#im really proud of the bubble | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 1 year

Text

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?”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

4K notes · View notes

moonchildstyles · 4 months

Note

whats this aster curious gazes im seeing ?🥸

wordcount: 2.7k+

—————

Mikaela impatiently checked the time broadcasted on the clock above the auditorium's entrance, trailing after the molasses-slow minute hand. How had it only been three minutes since she last checked and not the twenty she had sworn it had been? She and her group had already finished peer reviewing each other's papers ten minutes ago, but they were all confined to their seats for fear of Professor Rian marking them down for leaving early—one of his favorite activities Mikaela had learned about the hard way during the second week of courses.

"How much longer?" Bria bemoaned from across the table, her own boredom showing in her dull gaze. (Y/N) perked up at Mikaela's side at the question, though she stayed just as quiet as she always was.

"Another thirty," Mikaela murmured, a moment away from rolling her eyes, "I feel like we've been waiting for, like, an hour."

Around them, the remaining groups were still chattering, some speaking about the essays while others seemed just as checked out as them. Running a hand through her long hair, Mikaela convinced herself to stay strong.

"At least it'll be the weekend after this," she reminded the table, looking to Bria, "You're still set on getting your tattoo this weekend?"

Bria plucked up at the question, her brown eyes sparkling in excitement. "Mhm! They called and confirmed yesterday with me, so I'll be in tomorrow morning, first thing!"

"Are you going to be with the same guy that you had the consultation with?" Mikaela asked, picturing the long haired, heavily tattooed man she had seen when she went with Bria the first time to set up the initial appointment. She almost booked one for herself after seeing him; even the scowl and less than friendly demeanor couldn't detract from his... everything.

Leaning across the table as if sharing a secret, Bria raised her eyebrows with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. "I hope. I might cancel, if not."

Mikaela laughed along with her friend, knowing exactly where she was coming from.

Piping up with a small smile on her features, (Y/N) asked, "Where are you going for your tattoo?"

"It's not too far from here actually," Bria started, settling her chin in her hand as she spoke to (Y/N) at Mikaela's side. "It's called 17Black."

(Y/N)'s expression brightened at the mention of the tattoo parlor in a way Mikaela had never seen before. Though she usually came to class fresh-faced and dewy, there was now a glimmer in her eyes that almost gave the illusion of glitter having fallen in her lashes.

"They're the best," she bubbled, her smile wide, "It's gonna turn out really, really good. You said you know who your artist is going to be?"

"Yeah—um—hold on," Bria muttered, reaching into her bag, "I got his card last time I was in—I think he's the owner, or something." After a moment she pulled out a black and white business card, reading the name off: "Harry."

Passing the card across the table, (Y/N) eagerly read over the stylized font and the glossy logo on the other side. "He's amazing—you're super lucky, Bria."

(Y/N)'s smile wasn't one that could be shaken as she passed back the card. Mikaela thought she looked like she was proud, even. (Y/N) was always so reserved, seemingly more comfortable in the background and only chirping up when needed, Mikaela had never seen her so bright like this.

"Have you been there before, (Y/N)?" she asked, trying to imagine someone like (Y/N) with any tattoos—especially done at a place like 17Black.

Not that there was a specific kind of person that could have tattoos or that the parlor wasn't nice, but she had a hard time picturing (Y/N) with all her ribbons, pink sweaters, and shimmer flouncing into that building and getting a design inked into her skin. Especially by someone like Bria's artist; she was already shy enough, Mikaela doubted his scowls and curt tone would be anything of comfort.

That left her raising her brows in surprise when (Y/N) happily nodded her head. "Yeah! I only have one tattoo, but Harry did it and it's"—there was a moment something dreamy flashed over (Y/N)'s gaze then—"It's perfect."

"I didn't know you had a tattoo," Bria interjected, her expression surely mirroring Mikaela's with her own perked brows and searching gaze as if they had both somehow missed an obvious marking.

"It's really little," (Y/N) explained, settling some in her seat, "It's on my side, like, on my ribs, so people don't really see it."

"I never pictured you with a tattoo," Mikaela added, "And especially on your ribs. You're brave."

"Honestly," Bria started, bouncing full brows over her eyes "I don't know how you got through it, especially with him."

A cinch appeared between (Y/N)'s brows. "What do you mean?"

"You probably had to take your shirt off for the rib tattoo, right?" Bria prodded, watching as (Y/N) flustered some before ultimately nodding her head, "I don't know how to act around that guy—Harry—with my clothes on, I think I would combust if he asked me to take them off."

It wasn't hard to see that (Y/N) was bubbling with embarrassment at Bria's remark—though Mikaela did hardily agree. She wondered if (Y/N) felt the same way; it was hard to picture her getting flustered over someone like Bria's artist. There could be that whole opposites attract thing going on for them, but Mikaela could only really see the scenario where Harry would crush the marshmallow that is (Y/N).

"Oh, I don't know," she muttered half-heartedly, trailing off without a real answer, "You know, he's just..."

"It's okay, I get it," Bria finished for her with a bubbling laugh that had (Y/N) cracking her own polite smile. "He's pretty intimidating, honestly. Not for everyone, I guess."

With her hands a bundle in her lap, (Y/N) tilted her head, "I wouldn't say that—"

Not a moment too soon, Professor Rian made his way back to the forefront of the auditorium—something Mikaela wished he would have done a half an hour prior. "Class dismissed. Next Wednesday we'll do our final draft reviews and the finished essays will be due next Friday at midnight. Have a nice weekend."

"Finally," Bria exasperated, immediately rushing to pack her things just as Mikaela had before Rian had even finished talking.

(Y/N) had done the smart thing and had her things ready to go once they had finished peer reviewing, only having to sling her bag over her shoulder while she quietly waited for the pair of them to get their own shit together.

It was wild how much more awake Mikaela felt now that class had been dismissed, leaving behind the exhausted state she was lulling into at her desk. Shrugging into her jacket, the mental list of tasks she had to accomplish before her sister, Mira, and her boyfriend would be over for dinner didn't sound so bad now.

"What are you getting, Bria? For your tattoo, I mean," she chirped up, peering around Mikaela as they walked into the corridor, steps in sync with one another.

"The moon and some stars and stuff on the top of my hand," she explained, "It's kind of hard to describe without a picture, but it's this whole thing."

"That sounds really pretty," (Y/N) smiled, sincerity in her voice, "Hopefully it won't take too long—I hear the top of your hand can hurt sometimes with the bones and all."

"It might not be so bad if it took a while, right?" Mikaela piped up, shooting Bria a look from the corner of her eye. Maybe, if Mira and her boyfriend didn't overstay their welcome tonight, she'd go with Bria in the morning and see if her artist had a girlfriend or something.

(Or was at least open to hooking up on one of the tattoo chairs).

Leading down the hall towards the main entrance of the building, Bria nudged Mikaela's shoulder. Ahead of them, (Y/N) reached forward and opened the door for the three of them to pass through.

"Definitely wouldn't be bad," Bria laughed, the chill of the winter air seeping through the sleeves of Mikaela's jacket as they stepped outside. "I don't know, I might even—Wait, oh my god."

"What?" Mikaela asked, brows furrowing at the abrupt change in her friend.

Instead of the amused bubbly expression she wore just a moment prior, Bria now looked ahead with wide eyes and gaped lips, her steps slowing over the concrete.

(Y/N) noticed the change in her demeanor as well, peering around Mikaela as her own features molded into something of worry. "What happened?"

"He's here," Bria muttered, looking straight ahead towards the student parking lot, "That's literally him right there, isn't it? Why is he here?"

"Who? Who's her—"

Following Bria's line of sight, Mikaela felt her own words get stuck in her throat when she saw just what had her friend going limp.

As if summoned, Bria's tattoo artist—Harry—had somehow found a prime parking space in the student lot and was now waiting.

He was ever the intimidating figure with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the hulking frame of the black Range Rover behind him. (Because, of course, he would drive a Range Rover). Even with the chunky black cardigan draped over his form, he didn't look any less imposing than when he had stalked through the tattoo parlor. He perfectly matched his car, all black, tattoos tracing over his skin, including the heavy chest pieces on display from the low scoop of his top. A pair of sunglasses were holding his hair back on the top of his head, with his lips set in a firm line, lip ring and all.

"He doesn't go here, right?" Mikaela blanched. Why else would be here, if not to go to class, right?

(Y/N) looked just as bewildered as they were, a cant to her head as she took him in. "What is he doing here?" she muttered, voice quiet enough to be speaking to herself.

Their small trio stood off to the side, out of the way as the rest of their classmates trickled around them as well as other students meandering through campus. From where they stood, Mikaela could see the way the tattoo artist scanned over the student body, searching for something—or someone.

He didn't come to see Bria, right? That would be crazy, leaning on certifiable—even if he was hot.

Mikaela's eyes widened when she saw (Y/N) wave her hand above her head. What was she doing? Did she not think this was weird that he had showed up to campus when he really didn't have any reason to?

She watched as he caught sight of (Y/N)'s waving arm and his features almost immediately softened. Even from where they were standing, it was clear to see the tension releasing from his body in a breath. He pushed off from where he was lent against his Range Rover and started towards the building—towards them.

Was (Y/N) insane or something, and they'd just missed all the signs until this moment? Why would she ask him to come over here?

"He's coming over here, what the fuck," Bria murmured, just as lost as Mikaela.

It didn't take long for his spanning strides to cross the concrete and take him to where their small group had taken root. Seeing him this close again, Mikaela realized her memory didn't do him any justice—he was more than gorgeous. Unfortunately crazy, but still hot.

Had he always had his nose pierced? Had his eyes always been that green? Had they always been pinned to (Y/N) like that?

"(Y/N), do you—" Bria started, only to cut herself off when (Y/N) excitedly bounced up to her toes once the tattoo artist was close.

"What are you doing here, H?" she chirped, familiarity in her voice as she looked up at him.

Mikaela figured she wore the same expression that Bria did, with her eyes wide and brows raised, a fraction away from her jaw dropping as they watched the tattoo artist—H—pull (Y/N) into his arms and drop a kiss on the top of her head.

"Came to pick you up for lunch, if that's okay," he murmured, not sparing a glance their way as he kept the pink marshmallow in his arms. "I also noticed there was an extra jacket lying around my room that I thought was supposed to be with you."

Sheepishly looking down, (Y/N) shook her head. "I forgot, I'm sorry."

Adoration was clear on the tattoo artist's—her boyfriend—features. "'S alright, lovebug. I brought it with me so y'can have it the rest of the day, jus' don't keep forgetting it. 'S only getting colder out, I don't want you to get sick."

"I won't," (Y/N) sighed, looking entirely at home as she clutched his sweater in her hands and fluttered her lashes at him as if he were a king. "Thank you."

Mikaela couldn't help the simmering of her blood beneath her skin, surely a flush painting her complexion as she thought back to just what she and Bria had been saying during class. They talked all about how hot (Y/N)'s boyfriend was to her face, implied he was intimidating and not her type, and she had even heard them freak out thinking he had come to see them. She was never going to pair with them for peer review again.

(Though Mikaela will give herself credit for not speaking about the lingering fantasy she'd had involving one of those tattoo chairs and Harry's hair pulled back so he could focus).

"Um," Mikaela sounded, almost cringing at how stupid she sounded from just a single syllable, "I think we should probably go, but we'll see you next week, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) turned with her expression going bashful. Her boyfriend's hands didn't move from where they were on her waist though he finally looked up from her to see the rest of the world around them.

"I'm sorry," she apologized as if in reflex. Looking at the man behind her, she started with a shy smile on her lips, "Harry, this is Bria and Mikaela. They're the girls from one of my English classes I've told you about."

Back was the expression she recognized from when she had dropped by the tattoo parlor. His features hardened some, going less open and easy to read than they had been just a moment ago. He took them in with a stilted smile on his lips.

"Nice to meet you," he murmured, his gaze flicking to Bria for a split second longer, "Actually, we've met before, right? You're my nine a.m. tomorrow."

"I am, yeah," Bria said, sounding just as lame as Mikaela felt. It was easy to see Bria was floundering for anything to say before she finally settled on, "(Y/N) didn't tell us she had a boyfriend."

His smile turned lopsided at that, amusement flickering in his gaze as he looked down at the marshmallow in his arms. "She didn't?"

(Y/N) looked to the pair of them, biting back a smile as if remembering what was said back in class but deciding it was their secret to keep. "It just didn't come up."

"Right," he smiled, squeezing her waist just enough to get her bouncing at his side with a short huff of laughter pouring out, "Are you ready to go?"

"I think so, yeah," (Y/N) agreed, craning her neck to smile up at him before returning her attention to Mikaela and Bria. "I'll see you guys next week."

The pair shared similar goodbyes, hoping they didn't sound as embarrassed as they felt. Walking away from them, Mikaela watched Harry tangle his fingers with (Y/N), slowing just long enough to press a kiss to her forehead before leading her towards his Range Rover.

"We are the most annoying people in the world," Mikaela said, breaking their silence, "We literally said all of that about him to his girlfriend."

"She's never going to partner for peer review with us again."

Despite the guilt and bits of humiliation floating through her system, Mikaela couldn't shake off just how sweet it was to see (Y/N) interact with someone like that—especially someone like her boyfriend. They were clearly in love, that much she could tell.

"Oh my god," Bria said, whipping her head around to look at Mikaela with horror stricken eyes.

"What?" Mikaela asked, taken aback at the sudden urgency in Bria's voice. Was another person they had lusted over to their partner, about to round the corner?

"I have to see him again tomorrow," Bria whined, "And, (Y/N)'s probably going to tell him what we said."

At that thought, Mikaela really hoped her sister would overstay her welcome tonight—give her a reason to stay in bed and leave Bria to her appointment alone.

—————

this is the first time im trying out this kind of pov so I really hope everyone like it! thank you sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please lmk if you have any ideas you want to share!

504 notes · View notes

bluebayard · 11 months

Text

BUBBLE TIME!! :D

#bubbles #totodile #pokemon #pokemon fanart #fanart #my art tag #HE WAS SO FUN TO WORK ON IM REALLY PROUD OF HE ACTUALLY

0 notes

harrysfolklore · 11 months

Note

secret gf the sequel: secret wife

AND HERE YOU HAVE IT !!! READ PART ONE FIRST

MY PATREON | MASTERLIST

liked by annetwist, harrystyles and 257 others

yourinstagram mrs. styles says greetings from the honeymoon 🤍

view all 56 comments

gemmastyles My babies 🥺

nickgrimshaw I hope you guys don’t plan on keeping this secret for nine years too, I can’t do that again

↳ yourinstagram don’t worry bestie we won’t

harrystyles Mrs. Styles has a nice ring to it x

pillowpersonpp ❤️

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 15,972 others

satelliterry um im currently on vacation and i saw harry and yn 😭😭😭 i was too scared to ask for a picture tho

view all 3,012 comments

harryfan1 HUHHHH

harryfan2 lowkey glad you didn’t ask for a picture looks like they’re in their own bubble

harryfan3 honeymoon 👀

↳ harryfan1 lmfao we wish

harryfan4 man is still weird to me that he’s in a long term relationship

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 7,826 others

harryupdates A strange robot was spotted at The Forum tonight 👀

view all 985 comments

harryfan1 OMG???

harryfan2 that’s strange what is he planning

harryfan3 harry related ??

harryfan4 idk why but this is exciting

liked by jenniferaniston, yourinstagram and 2,797,757 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. Los Ángeles XIV. January, 2023.

view all 46,827 comments

harryfan1 BABYYY

harris_reed Shine bright like a Harry ✨

harryfan2 best show ever

yourinstagram 🥹❤️

↳ harryfan3 i wonder if she’s ever going to make her account public

annetwist ❤️

liked by gemmastyles, harrystyles and 255 others

yourinstagram exciting things coming 😉🛰️

view all 61 comments

gemmastyles ilysm 💕

nicksgrimshaw did you get pregnant? because knowing you both it’s pretty likely that you hide that too

↳ yourinstagram no baby yet 😉

harrystyles My favorite director x

↳ yourinstagram it was a pleasure

FANS VIA TWITTER

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 13,726 others

harryupdates THE SATELLITE VIDEO IS OUT NOW AND YN IS THE DIRECTOR !!!! SHES CREDITED AS YN STYLES !!!

view all 2,012 comments

harryfan1 WHAT

harryfan2 STYLES ??? THEY’RE REALLY MARRIED ???

harryfan3 THE FUCK

harryfan4 I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS

liked by yourinstagram, sza and 8,927,937 others

harrystyles Satellite. Directed by YN Styles. Out now.

view all 98,837 comments

harryfan1 AHHHHH

harryfan2 LOVED THE VIDEO

yourinstagram i love you so much, hubby 💗

↳ harryfan3 NOOOO I CANT

↳ harryfan4 HARRY IS A HUSBAND I CANT

↳ harryfan5 AAHH IM SO HAPPY FOR THEM

liked by pillowpersonpp, harrystyles and 1,002,127 others

gemmastyles Secrets out ! (I kinda spoiled it a bit) But that means I can finally post this picture or the gorgeous bride in her big day ❤️ I love you, sister @yourinstagram

view all 47,926 comments

harryfan1 AHHHHHHH

jefezoff 🥺

harryfan2 she looked gorgeous omfg

yourinstagram you’re the best sister i could’ve asked for 💕

harrystyles The groom looked gorgeous too x

↳ yourinstagram oh he sure did

↳ harryfan3 I NEED TO SEE HARRY’S GROOM PICS PLEASE

HARRY LAMBERT VIA INSTAGRAM STORIES

liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 250 others

yourinstagram mrs. styles is ready for love on tour europe

view all 65 comments

nickgrimshaw she’s an icon she’s a legend and she’s the moment

gemmastyles My sister 💗

harrystyles Mrs. Styles is gorgeous x

↳ jefezoff whipped

annetwist See you soon ❤️

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 7,927 others

harryupdates “Nope! I’m a married man, officially off the market, officially taken. No shooting your shot with me!” - Harry in Amsterdam tonight !

view all 985 comments

harryfan1 CUT THE CAMERASSSS

harryfan2 omfg imagine him saying that to you and holding that eye contact i would pass out

harryfan3 I CANT BELIEVE HES MARRIED MARRIED

harryfan4 we live in a simulation

liked by gemmastyles, yourinstagram and 975,726 others

annetwist My pal for the evening, the proud wife ! Love you my gorgeous girl ❤️

view all 39,726 comments

harryfan1 AWEEEE

harryfan2 😭 her girl

gemmastyles My besties 💕

yourinstagram i say that’s my hubby and i’m proud

↳ harryfan3 I COULD CRY RN

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 8,927 others

harryupdates “All my family is here, my wife is here. There’s just something about performing as a married man, feels good” - Harry in Wembley tonight !

view all 865 comments

harryfan1 STOOOP

harryfan2 radio silent about having a girlfriend for nine years but can’t stop bragging that he’s married now HES SOOOO

harryfan3 SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP PUNCH ME IN THE FACE

harryfan4 AHHHH

liked by gemmastyles, harrystyles and 201 others

yourinstagram there’s something about attending love on tour shows as a wife, feels good

view all 54 comments

nickgrimshaw I SHOULD BE THERE

↳ yourinstagram but you’re playing

harrystyles Stealing my words now

↳ yourinstagram we’re married what’s yours it’s mine too

annetwist ❤️

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 9,736 others

harryupdates Harry with Brad in Lisbon tonight !

view all 901 comments

harryfan1 icons

harryfan2 and his wife ???

harryfan3 my best friends actually

harryfan4 YAAAS

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 10,027 others

harrysdaylight WELL HI I MET YN TODAY 😭 she was super nice and i could tell she was kinda nervous (she’s not used to fans approaching her i guess) but we chatted for a few minutes and she told me she was meeting with harry and brad, she said she would say hi to harry for me 🥹 i love her lol

view all 1,098 comments

harryfan1 AWEEE

harryfan2 stop she seems so nice

harryfan3 i want to protect her bless her

harryfan4 meeting her husband and his side chick

liked by pillowpersonpp, harrystyles and 216 others

yourinstagram second to last love on tour outfit IM UNWELL 🥲

view all 49 comments

jefezoff Felt this

paulithepsm 😭😭😭

harrystyles You stole the show every single night x

↳ nickgrimshaw whipped

↳ yourinstagram do you not agree, nicholas?

↳ nickgrimshaw i do queenie im sorry

liked by yourinstagram, jefezoff and 1,822,470 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. Lisbon. July, 2023.

view all 69,408 others

harryfan1 STOP THE COUNT

jefezoff 🥂

harryfan2 DONT LEAVE PLEASE IM BEGGING

harryfan3 i’m crying already

annetwist ❤️

yourinstagram can you book another tour already? 🥲

↳ harryfan1 I FELT THIS

taglist: @lightsoutstyles @musicforcinemas @willowpains @straightontilmornin @sleutherclaw @gimsaysay y @hazzassmirk @platinumbarbie143 @musicforcinemas @celesteblack08 @scntfrhs @eleanordaisy @lomlolivia @iceebabies @iloveshawn @be-with-me-so-happily

1K notes · View notes

xiaoxo · 2 months

Text

₊˚·७ SLUMBER PARTY

featuring — kafka, himeko, jingliu, y/n

summary — a sleepover turns into something more.

warnings — kafka, himeko, & jingliu x fem!reader, wlw relationships, wlw smut, self indulgent, use of sex toys, fluff (lots of it), non-established relationships in all, dancing together in jingliu’s, stellaron hunter!reader in kafka’s, hsr spoilers, astral express!reader in himeko’s, reader works for jing yuan in jingliu’s, reader is a vidyadhara in jingliu’s, pet names used in all, slight corruption kink in kafka’s (reader is a virgin), reader’s a bit shy in kafka’s, reader has insomnia in himeko’s, boob lover!reader in himeko’s

messages from the stars — i ♡︎ women, they can do no wrong, i worship the ground they walk on. err also im not the best at writing wlw smut but i tried my best :’) , also just a heads up, anyone can interact with this, just don’t be creepy and don’t erase wlw rep ! went a lil wild on kafka’s lmao

𝐊𝐀𝐅𝐊𝐀

after arriving at the luofu, you and kafka headed to your room. there weren’t that many rooms so you and her needed to share. you didn’t mind though. maybe the ongoing sexual tension would finally be cut tonight.

you and kafka were close, that didn’t mean you fully trusted each other though. but, there was something romantic between you two—the longing gazes, the giggling to each other, the flustering and teasing. everyone could see it. blade was tired of it and silver wolf just wanted you two to get together already.

“looks like it’ll be the two of us, huh? wanna have some fun?” she smirked, her voice smooth and seductive. you gulped, watching her approach the bed you were laying on. she crawled onto the bed and straddled you.

“finally, i have you all to myself,” she sighed softly, running her fingers up and down your waist. lifting your shirt up, she immediately tossed it on the floor and made out with you.

“mmph!” you moaned, feeling her palm your bare breast. she swirled her tongue in your mouth, lapping it on top of your tongue. pulling away, a string a saliva connected both your lips together. the magenta haired woman smirked to herself, beginning to take off her coat.

you both undressed and made out with each other. she pressed you against the bed and told you to wait a moment. she got off the bed and got a few things out of her bag—sex toys.

“i’ve been meaning to use these on you, hope you enjoy,” she told you, walking towards the bed again. she placed the strap-on and double-ended dildo on the foot of the bed and crawled towards you with a vibrator in her hand.

“spread your legs, darling,” she purred, sliding her hand between your thighs. you spread them eagerly and watched as she turned the vibrator on. pressing it against your clit, you squirmed and whimpered. she chuckled at your sensitive body. she couldn’t wait to ruin you.

“kafka, i’m a—” “i know, dear. i’ll take it slow, just let me know if it’s too much and i’ll stop, okay?” she said tenderly, a kind look in her eyes. you nodded and she watched as your arousal began to drip from your pussy.

“you’re so wet already,” she tsked, but was proud on the inside. “can’t help it, you make me feel so good,” you said shakily, body trembling from the pleasure. kafka inserted a gloved finger into your pussy, feeling the wetness soak her glove.

she pumped her finger in and out of you before slowly adding another. pleasure bubbled in your chest as you felt your orgasm approaching. “kafka, i’m close!” you whimpered.

“good, that’s a good girl. go ahead and cum for me,” she praised, leaning down to swirl her tongue around your nipple. she had such a skilled tongue, making you wonder if she’s done this before. or she could just really be wanting to make you feel good.

you came all over her fingers and she brought her hand to her mouth, sucking the juices up. “you taste delicious, i need to have a proper taste,” she told you, leaning down slowly while making eye contact with you. she hovered in front of your dripping heat as you bit your lip in anticipation.

she began licking and swirling her tongue all over your pussy, practically devouring it. “kafka, kafka!” you moaned her name like a matra, as if it was the only thing you could utter out in your fucked-out state.

her chuckle vibrated against your clit, making you let out a deep moan. “you’re making me so wet, keep moaning for me, will ya, doll?” she cooed, moaning softly as she continued to eat you out.

“make the whole hotel hear, won’t ya, baby?” she chuckled, smirking devilishly up at you. “n—no, don’t wanna get caught,” you stammered shyly. “aww, it’s okay love, it’ll just make sure everyone will know you’re mine.”

“all yours, kafka, all yours!” you babbled out, drunk on the way she ate you out. “that’s my girl,” she whispered, blowing against your clit. “o—oh!” you gasped at the new feeling. she began slurping up your juices and shoved two fingers in your hole.

“cu—cumming!” you shouted in a moan, creaming all over kafka’s face. she didn’t bother wiping it off as she leaned up and kissed you. while she kissed you, she grabbed the strap-on at the end of the bed.

placing it around her waist, she teased the tip against your tight virgin hole. she couldn’t wait to fill you up with her fake cock. she wanted to see your face contort in pleasure as your eyes roll back into your head. she wanted to ruin you, turn you into a lustful slut for her and only her.

she slowly thrusted in, allowing you to adjust to the length of the strap-on. you panted heavily, slowly getting used to the penetration. you gave her a nod and she slid in a little more, waiting for your confirmation.

“kafka, please fill me up, i need it now, i can take it,” you told her, pleading. she chuckled to herself, stroking your cheek. “is my baby ready to take my cock like a good girl? okay, here we go.”

with that, kafka thrusted all the way in, earning a loud stifled moan from you. she paused before you urged her to keep going. she rammed the strap-on into you, hitting the deepest parts of your womb.

“you look perfect like this, fuck darling,” she panted, breasts bouncing with each thrust she pounded into you. “you look so angelic, kafka. never thought i’d get to see you like this,” you murmured bashfully.

“you flatter me, y/n. heh, i dreamed of the day of seeing you like this. do you know how many days you’ve gotten me so heated i needed to take a step away to relieve myself?” she asked, chuckling. ramming her fake cock into you, you babbled and moaned how much you liked her and were enjoying yourself.

“fuckk, i like it when you’re needy like this—loud, too. make the entire hotel hear how good kafka’s making you feel, hm? that’s an order, darling~” she chimed, sensing you getting tighter around the false cock.

“you close, baby?” “mhm,” you moaned out, letting your head fall back. you kept your eyes on kafka and scanned down her body. you reached your hand up to cup her breast, squeezing it weakly.

you came with a loud moan erupting from your mouth, coating the strap-on with your cum. kafka pulled out, seeing the strap-on drenched in your liquids. “do i really make you this horny, dear?” she teased.

“yes kafka, you make me so wet,” you replied, not even caring about the embarrassment you would receive later when recalling your words to her. she hummed and grabbed the vibrator again.

spreading your legs, she straddled you and angled her pussy to line up with yours. pressing her pussy against yours, she held the vibrator against both of your clits as she began grinding on you.

the room reeked of sex with moans bouncing off the walls and possibly echoing into the hallway and other hotel rooms. she smiled down at you and you swore you’ve never seen anyone so beautiful, the way sweat stuck strands of her magenta hair to her forehead, the dazed look in her eyes, her perfect pink pussy grinding against yours. you felt yourself cumming again.

“did you cum already?” she asked, feeling your slick against her pussy. “y—yes,” you admitted shyly. “aeons, you’re perfect. just let me cum too, okay? you can handle a little bit more, can’t you?” you paused before nodding.

“that’s a good girl.”

𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐊𝐎

everyone was asleep on the astral express except you. damned insomnia was keeping you awake. you wanted to sleep, you really did. but, your body didn’t allow you to. huffing to yourself, you laid in bed, debating what to do.

you wondered if you could visit himeko, perhaps she was awake. it was worth a shot. she did say come to her at any time if you needed anything. and right now you needed something.

tugging the covers off your bed, you headed towards the door and exited your room. quietly, you began tip-toeing to himeko’s room. knocking gently twice, you heard a faint ‘come in’ on the other side of the door.

opening the door, you stepped into himeko’s room. “y/n, is something wrong?” she asked in a concerned tone. “i can’t sleep,” you briefly explained. “come here,” she said, pulling the covers away from the free space of the bed for you to lay down beside her.

“how come you can’t sleep? are you nervous about something?” she asked, hoping she could help get to the bottom of why you couldn’t sleep. “i have insomnia,” you told her, inching closer.

“oh, i see,” she said, nodding and understanding. “how’d you develop insomnia?” “it’s…part of my past,” you explained. much like dan heng, you kept your past a secret, mainly to not burden any of the astral express crew with your problems. you didn’t need pity, you told yourself.

she nodded, not prying further. “you can come closer, y’know?” himeko chuckled, causing you to inch even closer to her. the redhead giggled, leaning close to your face.

tilting her head, her eyes glided across your lips, wondering what they could possibly taste like? aeons, why did you have to be so stunning? it wasn’t fair. himeko was so close to making a move, she was so close to her face. she wanted you to just—

you locked lips with her, cupping her face tenderly. you’d never kissed anyone before, so it was a little sloppy but you soon got the hang of it, kissing her with utmost love and devotion.

straddling her lap, her hands met your waist, grinding you against her. even with her moans being muffled against your lips, she still sounded as angelic as ever. “wanna hear you moan for me, himeko. you sound perfect as always,” you told her.

“then go ahead and make me moan. i’m excited to see what you have in store for me,” she said, smirking.

you began by undressing the both of you, leaving you completely bare. “my, your body is beautiful. i can’t believe it’s all mine for tonight,” she complimented honestly, smiling brightly. “th—thank you, himeko.”

“i love the way you say my name, i could hear it all the time and never get tired of it,” she admitted to you, smirking and spreading her legs. for a few seconds, you just stared at her pussy that was awaiting for you to pleasure it.

leaning down, you began licking, sucking, slurping, and swirling your tongue around himeko’s pussy. she tried keeping her moans quiet but the pleasure was pure bliss.

“ah! you feel so good, more y/n more,” she whispered out. she was doing a surprisingly good job at keeping quiet, as if she’s trained for this situation. “aeons, how many nights has it been that i’ve masturbated to the thought of you.” that explains how she’s so good at it, you thought.

you continued to lick and eat her out, holding her twitching thighs down to keep her legs spread. “keep ‘em open for me, okay baby?” you purred, kitten-licking her pussy. she nodded, keeping her legs as wide as she could for you.

“such a good girl.” you began using the pads of your fingers to rub her clit as you stuck your tongue into her hole. feeling her gummy walls clench around your soft and wet tongue made your eyes roll into the back of your head.

reaching between your legs with your other hand, you began rubbing yourself, humming in pleasure and relief. “do you get off to you eating me out?” “can’t help it, you’re too perfect,” you muttered, continuing your movements.

“ah, y/n i’m close, dear.” “cum baby, cum for me.” she came on your tongue as you lapped the liquids up. you licked the sides of your mouth before leaning in and kissing her again.

“you did so well, miss himeko,” you teased, smiling at her. “thank you, miss y/n,” she responded back, a light shade of red dusting over her cheeks. her face felt hot from being flustered and orgasming, beads of sweat dripped down her collarbone, making parts of it shine.

“just let me, please,” you pleaded in a rushed tone, lowering your head and sucking and biting her breasts. you left marks throughout the valley of her breasts and swirled your tongue around the nipples.

your dream of being smushed between himeko’s breasts had come true, so now you were going to indulge yourself.

himeko felt the knot of pleasure form in her stomach again. she cried out as you continued fondling and sucking on her breasts. she let out a few high-pitched moans as she came for the second time.

“did i make you cum just by playing with your tits?” you asked, hardly believing it. “yes, you did,” she responded. “i didn’t know i had this kinda effect on you,” you mentioned, teasing her nipples with your fingers.

“good to know,” you muttered, smirking to yourself. “do you have a vibrator, dildo, any sex toys, dear?” you asked calmly. himeko nodded and pulled a purple vibrator out of her nightstand drawer.

“perfect,” you told her, taking the sex toy in your hands. it was the same one you had, so you knew the settings and such. “what’s the mode you usually use?” you asked, not wanting to drive her overboard.

“medium,” she replied, “thank you for asking.” “of course, this is an experience of pleasure, i don’t want to overwhelm you,” you chuckled, turning on the vibrator to the medium setting.

bringing the sex toy down to her heat, you rubbed the vibrator against her clit, causing her to whimper and squirm. “you really know how to—ahh!—hit my weak points,” she told you, moaning between her sentence.

“so good for me,” you cooed, running it down her pussy and inserting it in her hole. she leaned forward, twitching in pleasure. what a sight to see. she looked as angelic as ever—face scrunched up in pleasure, her breasts covered in your marks, and the lust and love in her eyes. the look in her eyes made you feel safe and secure.

pulling the vibrator out, you began getting into a scissoring position, grinding against her puffy clit slowly. she let out light whimpers and moans. you kept the vibrator against both your clits.

crying out, you both came simultaneously. catching your breaths and leaning your foreheads against each other, you felt her breath fan against your face. he breath smelled great, you almost got lost in the smell.

“hey so..” you leaned beside her again. “you don’t have to be mine for tonight, you can be mine as long as you’d like,” you admitted bashfully. “really?” she inquired, raising a brow. “mhm,” you hummed and nodded in response.

“i don’t mind that,” she finally said, smiling at you brightly. “i don’t either,” you replied, kissing her again before cuddling and finally falling asleep in her arms.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐔

“so you’re now jing yuan’s assistant? you were an esteemed fighter, y/n. how come you took up the job as an assistant?” jingliu asked. you sighed. it wasn’t like you wanted to be an assistant. the pay was good and it meant you could still be close to your best friend, jing yuan.

years ago, it was you, jing yuan, baiheng, dan feng, yingxing, and jingliu. the group thought you and jing yuan would make a good couple but you both assured you two were just close friends. and it was true. he helped you during a time when you needed it. you didn’t feel necessarily indebted to him but you wanted to stick close to someone you care about deeply and platonically.

in reality, you liked jingliu. jing yuan would give you points on how to talk to her and tried to get the two of you together. it never came to pass though.

but now, jingliu has returned and she invited you to stay the night with her. wanting to catch up with someone you liked much more than a friend, you accepted.

now, you sat in jingliu’s hotel, sipping your tea and conversing and catching up with her.

“and imbibitor lunae? how has he been?” she asked, sipping her tea. “dan heng’s been okay, i hope, haven’t really talked to him since everything happened.” she nodded, not wanting to press the subject further since she could tell you didn’t have too much information on the matter. jing yuan told you snippets of it, but not enough to relay the full story to jingliu.

“let’s dance,” she suddenly said, standing up. she went over to the record player and played a slow song. you stood up and approached her, taking her hands in yours. trying to make sure your hands didn’t shake, you clasped her hands and began swaying to the beat.

“it’s been so long since we’ve danced like this, y/n,” she said, spinning you around. turning back around, your chest made impact with hers. but she didn’t pull away. “yes, i’ve missed it,” you said, but all you could think about was kissing her.

“me too,” she droned on, continuing to sway to the beat. this time, you spun her around. making her way back to face you, she leaned her face very close to yours. your noses almost touched.

“jingliu,” you breathed, flustered by how close the woman you love was. “i want you to kiss me, my dear y/n,” she pleaded, breathing out. “k—kiss you?” you stammered, cheeks burning.

“if you’d like.” slowly, you leaned in and pressed your lips against hers. her lips were soft but moist, not dry. they were so addictive, you couldn’t get enough of her lips. you began wondering what other parts of jingliu would be addictive, causing arousal to pool in your panties.

she guided you to the bed which she took a seat on. you hesitantly straddled her lap and her hands immediately went to hold you in place, making sure you weren’t leaving under any circumstances.

you kept kissing her. you kissed her until both your lips were sore and you needed a breather. but, you both didn’t want to stop kissing, and you also wanted more.

beginning to strip out of her dress, you decided to do the same and undo your clothes as well, tossing them on the floor. now completely nude, you had a better advantage of intertwining each others bodies within each other, the chance to be as close as possible pretty much.

jingliu allowed you to lay back against the pillows, spreading your legs. the slightest of touches made your cheeks heat up and your stomach feel all fuzzy. her fingers merely skimmed across your thigh and you shivered underneath her.

“are you alright, darling?” she asked, taking in even the slightest movements from you. “ ‘m fine, you can keep going,” you reassured, nodding. she gave a single nod and got into a scissoring position.

grinding her pussy against yours, her breasts bounced as she moaned out in ecstasy. “i’m so happy i get to be doing this with you. you’re the only one i’ve wanted to be intimate with, y/n.” your eyes widened at her confession. jingliu was saving herself…for you? it seemed near impossible that the woman you were in love with loved you back.

“me—me too! wanna be with you forever and ever,” you admitted, moaning out in bliss. “ah! ah! that’s perfect, darling. i’m yours and you are mine,” she moaned out, cupping your breasts. your hand reached down to rub her clit, earning a mewl come from her pretty lips.

“yours forever!” she moaned loudly as she came, leaning her head back. she gripped onto your breasts to stabilize herself, rolling her thumb over your nipple. “c’mere,” you cooed, holding your arms out.

she obliged and laid in your arms, feeling euphoric bliss.

348 notes · View notes