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I Love Him So Bad - Blog Posts
I take my hyperfixation so seriously, like it’s not even funny someone get him away from me before I explode
LOOK AT HOW HES STANDING im going to cry pleasee look at him
This is so real omg i love him sm AGVFIKJRDGHRXSWYJKUNDSXBOINLOMNHTVITFZAFURCYRSFGYJNLPLUTEDHDADTGJITFHKHCDCNUFBVSDGXSTUOUKL
Clears Throat. Hello Everyone. I made this presentation instead of working.
I would kiII for him and I'm so serious about it
GUUUUUUYS OIKE HELLO ARE WE SEEING THIS
Can’t stop drawing hot buff Xie Lian, calling this my Hua Cheng era
babygirlifies your old man
those baby blues..
He's so pretty I wish we were seahorses.
(a hug from this man would probably make my mental state worse but who cares)
No wonder why they call Steven 'Popcorn', look at his little jumps 😭💦
max saying in the post qualifying press conference that he gave a middle finger to a (not nice) ferrari fan
+ the moment 🖕
imagining him with a comically large pool net that's 2x taller than him 💞
summer days
is this even long enough to be considered a fic? idk but it's about alex being your friend's hot dad
contents: age gap (reader is around 19 and he's 38), dad!alex, blowjob, cock warming
word count: 1.1k
You're spending a few summer days at your best friend's place. Sun, quiet, the pool. Exactly, what you needed after a grueling semester at uni.
What you didn't expect was him.
Her dad.
At first, you barely notice his eyes on you. But slowly, it starts. The glances that linger a beat too long. The way his head turns slightly when you walk by in your tiny bikini, book in hand. He’s always by the pool now, stretched out in a lounge chair with his sunglasses on and a book he never seems to be reading.
You can’t see his eyes, but you feel the heat of his gaze on you.
You notice how the pool is suddenly always clean, the water just right. “Gotta make sure you enjoy it,” he says with a knowing smile.
Sometimes, he asks you to help him with sunscreen. “I burn easy,” he says, shrugging off his shirt like it’s nothing. You pretend it is too, dutifully applying sunscreen to his back, his arms, his chest... your knuckles graze the cool metal of his chain, and the contrast of chilled gold against his warm skin sends a shiver down your spine.
After, he always offers to return the favor.
So you stretch out on your stomach, heart racing, letting his strong hands glide along your body. The only thing keeping him apart from you is the tiny fabric of your bikini bottoms.
His touch is careful, thorough. He doesn't miss a spot. It feels more like a massage than sunscreen application, but you don't mind. You love the feel of his strong hands sliding up your thighs. His fingertips are rough, calloused from years of gripping guitar strings. You feel the texture of them, the contrast against your soft skin, and you find yourself holding your breath.
The sauna’s always ready now, too. He stands in the doorway, eyes drifting over you as you step inside, towel barely holding on, skin flushed from the heat.
“It’s good for the muscles,” he mutters, but his gaze tells you something else. You can feel it, the way he looks at you like he wants to devour you, lingering on your damp skin, your disheveled hair.
Later, he offers to teach you how to play tennis. He’s behind you, his hand firm on your waist, adjusting your form. His breath is hot in your ear. “Call me Alex,” he murmurs, voice low. You feel the shape of him hot against your back, you try to ignore it, but you can feel your underwear get slick with your own arousal.
Still you don't act on it.
Your friend notices it too. "He's not usually around this much," she says, the tone of surprise in her voice. "It's weird. I'm used to him being gone more often. But this summer..."
You try not to think about it. But it's impossible to ignore.
He starts showing up everywhere.
Mornings, he's already in the kitchen when you come down. Shirtless, making coffee, acting casual. He always pours you a cup without asking.
"You sleep okay?" he asks, eyes flicking to your legs.
You say yes. Try to act normal. But the air between you feels charged, like something waiting to spark.
Most nights, he sits outside by the patio, smoking. He asks if you'll keep him company. Hands you a drink. The ice clinks. His hand brush yours when you take it.
The tension builds quietly. No one says it. No one moves. But it's there.
Later that week, you head downstairs for water and on your way back, you notice a faint light coming from the living room.
Alex is there, sitting at his piano, notebook open. The only light in the room is from a tiny lampshade.
He doesn't startle when he sees you. Just lifts his gaze and says, "Can't sleep either?"
You nod and you can feel his eyes roaming over your body. You're wearing a tiny sheer dress, and you're sure he can see your nipples.
"Had this idea for a song stuck in my head for days," he murmurs.
You step closer, voice teasing. "That sounds awful. Wish I could help..."
He watches you approach, gaze fixed. He turns fully toward you on the bench, legs parted slightly. You stop between his legs. His hand slides up your thigh.
He tilts his head, voice low. "You already are."
You place a hand on his shoulder. He's solid, tense. His other hand moves, slow and sure, tracing the edge of your dress where it meets your thigh.
"You should go back to bed," he murmurs.
"Should I?" you whisper, leaning in, your lips just inches from his.
Then he's kissing you, mouth open and hungry, tasting like cigarettes and something uniquely him. You gasp into him as his tongue slides against yours, hot and demanding.
You climb into his lap, straddling him, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath you.
But he pulls back with a shake of his head, "No, no... I'm working, love."
You frown, unsure. "But you kissed me."
He glances down, and you follow his gaze. He's hard, straining against his sweatpants. "I want you to warm me up."
You don't wait for him to say more.
Sliding down off his lap, you kneel between his legs. His eyes follow you, watching with a kind of quiet hunger as you hook your fingers under the waistband and ease his cock free. You breathe him in, and his scent is heady.
His hand rests at the back of your neck, silently urging you to take him in. You lean forward wrapping your tougue around the head of his cock and sucking lightly.
"This is gonna be too distracting," he mutters.
"Sorry," you murmur, pulling back slightly to glance up at him through your lashes, feigning innocence.
You lower your head again, this time taking him in deeper. Inch by slow inch, until your lips are flush with the base and your throat tightens around him. You breathe through your nose, fighting the urge to gag, trying to stay quiet so you don't wake anyone.
"Fuck," he whispers. "Just like that."
His praise washes over you like warmth. Your thighs squeeze together instinctively, aching. But this isn't about you, it's about helping him work. So you keep going.
He shifts slightly, fingers brushing over the keys, scribbling something in the notebook with his free hand.
Once in a while he reaches down, pets your hair and tells you how good you're making him feel, how much he likes having your pretty little lips wrapped around his cock.
You moan softly in response, and his breath hitches.
He shifts just slightly, cock twitching inside your mouth, reminding you he's still hard, still aching.
But he's focused. And you stay quiet. Warm. Wrapped around him.
You close your eyes and stay where you are.
Just full of him.
Exactly where he wants you.
alain prost smiles for the camera | 1993 f1 season
𝐀𝐂𝐃 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐬 | 𝐑𝐖𝐑𝐁