Freminet x reader: boyfriend head-canons
You thought it was funny at first, teasing your quiet, blushing boyfriend about how thorough he is. How he keeps a little leather-bound notebook in his toolkit. How he mumbles measurements under his breath
like a prayer.
Then you commissioned him to make you something personal. And Freminet? He treats it like a dive. Methodical. Obsessive.
Beautifully focused.
He measures you with his fingers first. Calls it "calibration." His thumb presses slow circles while his middle finger sinks knuckle deep into the trove of your pussy. he's counting seconds under his breath like you can't hear him. You can. You want to hear him.
"Three point two centimeters to your clit," he murmurs, forehead pressed to your thigh.
"Seven minutes forty-one seconds average to first orgasm."
You laugh breathlessly-and then he holds you right there on the edge for twelve agonizing minutes just to test your refractory window.
And he takes notes after.
The Repercussions
Here's the thing about Freminet. He's shy.
He stumbles over dirty talk. He goes pink when you grab his belt loops.
But his hands have memorized you.
Every ridge. Every flutter. The specific angle that makes your vision white out. The exact pressure that pulls those pretty little gasps he pretends not to collect like seashells.
He doesn't need to be bold. He just waits.
One night you're teasing him about being too gentle. "Come on, Fremi-"
He doesn't speak. Just slides two fingers inside, crooks them that way, and watches your mouth fall open. No movement. Just pressure. Just knowledge.
You cum in six seconds flat.
He blinks at you. "You were saying?"
The Bullying Tax
You learn fast: every time you tease him in public, he repays it in The Bullying Tax
You learn fast: every time you tease him in public, he repays it in private.
Pinch his cheek at the café? That night he's pulling orgasm four out of you with just his thumb on your clit and his pinky barely inside you, whispering "Are you going to be good now?" in that soft, devastating voice.
Call him "cute" during a fight? He'll edge you until you're crying his name, then stop completely and ask "Who's cute, again?"
The worst part? He looks sincere. Like he's genuinely asking. Like he hasn't already calculated exactly how many seconds until you break
Message or hold to speak
He builds you something eventually. A toy shaped from silicone he hand-poured, weighted perfectly, curved exactly to that spot he found on the third test run.
But you barely use it.
Because why would you, when Freminet already knows-when he can make you cum with two fingers and a look? When he can map your pleasure like the ocean floor he loves so much, every trench and current memorized?
He's not controlling.
He's just so thorough.
The sweet spot he found on the third test run.
But you barely use it.
Because why would you, when Freminet already knows-when he can make you cum with two fingers and a look? When he can map your pleasure like the ocean floor he loves so much, every trench and current memorized?
He's not controlling.
He's just thorough.
And you? You've stopped teasing him.
Mostly.
(He's got a new notebook page ready for when you slip.)