you here like this, on you knees and stretching your lips around the tip of his dick. Your eyes barely leave his, fluttering as they tear up when you take him in your throat.

He throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, lets a hand unpin your bun and thread itself into the untangled hair. If he looks at you, he’ll see your head bobbing up and down on his cock, and he genuinely needs to hold off the orgasm first.

He rocks forward into your mouth and feels your throat close up around him. That’s enough to weaken his resolve, send grunts out of his throat that he can’t keep quiet.

“Oh, shit,” he says, feeling every part of your mouth and throat around him, warm and tense. He can’t help but thrust harder, steady but not too rough, growing more aroused with every sound of you choking on him.

His gaze flickers toward you. You’re teary-eyed, lips dotted with spit, choking yourself on his cock. Just for him, here in public. You pull off, blinking tears away from your face and looking up at him smilingly.

He laughs, guiding his cock back into your mouth, watching the way your brows knit together, pleading, almost. You're at his mercy, he thinks, thrusting harder, listening to your coughs. He loves seeing you like this, innocent face messy and slick with spit and precum, eyes big and needy.

“You like that?” He grunts. “Look at me.”

You nod the best you can. Yes, you want to say. Give me more, I love it.

“Yeaaah, fuck. I know you do,” he says through his teeth, staving off his orgasm the best he can before he releases all over you. The image alone of streaking you with his cum, claiming you all over-eyelashes, tits, cheeks splashed with cum-is enough to send him closer to the edge. “Gonna cum,” he grunts.

You moan around him, the vibrations causing his eyelids to flutter. You shake your head, pulling off and wrapping your hand around his dick, stroking slower. “Not yet,” you say sweetly, watching him throw his head back in pleasure and frustration. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, exhales shakily.

“Shit.” He whines. “Come on, baby. Make me cum.” He cups your jaw, stares down at you.

You stroke him faster, lip between your teeth. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “Cum for me, Charles.”

He stops staving himself off, falls into the pleasure and relief of your hand around his cock until he’s tense all over, knitting his hand into your hair and pushing you backwards so he can press his tip on the flat expanse of your tongue and let his cum shoot there. It drips from your tongue and lips onto your chin and you giggle, swallowing it, scooping up the rest to push into your mouth.

You stand, licking your lips slowly. “I owe you,” he pants, zipping himself up. Already he’s thinking about what he can do to you in return. Tease you, like you did him, bend you over his lap or sit you on it and make you whine and writhe and wait and cum. 

“I’ll hold you to that, champion,” you murmur, kissing his cheek and slipping back outside.

—

Ferrari’s advice is shit and despite his good mood and quick-witted driving, Charles finishes in fifth—not too shabby, but disastrous for his overall standings.

He suffers through a horrible debrief where attempts to defend his honor go unheard, his mood wilting and wilting until he’s at the media pen and ushered in front of some network he hasn’t heard of. They’ve probably paid to get a good seat here.

He’s in a shit mood, he hasn’t seen Joris or Pierre or you in hours, and has only faced red-faced frustrated superiors and now, wide-eyed journalists with loose mouths. The media’s done the mandatory speculation between the two of you, so he already expects questions of that variety, but it’s still hot and angry when he does.

Are you banging the Marc Jacobs model? The Irish reporter asks with a wink, so very unprofessional and not at all belonging to reputable media. The hot leggy one who has fuck me eyes?

Charles clenches his jaw, rolls his eyes, says fuck off mate and shoves him backward a little, then walks away and readjusts his cap. The clip makes Twitter and he feels even worse with the amount of troll accounts telling him to Jeez, take a joke.

After the ordeal, in your hotel room, you sigh softly and run your hands through his still shampoo-smelling hair. “You didn’t need to do that,” you say, a bit strictly. He knows you’re grateful, though, and a bit proud.

“I wanted to,” he insists softly. He forgets to leave before morning; when he does, he forgets his official Ferrari shirt hanging on the seat, leaving in a spare one instead. It’s got his number across the back. You don’t tell him.

—

In between Mexico and Sao Paulo, he manages to catch a flight to New York to peek into one of your photoshoots. It’s for Chanel and he’s half-sure he’s taken more pictures of you than the official photographer did. At this point your vague relationship status has caught onto headlines everywhere, and he doesn’t miss the curious murmurs from paparazzo that follow him as he enters your apartment later to greet you.

You’re in a pair of shorts and a tank top when you open the door, greeting him with a tight hug and leading him inside with a loose grip.

“Wine?”

“Please.” He eyes the wide area, the big floor-to-ceiling windows and the art on the walls. “Hungry?”

“Mmm.” You hum, sliding a glass toward him. “Starving.”

“Pizza?”

“Something else.” You smile. He tears his eyes away from your tits, poking out of the thin cotton, and coughs.

The both of you end up on the couch, your legs draped over his as you talk about racing.

He’s ranting about how he’s neck to neck with Max now, and the final verdict will likely be decided at Abu Dhabi, a fact that sends nerves all through him. You’re listening, you really are, but it’s difficult to keep listening because his hand, big and rough, is stroking your bare calf as he talks absentmindedly. 

You offer the occasional mmm-hmm and uh-huh and even the oh really to sell it, but he doesn’t seem to be conscious of how many sparks are coursing through you because of his hand on your leg. He just talks and talks, accent curving into curse words elicited by the competition.

And his voice, rough and deeper when he slides into Italian phrases, gets in your head, reminds you of the way he’d moaned when you had his dick in your mouth. You like that? he’d said, panting, heavy, hot. His hand remained in your hair, controlling you the same way you did him. Fuck.

When you blink, he’s stopped talking, and has likely noticed your wandering imagination if his teasing smile is anything to go by. You cough, clear your throat, adjust your thighs. You’re thinking—you can’t stop thinking—about what happened in Mexico, not just in the motorhome but in the club where he’d let his hand sprawl over your ass and stay there, possessive.

The tension rises. I owe you. He really does. You reach over and grab your phone from the coffee table, snap a few pictures of him. “—Hey!” He protests, scrabbling to grab it from you while balancing his half-full glass. “I look god awful.”

You stand up, review the picture. He looks so impossibly handsome. “You’re right, you do,” you say, pouting. 

He reaches over again, chuckling, and you avoid him. “Foul play!”

“Tch. At least show it to me,” he says defeatedly, so you do: presenting your screen to him.

Quickly, he makes a grab for it, but you just escape his grip, ending up right in front of him and leaning over. You’re losing your balance, digging your toes into your carpet to maintain stance. He spares a glance at your shorts, riding low on your hips, showing a bit of thin lace.

Charles tugs you forward by the hem of your top and then takes your wrist into his grip—the force of his grab makes your tits shake underneath your flimsy tank top. It’s dragged down so far your tits are spilling out. His eyes flicker down to them, dark, and a pretty smile spreads across his face.

“Come on, give it,” he challenges, eyes narrowing a little. You bite your lip, inwardly liking this a little too much—being at his mercy, trapped in his strong grip. You’re flustered and it shows.

He wrestles you onto his lap with ease, his arms steady around you. You stare downwards, dark eyes meeting his, hand on his broad shoulder for leverage. He’s so pretty, you think, so hot and handsome and you need him right now. Through his jeans you can feel how thick he is, his dick growing, getting hard and huge under you. It feels big even through a few layers—you can’t help but imagine how it might feel inside you.

Your phone clatters to the carpet behind the couch. “I win,” you say breathlessly.

He grabs your hips and jerks his upward, letting his stiff dick press up even more against your shorts.

“I think I’m the winner here,” he says gruffly, hands feeling you up all over. He thumbs at your chest, rubbing over your tits. You shiver—it feels good having him on you like this, your mind turning to mush.

“Shut up,” you laugh, shakily. A hand wanders in between your thighs, another coming to squeeze your barely-covered ass. You can’t focus on much, just his hands roaming everywhere and his hard dick pressing against your core. He shoves your hips downward again, his cock hard and perfectly against your pussy.

“You feel that?” He asks; it leaves him in one low breath.  

“Yeah,” you say, whimpering. “I want it.”

He grinds up against you again, his thumb teasing the hem of your shorts. Closer to where you want it. “Don’t think you could even take it, baby.”

“I hate you,” you say. “You know I can.”

He laughs. “We’ll see, yeah?” You find a rhythm of grinding down against his cock, nestled right against your ass. He’s everywhere and you can’t handle it anymore, finding yourself craving him more and more.

You moan against his neck—and then come to your senses. “No.”

He smirks when you pull away. “Tempted, were you?”

“Not…” You pause. You’re sweaty, flushed all over, and your panties are sticking to you from how wet you’ve grown. “Not very.”

—

Abu Dhabi is a son of a bitch.

It comes with meetings, meetings, debriefs, calls, meetings. Everything is riding on the night’s race, the flurry of social media a welcome source of anxiety for him as he watches the hours whiz by. You’d missed seeing him, understood he was busy; you send a selfie to compensate and it gets him calm enough to last the pre-race buzz.

Time speeds by with lunch, coaching, drills, talks with Carlos and Mattia and even Max, who displays support as strongly as competitiveness. Before he even realizes it, he blinks and he’s in his suit, adjusting his balaclava, inhaling, exhaling. Everything is just the way he likes—needs—it to be.

He drives himself to P2 behind Max, eyes shut.

All else seeps into him, natural method, natural routine. He flexes his thumbs. Through the team radio his engineer goes good luck, and Charles’ practice bleeds into his subconscious. The air is heavy, with tension and excitement, the division of blue and red. Everyone’s eager to see who claims the title. 

The lights go off and everything is left to skill, blurring into noise and turns and expletives yelled into the team radio. He can’t even feel himself think, turning with dexterity and overtaking with the kind of vengeance he hasn’t let out in a while. 

For all his trying, Max keeps up just the same, keeping a neck and neck level for the relative entirety of the race. They’re milking out the last few laps together, and Charles feels every fibre of his being work toward this, just this, nothing but this right now. Nothing but the finish line.

You got this, Charles, says the engineer, voice heightening. Maiden world championship.

He nods to himself, trusts his instincts and when he catches sight of the finish line, he thinks: he’s the best driver on the grid.

So he revs faster, and the rest descends into—

Absolute fucking chaos.

—

He’s smiling when he approaches the reporter, who’s already holding the mic with wonder. He asks for a message in Italian, then reminds him—and the crowd—that, in case he forgot, he’s world champion. Charles thinks he genuinely can’t ever.

“What are you doing to celebrate?” He asks then, smiling.

Sweaty, with damp hair and shiny skin, he smirks and leans closer. “Someone, I hope.”

—

“Hey there, champ.”

You’re already leaning against his hotel room door when he gets there, after the chore of wrestling himself free from the rest of the team pressuring him to get drinks. Carlos helps out, babbles something or other about Charles being “busy with something else”—which isn't wrong, not at all. He offers a smooth wink, bending down to kiss you.

Your mouths meet, softly first then increasingly messy as he pins you against the door. You push away, breathing heavy. “I don’t know what you’re into, but I don't want the top floor of this hotel seeing us fucking.”

“I wasn’t into that, but now that you brought it up…” You swat his arm and he laughs, unlocking the door and pulling you inside. You’re clinging onto him—his arms, his chest, anything, kissing up his neck and jaw. He groans at how needy you are. All for him, he thinks. Probably soaked through your panties and it’s all because of him.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says gently, voice low as he leads you to the bed. He catches sight of your shirt and a brow raises. “Did you buy that?”

“Hmm?” You look down, following his gaze and blinking. The shirt you’re wearing is loose, hanging off your shoulders and hastily tucked into your miniskirt so it looks like you actually have trousers on. “Oh. No, this is yours.”

“Mine.” He smiles a little. “You look so good in it, princess.” His hands mindlessly grope at you, hungry, sneaking underneath your skirt to feel at the lace there. 

In retaliation, you lean forward, unbutton his jeans and tug at it.

“You left it at one of my”—you gasp, feeling his finger sneak its way beneath your panties—“my hotel rooms.”

“Pretty girl, pretty shirt, pretty lace, yeah?” He tugs, lets the garter of the skirt loosen and fall off your hips on its own. “Red.”

“You take too long,” you groan.

“You’re just eager,” he laughs, thumbing at your clothed cunt.

You’re so wet, evident even in the lazy circles he rubs over your entrance. You’re aching, desperate, begging almost. So he gives you what you want, maneuvers you onto his lap and pushes your (his) shirt up to stuff your mouth with it.

It won’t work for long, but it’s enough. He pushes your panties to the side and pulls his hard dick out. You’re sitting against it now, leaking slick onto it, at his mercy, branding his name and his number across your back. It’s hot. 

He stares at the way you rock softly against him, hungry eyes meeting yours. “You’re so pretty, baby. Ruined.”

“Fuck me already,” you say, voice throaty, innocent.

“Can you take it?” He asks, teasing you, slapping his dick against your clit softly. You whine.

“Please,” you insist. “I want it. Make it fit.”

He’s a massive tease with it, his breath fanning against your skin, hands sticky on where they’ve hiked your shirt up. He lowers you, slower, against the tip of his dick and he watches your eyes flutter when you sink onto it. After ages of waiting. Your grip’s like iron on his shoulders, moans leaving you in quiet bursts of pleasure. 

You’re far away, dumb from the feeling, you barely register the way he shoves the shirt back into your mouth to keep you quiet. “So fucking tight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. It’s muffled, barely intelligible. “For you.”

You’re only able to take it because you’re so wet, so turned on, face and brain filled with nothing but pleasure. He can’t take it.

“Mmmfh,” you say, muffled by the bite of cotton in your mouth. You’re sweaty, flushed, overstimulated—you don’t know where to focus. On his lips against your jaw, his hand on your neck, the way your pussy swallows his aching dick. “It’s so big, I—”

“You okay?” He asks, breathily. Smiling. He’s in control, but still he sounds whiny—almost, if not as desperate as you. “You’ll take it all for me, won’t you?” 

“Oh god,” is all you muster, letting him stretch you out even more, gushing all over his cock. “I, I—”

He moans, his grip tight against your waist, watching his dick bury itself in you. “You’re getting me so full,” you whine. “So deep, I feel it—” you taper off into a moan again when he presses hs thumb to your clit, distracting you from the stretch as he finally, finally bottoms out.

“Good?”

You nod. So good, give me more.

You grind against him, let the shirt fall out of your mouth. “You’re getting my dick so wet,” he comments, breathless. “So pretty for me, too.”

Growing antsy, he attempts to move, but you whine. Your turn to tease, you think, after he was a dick to you just now. “Not yet,” you say, lip caught between your teeth. His hands are tight around your waist. Desperate.

You squeeze around him, watch his brows knit together, a grunt leave him in a frustrated exhale. “You wanna fuck me?” You tease against his neck, blinking innocently.

“Yes,” he replies, not missing a beat. You pout, like you’re empathizing with the problem you’re causing; you grind slowly against him and he lets out a guttural fuuuuck. He’s so big, so hard—you can feel every inch of him inside you.

“Tell me again, Charles,” you say with a giggle. You’re so hot like this, face flushed and timid, hips moving slowly. He could cum just from the way you bite your lip, the way a whimper slips out of you when he hits the right spot.

“—Yeah,” he says, sweetly. “I want to—please, let me fuck you. C’mon, baby, can I?”

“Aww,” you tease. 

“Can I?” He asks again, voice deep and thin with the need to fuck you, thrust up into you and make you the dumb one. His face is flushed and desperate. “Can I move, baby? Let me, please.”

You’re not stupid. You know—if his flushed, pleading face and big green puppy eyes are anything to go by—that he’s going crazy, growing antsy. But you’re not complaining.

“Hmm,” you say, feigning genuine thought. “I don’t know, Charles. Feels good just like this. And you want to make me feel good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Yeah.” You repeat, staring into his dark eyes. He’s frustrated, desperate, flushed all over and sweaty. His fingers dig into your hips. “I’ll make you feel really good, baby, if you let me.”

“Go ahead,” you say softly, “fuck me, please.” And he’s thrusting upwards to meet you halfway. It’s knocking you out, almost, the pleasure of it, the dizzy onslaught of euphoria. He’s stretching you out so well, whining softly into your neck and yeah, you two have waited far too long to have this. You 

“Fuck,” he grunts, lids squeezed shut and head rolled onto your shoulder. “Go on, baby, ride it, make me cum.” He cups your jaw, reaches his thumb into your mouth. It’s too much, all of it. He makes you suck on it while thrusting up, dizzying you with his cock.

He grabs handfuls of your ass, teases his thumb at your tighter asshole just to watch your eyes flutter, feel your cunt grow wetter. “I’ll fuck you even fuller next time,” he says; the implication gets you hot.

You bounce harder, chasing release as his thumb teases over your ass, the tip of it just thrusting in enough to elicit strings of moans out of you. “Come on, ride me,” he goads. “So good for me.”

“Fuck,” you pant, “cum in me, please.”

You cum first, writhing around him and riding your orgasm out in lazy grinds over his hard cock. You want to see him cum, see his eyebrows knit and his mouth release pretty whines, feel him claim you inside, hands hot and heavy on your ass. He does, with a guttural fuuuuck, shoving his dick up in you to the base and spurting all his cum in you.

He thrusts, watches his cum leak out of you, fucks it back in, in a vicious cycle. You shiver, blinking coquettishly and watching along—and then you’re both crumpling over each other on the bed behind you. You pant heavily against his chest.

“Hey.” He muses out loud, drumming against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“I have thirty-six condoms we need to go through. Wanna go on a date?”