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smileysuh · 1 year ago

Text

ride night

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader I ft. Johnny

🔮 preview. “You always told me you had a thing for older men. Said I wasn’t your usual type- not daddy enough for you, well, here you go, baby. Let daddy hear you moan for my cock.” You seriously can’t believe this is happening. All you can do is try to relax while Hyuck fucks you stupid in some dive bar bathroom stall, your core still throbbing and desperate after six orgasms from a vibrator while on his bike. The fingers on your oversensitive bud are unrelenting, just like your boyfriend, and at this point, you can’t even bring yourself to care that his ride night dad is listening in, only a few feet away.

tw/cw. Exhibitionism, riding a Harley with a vibrator inside of you, multiple orgasms, fucking in a bar bathroom while someone (John) listens in, overstimulation, unprotected sex, vibrator as a ball gag, voyeurism, dirty talk, praise, choking, brief pussy eating, Hyuck has tattoos, etc… I pet names: (hers) princess.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 4.9k

🍭 aus. Established relationship au, motorcycle au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. The I love Harleys saga continues but this time with NCT

You met Lee Donghyuck in the winter of your life. It was all cold weather, windy days and rain streaks against your apartment window. When you bumped into him at a bar, and he’d pulled you over to tell you that you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, things began to get brighter.

It’s been five months now, and the warmth of spring turning into summer matches the heat Donghyuck has brought into your existence. He’s enthusiastic, and so so good at making your day sparkle.

A self-proclaimed ‘motorcycle skid man’ with tattoos and a generally bad attitude toward others to match, Hyuck has been raving about how excited he is to finally have a girl to take on his Harley night rides, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as stoked to be joining him in this aspect of his life.

You’ve been on his bike a handful of times since the riding season started, and while you’re getting used to the loud, vibrating engine, you’ve never been a backpack for more than fifteen or so minutes with the speed he goes at. This will be your first time on a longer trip, as his friends usually take a scenic route two or so towns over to get drinks at one-off dive bars.

He pulls infront of your apartment, and your entire body is thrumming with an excited energy you can’t even put into words. When he takes off his helmet, and shakes out his shaggy dark hair, you swear he looks almost godlike. The tattoos on his hands and neck are visible, but the rest of his intricate inkings are covered in a hoodie and ride gear.

“Hey, princess,” he grins, pulling out one of his bluetooth earbuds to hand to you. “Are you ready for this?”

“Uh huh.” You accept the earbud, slotting it into place.

“We’re going to stop at my bike dad’s place to get you proper gear,” Hyuck explains. “He called me earlier and gave me a talking to about not being too much of a dick head with you on the back.”

Your Harley lover has found a family within his motorcycle fanatic friends, one of which, is a man named John who you’ve met twice. He’s always preaching about safety, as he’s been in the motorcycle scene for much longer than your baby rider boyfriend, who’s only been riding for two or so years.

There’s always a risk involved with motorcycles, and John has had too many friends who’ve gotten into accidents, too many close calls for comfort.

The first time you’d met John, Hyuck had darted off to get drinks, and in the loud seclusion of a corner in the bar, John had warned you not to let Hyuck take risks with you. “He’s only brought a girl around once,” the twenty-nine year old had explained, “and even with that, he’s the only guy I know who goes faster with a backpack.”

You’re not surprised that John would insist on proper gear for a ride of this caliber. When you and Hyuck pull up to his townhouse, he’s standing in the garage with three different jackets laid across the hood of his new black ram truck.

“Hey, Speedy Racer, hi, Princess,” John smiles, pulling you into a hug that lingers before assessing Hyuck as he’s taking off his helmet. “You excited for this?”

“So excited,” you respond, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hold onto this one,” John says, addressing your boyfriend, “she’s not a scardey cat like the last girl.”

“Trust me, I’m planning on holding on,” Hyuck promises, coming up behind you to wrap you in his arms.

“So… is this the gear?” you ask, assessing the jackets on the car.

“Yeah, I bought these for my ex.” John runs a hand through his dark hair. “Figure they need a new home now.”

“Why don’t you get your own girlfriend?” Hyuck teases, squeezing you roughly.

John only sighs at your boyfriend’s antics. “Anyways, try them all on, see which one you like best.”

You shrug off your own wind breaker, picking up the first black leather jacket. It looks nice, but it’s a little large, and John explains that it’s usually meant for a hoodie underneath, which he can grab for you if you’d like.

The second one fits a little better, but it’s still not as snug as you’d enjoy.

When you pick up the third jacket, a white leather piece with black detailing, you can already tell from the feel of the material that it will be your favourite. As you put it on, you note the small amount of padding, the way it hugs your body.

“That’s the one, princess,” Hyuck muses, looking you up and down.

“It looks good,” John offers you a smile. He turns, heading for a drawer, where he pulls out a pair of black riding gloves. “One last touch,” he explains, passing them to you.

When you put on the leather gloves, you finally feel like an actual motorcycle girlfriend.

“Are we good to go?” John asks.

“I just need to go piss first,” Hyuck says. “Princess, come with.”

John cocks his eye brow, but doesn’t say anything as Hyuck pulls you into the townhome, leading you down a hall to the first floor bathroom.

“What are you doing?” you laugh when he closes the door behind you, locking it securely.

“Got you something,” Hyuck tells you, reaching into his jacket.

Your heart thumps at what this present could be, and it lurches into your throat when he takes out a pink, egg vibrator.

“Hyuck, this isn’t a good idea-”

“Are you kidding?” he grins. “It’s the best idea I’ve ever had, come here”

You don’t fight him when he reaches for your hand, tugging you closer. His lips meet yours, and you eagerly kiss him back, his tongue swiping against your own. His mouth quickly moves to your throat, and his breath tickles when he whispers, “You’re going to love this.”

He gets down onto his knees, quickly pulling your pants and underwear down. The cool air of the bathroom makes your skin tingle, and your boyfriend leans forward, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin just under your belly button.

“Hyuck-” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Be good for me,” he tells you, spreading your thighs as much as the pants by your feet can allow. It’s an odd angle, but your boyfriend somehow gets his skilled tongue licking at your folds, his lips wrapping around your clit.

One finger enters you, then two. He pushes at the spongy spot that has your toes curling in your shoes, your legs shaky. Then, to your disappointment, he pulls away.

Hyuck looks up at you, watching your reactions as he brings the internal vibrator to your pussy, gently pushing it inside.

“How’s that feel?” he asks, breath hot along your sensitive inner thighs.

“Good,” you respond, swallowing thickly.

“Perfect.” He kisses your stomach, then pulls up your jeans. “This is going to be the best ride you’ve ever been on.”

The three of you had arrived at the dealership with ten minutes before the kickstands-up start time. Hyuck had introduced you to friends you’ve not yet had the chance to meet, and he hadn’t turned the vibrator on yet.

But when everyone gets on their bikes in preparation for the hour ride ahead of you, Hyuck reaches into his pocket, at first, you think it’s just to turn on music for your Bluetooth earbuds, but that’s when the low setting of the toy kicks into gear.

Your thighs immediately squeeze around him at the stimulus, your grip on his hips tightening.

Hyuck tosses you a look over his shoulder, then flips his visor down, turning to face the road and revving his engine.

The vibrations from the Harley and the toy have your entire body tingling with delight, and you realize that while this might be the best ride of your life, it’s definitely going to be the longest, in more ways than one.

You do your best to focus on the sight in front of you rather than the vibrations. There must be over twenty Harleys on this ride, and it feels momentous in some odd way to be a part of this.

Your group comes up to the turn light outside the dealership, after this, you’ll be on the highway. The riders are in two columns, taking up one stretch of lane. When you turn your head, you realize Johnny is pulled up beside you. He pushes his tinted visor up, flashing you a wink while you all wait.

Hyuck turns to stare at John, and as the light shifts, they both begin to rev their engines. You can’t help the giggle of delight that bubbles within you, it’s as if the two are caught up in some type of pissing match, and others soon join in.

The first two riders take off as the turn light switches on. Hyuck shifts into gear, and the motorcycle pulls forward, your knees digging against his thighs for grip as you prepare for the speed that’s about to come now that you’re on the highway.

You’ve heard John and others call Hyuck ‘Speedy Racer,’ and you know your boyfriend has a reputation for breaking limits, but in your short experience backpacking, nothing could have prepared you for how fast all the bikes are moving the moment you’re all clear of the turn.

You can see the way the men are feeding off of each other. They’re respectful of those in front of them… to a point, but everyone looks like they have something to prove, or maybe it’s just a love for the extreme.

Either way, you can only hold on as the outskirts of the city flash by you faster than they ever have before.

The music playing through your earbud shifts, and as ‘Or Nah’ by Ty Dolla $ign comes on, you realize Hyuck’s making you listen to his sex playlist.

Fuck- Your pussy clenches around the vibrator, your fingers digging into his hips.

You watch Hyuck’s grip tighten on his handlebars, his veins flexing under numerous dark hand tattoos that always turn you on way more than they should.

His engine revs aggressively, prompting the rider in front of him to go even faster and close the gap between the person two bikes up.

John matches Hyuck’s speed on your left, turning to look at you both.

It feels suddenly very dirty - and exhilarating - at the same time, to be doing this.

If only John knew what sinful music is ringing through your head, what dizzying vibrations are coursing through your pussy-

There are small district type suburbs outside of the city, and you somehow make the fifteen to thirty minute stretch to the next closest one in what must be only five minutes. You’re breathless by the time you get to the next light, one of two on the highway in this zone, and even though you think you’ll be able to catch a moment of reprieve, you’re wrong.

Hyuck reaches into his pocket, dialing up the intensity of the vibrator.

Your legs shake around him, your breaths coming out in hot pants inside your helmet.

John is looking at you again, and he motions for you to lift your visor.

Sure, any rider watching you practically hyperventilate at a red light would suggest lifting the piece of plastic keeping your face contained in your helmet- but that’s the last thing you want to do right now.

Hyuck lifts his own visor, looking over his shoulder at you then back at John. He leans a little to the left to get closer to his friend, and John’s the one to ask “Is she good?”

“She’s perfect,” Hyuck shouts over the sound of engines. His hand finds yours on his hip, rubbing you gently. “Aren’t you, princess?”

Taking a deep breath, you lift your visor, managing a small smile at your boyfriends ‘bike dad.’

“I’m okay,” you try to reassure John, but your voice is shaky.

Before John can say anything else, engines catch your attention and all three of you look forward, where the light has turned green.

“Visors down,” Hyuck warns you, knocking his own back into place before booting his kickstand back up. The bike lurches forward not two seconds later, and you’re left scrambling to adjust your helmet before latching back onto your boyfriends waist.

There’s a sissybar at your back, and you know logically that it will keep you from sliding off the end of the Harley, but you’re still not used to this type of speed. You can’t help but hold on like Hyuck is your life line, and with your mischievous speedy racer of a lover in control of the vibrator wedged between your sensitive walls, he kind of is.

Lucky for everyone taking part in ride night, the second light in this small town is green, and your group flies through, the signs noting the speed increase back to normal highway regulations- although, you’re sure everyone here is going way over what’s posted.

You can’t see Hyuck’s speedometer with his body in front of yours, and part of you doesn’t want to see it.

You close your eyes, giving in to the onslaught of sensations.

The air ripping at your tight riding jacket, gravel buffering your knees ever so often, music ringing through your helmet, the powerful vibrator in your pussy, and the even more powerful machine that Hyuck maneuvers like a God-

If you focus too hard, if you allow yourself to enjoy all of this, you might just cum, and part of you wants to resist that, so you open your eyes, looking over at John on the bike next to you.

Hyuck might be the notorious dare devil, but John’s not all that angelic either. The man is standing straight up on his foot pegs, his butt raised completely off his seat. The wind is tearing at his leather jacket, and you can’t even imagine the pressure of the air he’s cutting through, battering at his body-

Even so, he looks as free as you’ve ever seen a man look.

Your pussy pulses pathetically around the toy and you grip Hyuck’s hips, legs shaking around his own.

His hand lands on your thigh, squeezing, as if to say ‘cum for me,’ and your body can’t help itself this time. You release all the pressure, your muscles going slack for a moment of peace before contracting from the power of your orgasm.

Your core throbs desperately around the vibrator, your eyes closing to enjoy the sensation.

Hyuck takes his hand away from your thigh, revving the engine and kicking into an even higher gear. The bike purs below you, as if she - like her master - is amped up from the energy of your release.

John sits back down on his bike to match Hyuck’s acceleration, and you can feel his eyes on you. Another pang of pleasure erupts through your form, your visor fogging up from how hard you’re panting.

Hyuck makes a motion at John, and with your vision obscured, it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s saying. However, when he forms his hand into a fist and shakes it aggressively to emulate a vibrator, you can almost picture the look of recognition behind John’s tinted visor.

You can’t bring yourself to think about it too hard right now, your orgasm still throbbing through you like white hot summer rays.

It’s hard to gauge time on the back of a bike. With the world going past you at what feels like a hundred miles a minute, it could be an orgasm that lasts five minutes, or five seconds, you’re not sure.

All you can do is hold on, allowing the pleasure to overtake you until it subsides, your muscles slowing the contractions around the vibrator.

You don’t know it yet, but this will be your first of six orgasms on the back of Hyuck’s bike during the hour and a half ride to the bar.

Hyuck had turned off the vibrator at the first red light you’d reached after entering the town that will be your final destination. You’d slumped like a limp rag doll behind him, trying to catch your breath the rest of the way.

When the group of Harleys pulls into the bar parkinglot, you’re honestly not sure you’ll even be able to stand, and your legs are wobbly as you nearly stumble off the back of Hyuck’s bike.

You fumble with the straps of your helmet, tearing it off and taking a big gasp of air.

Hyuck’s much more graceful with his movements, bending down to pick up the earbud that’s fallen to the ground with the force of the removal of your helmet. “You good, princess?”

You narrow your eyes at him, knowing your cheeks are flushed and you probably look like a mess.

“I’ll make it better,” Hyuck promises, standing and pulling you into a breathtaking kiss. You can’t help the way you react to him, leaning against his chest and completely melting. It feels so good to be touched, finally, after over and hour of what feels like torture. You can almost forget about the gang of bikers whistling and howling at the sight.

Hyuck pulls away too quickly, putting his helmet on his bike before grabbing yours to do the same. Then, he latches onto your hand. “Come on,” he says gruffly.

You want to ask if you should wait for the rest of the riders to park properly, but when Hyuck begins to tug you toward the bar, your words get caught in your throat.

The dive bar hostess’s eyes widen when you and Hyuck approach. “Hey, I’m with the group that just pulled up, my girlfriend’s been needing to piss since the last town, can we just use your bathroom real quick?”

The girl stammers, but Hyuck’s already pushing through with a gruff, “Thanks.”

It’s clear Hyuck’s been here before, because he knows exactly where he’s going. As he pushes you into the men’s bathroom, doing a quick look around to make sure it’s empty, your heart begins to thunder in your chest.

“Hyuck-”

“Come on, princess,” he shakes his head at you, tugging you into a stall, “I didn’t toy with you for over an hour just to leave you high and dry. You want to be filled, properly, don’t you?”

His breath is hot against your skin as he corners you into the small stall, pinning you against the black plastic wall.

You don’t have it in you to wait for him to fuck you till you get home, but you don’t have it in you to speak much either, all you can do is whimper and nod, clutching at his hoodie to pull him into a kiss.

He groans against you, and the sound goes straight to your core. Hyuck’s lips quickly move to your throat, teasing by your sweet spot while you moan and thread your fingers through his soft hair.

When his teeth graze past the collar of your jacket, you push your hips forward, silently begging for more friction. He rewards you by pushing his thigh between your own, allowing you to grind down on him while his nimble fingers tug down the zipper.

For a moment, a scene flashes through your mind's eye. You envision John in a very similar position to where you are now, some faceless lover, adorned in the jacket that’s now keeping you from Hyuck-

Your boyfriend buries his face in your exposed tits now, holding the leather open so he can access the cleavage pushed up by your bra.

“Hyuck, please-” you whimper, acutely aware that you’re in a public restroom.

“So needy,” he chuffs, nipping at your collarbone.

His hand slips to your pants, undoing them before roughly tugging the fabric down.

“Can you push the vibe out for me baby?” he prompts, thumb circling your clit.

The mere graze of his digit against your throbbing bud has your core clenching, following through with his command. Hyuck catches the vibrator as it falls, grinning at you. “Now say ah.”

“What?”

“It’s to keep you quiet, plus, I need this shit clean so I can put it back in my pocket.”

He’s such a fuck, but you dutifully open your mouth for him, accepting the toy.

The taste of your own pussy on your tongue has you mewling for Hyuck, reaching down to fumble with his belt.

You can feel his cock pressing against his jeans, and you’re practically drooling around the makeshift gag ball by the time you get him free of the denim.

Hyuck grabs the back of your head, pulling you in for a haphazardly sinful kiss. He licks at the toy, groaning from your slick that coats the plastic vibrator.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growls, staring you in the eyes for a moment full of tension.

Then he flips you around, pushing at your back so your chest is pressed to the wall of the stall.

“Spread your legs for me, princess,” he instructs.

You do as you’re told, and he rubs the tip of his cock along your pussy lips a moment later. You moan around the vibrator, closing your eyes.

God, you need to be filled so fucking bad-

“Always so wet for me,” Hyuck murmurs by your ear, his mouth teasing past your throat. “You came what? Five times on my bike? Six? You’re gonna give me one more.”

He pushes his cock into your wet hole, bottoming out immediately while your toes curl in your shoes, your nails clawing against the plastic wall of the stall.

“So fucking tight,” he groans, digging his fingers into your hips.

“So fucking big,” you retort, and it’s true. Hyuck is around 5’9, maybe 5’10 or 5’11 on a good day in his work boots- but where he’s lacking - arguably - in height, he makes up for in cock. He’s probably around seven, seven and a half inches. And he’s girthy too, stretching out your tight pussy in a way a vibrator only wishes it could.

This is what you’ve been needing for over an hour.

All the toys in the world, but nothing, nothing, is like Hyuck’s cock. He sure as hell knows how to use it.

Hyuck begins to rut into you, lips hot against your throat. The layers of leather covering your form are making you sweat, but then again, you’ve been sweating since that first orgasm. You can’t even bring yourself to care about the uncomfortable nature of this, because you’ve been desperate for Hyuck, and nothing is going to tear you away from this experience.

Nothing-

Except the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Hyuck freezes momentarily, then he slaps his hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds that have been escaping past the vibrator.

He picks up where he left off, railing into you even harder while your eyes roll back into your head.

Fuck, at this point, you feel like you’re possessed, spiritually, and physically.

No other man in your life has ever tempted you to be in a situation like this one, but Hyuck’s nothing if not a guy who broadens your horizons.

“You two are such animals.”

John’s voice makes your skin tingle, your eyes opening. You turn your head, meeting Hyuck’s gaze behind you. He only laughs. “Easy for you to say old man,” he calls.

“A vibrator in your girl’s pussy during ride night,” you can practically hear John shaking his head, “funny, I never thought of that.”

“Do you have something to say to me, or did you come just to chat and listen to my girl get railed?” Hyuck asks, irritation and amusement laced in his words.

“I got to watch her cum on your bike a couple of times, she wasn’t exactly subtle about it, I figure, might as well have some audio to burn into my memory too.”

Fucking hell.

Your pussy clenches desperately around Hyuck, and he laughs, kissing your throat.

“Oddly enough, John, I think my princess is into that. Open your mouth baby, let’s give John the vibrator to hold onto for now.”

You do as you’re told, spitting the toy into Hyuck’s hand and staring at him with a question in your eyes.

“You stay right here,” Hyuck instructs, pressing his hand to the back of your head to force your face against the wall. His motions have stopped, and he reaches behind himself to open the door. From the angle of where you are against the stall, John can’t see you, all he can do is reach in and accept the vibrator from your boyfriend. “Clean that off for me, will ya?”

You hear Johnny chuckle to himself, and then Hyuck’s locking the door again.

“Okay, baby, no need to hold back now. Put on a show for John, I know you want to.”

The first whimper that escapes you makes you claw at the wall, pressing your forehead against the cold plastic. Your eyes close, your teeth gnawing at your lip.

“Are you…” you swallow thickly, stifling a moan. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, princess? It’s only John.”

“Fuck-” you whine as Hyuck reaches around your front, his fingers toying with your clit.

“You always told me you had a thing for older men. Said I wasn’t your usual type- not daddy enough for you, well, here you go, baby. Let daddy hear you moan for my cock.”

You seriously can’t believe this is happening. All you can do is try to relax while Hyuck fucks you stupid in some dive bar bathroom stall, your core still throbbing and desperate after six orgasms from a vibrator while on his bike. The fingers on your oversensitive bud are unrelenting, just like your boyfriend, and at this point, you can’t even bring yourself to care that his ride night dad is listening in, only a few feet away.

“You sound so pretty, princess, show John how pretty you sound, stop holding back.”

Hyuck begins to suck on your sweet spot, and you gasp loudly, eyes closing. Each thrust of his hips has his cock hitting a place deep inside of you, making your toes curl. Then he pinches your clit, and you suck in a strangled breath.

“Want you to cum for me, baby, show us that you’re a good girl.”

“Hyuck-”

“Now’s not the time to talk.” His free hand wraps around your throat, and you shiver with anticipation. “Good girls listen to their boyfriends, don’t they princess?”

When he squeezes your neck, your core throbs, and a few more circles of your aching clit has you seeing stars. You let out a strangled gasp, grabbing at Hyuck’s tattooed wrist, keeping his hand around your throat while your pussy clenches tight on his cock, your orgasm washing over you like a waterfall.

“That’s it, princess,” Hyuck coos. “And you’re going to take every drop of my cum too, right? I know how much you love being full.”

“Please-” you whimper.

“Fuck.” You hear John groan just outside the stall, and another wave of pleasure erupts through you, goosebumps fleckling along your flesh. You’re delirious at this point, overcome by the high that’s tearing through every fiber of your being.

“Okay, princess, I’m there- take it, take it-” Hyuck squeezes your throat even tighter, and you gasp when you feel his cock twitch inside of you, filling you up with warmth while his hips stutter with effort.

“Hyuck-” you whimper, beginning to struggle in his grasp.

He releases your neck, tilting your head so he can lean over your shoulder and press his hot lips against your own, tongue invading your mouth while he finishes.

You’re both gasping by the time he stills inside of you. He rests his forehead against your own, breathing deeply and looking at you under heavy lids.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispers, pressing a shockingly chaste kiss to your lips.

Hyuck pulls away, helping you sit down onto the toilet so his cum doesn’t get on your clothes. He quickly wipes his cock. “We’ll give you some privacy,” he winks, exiting the stall. “Come on, John.”

Both men leave, and you’re free to pee in peace, trying to catch your breath.

When you’re finished up in the bathroom, you find Hyuck waiting right outside. His arm slings around your shoulder and he leads you onto the covered patio where everyone is already seated and enjoying drinks.

John waves the two of you over to a table, and you find it difficult to meet his gaze when you sit down.

It’s clear from the way John and Hyuck dive into a conversation with one of their friends that neither of them intend to discuss what just happened, and that’s fine by you. There’s always another time, and there’s always another ride night.

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! He's never going to see this, but I just wanted to gush for a moment about how much I appreciate my significant other. For years, being a fanfic writer has been a touchy subject with prospective partners, but my boyfriend right now is so stupidly supportive of what I do here on Tumblr. I'm so blessed at all the ideas he's given me since we started dating, and this fic is just one of the many ways I've been able to creatively interpret aspects of our relationship into fiction so we can all enjoy even a slice of the joy that he gives me every day.

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. “You’ve been good, cum for your boyfriend, bet he’ll love it when you make a mess on his tongue.” John is so suave- he knows exactly what to say, exactly how to be respectful but still an active verbal participant while Hyuck takes you to the edge. The combination of dirty talk and Hyuck’s motions on your pussy have you clamping down with a whine, your muscles clenching hard around Hyuck’s fingers while you cum.

cw/ tw. Vibrating anal plug while on a Harley, exhibitionism, voyeurism, threesome, unprotected sex, protected sex, double penetration (cock & fingers), anal, dirty talk, praise, spitting, pussy eating, multiple reader orgasms, dom/sub dynamic, hand job, etc… I petnames. (hers) Princess, baby. (Hyuck’s) master. (John’s) daddy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k I teaser wc. 240

🌙 starring. Hyuck & Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

Riding with a toy inside your pussy is one thing, but riding with a butt plug is an entirely other arena of sensation. It’s been two months since your first ride night, and in those months, you and Hyuck have discussed allowing Johnny to join you for some fun. Hyuck had only agreed if he would have complete control, and part of that control, is stretching you out like this.

The worst part is they’re not even going to fuck you at the bar. No, you’re going to be wearing this plug for hours, and only after everything is finished, will you be heading to John’s for the final pleasure of the night.

Hyuck had also chosen to give you a vibrating plug, and for the ride there, he’d kept control of it, but at the bar, that had all changed. Sat between Johnny and Hyuck the two had passed the remote back and forth discreetly, and whenever the plug would jump inside of you, your head would be whipping to figure out who had decided to tease you.

You’re accepting a glass of beer from the waitress when the plug begins to vibrate, and you nearly spill your drink all over yourself. First, your eyes shift to Hyuck, only to find his hands on the table, which means the culprit is John.

He flashes you a wink, and you think you might just die here and now.

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mrsfancyferrari · 4 months ago

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JUST READ LOSE MY MIND, CHASE ATLANTIC INSPIRED???? FOAMING AT THE MOUTH FUCK YESS, WE NEED MORE CHASE ATLANTIC APPRECIATION

Don't Stop

Summary: MV1 + "The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

Song: Church · Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: @dozyisdead thank you for your comment and your wish is my command! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 3.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the engines was a symphony to some, an unbearable cacophony to others. For you, it was a constant hum, a background track to a life lived in the shadow of Formula 1.

Your father, a team principal with a fiery temper and an even fierier competitive spirit, had instilled in you a love for the sport, albeit one laced with a very specific kind of hatred.

That hatred was reserved for one man: Jos Verstappen. And consequently, for his son, Max.

The feud between your father and Jos was legendary, a well-documented saga of on-track collisions, boardroom betrayals, and accusations flung like grenades across the paddock. It was an old wound, festering and never allowed to heal.

You’d grown up hearing stories of Jos’s ruthlessness, his aggression, and the way he supposedly cheated your father out of a championship win years ago. You were raised to believe that the Verstappen name was synonymous with treachery and malice.

So, logically, you were supposed to hate Max Verstappen. It was expected.

But logic, as you were increasingly discovering, had a way of malfunctioning around the young Dutch driver.

You worked as a data analyst for your father's team, a role that kept you close to the action but slightly removed from the blatant animosity.

You excelled at your job, your sharp mind able to dissect telemetry readings and identify fractions of a second that could make the difference between victory and defeat.

It was during a pre-season testing session in Barcelona that Max first entered your orbit in a truly disconcerting way.

You were hunched over your laptop in the garage, the air thick with the smell of gasoline and burning rubber, when you felt a presence beside you.

"Looking busy," a voice drawled, laced with a Dutch accent that sent a shiver down your spine.

You looked up, your heart skipping a beat despite your best efforts to control it. Max Verstappen. He was leaning against the workbench, his eyes – those intensely blue eyes that seemed to see right through you – fixed on your face.

He was even more striking in person than on television.

"Just doing my job," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I've heard you're good at it," he said, pushing off the workbench and taking a step closer. "Your father keeps a tight ship."

"He expects the best," you retorted, your defenses instantly up.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the air. "And you wouldn't want to disappoint him, would you?"

The unspoken question hung in the air, loaded with the weight of your fathers' rivalry. You met his gaze, refusing to back down. "No," you said firmly. "I wouldn't."

He smiled then, a genuine smile that transformed his face and made him look almost… vulnerable. "Good. Because I have a feeling you're capable of a lot more than just crunching numbers."

That was the beginning.

Over the next few months, their paths kept crossing. Brief encounters in the paddock, shared glances across crowded press conferences, and even the occasional, accidental bumping into in hotel lobbies.

Each interaction chipped away at your carefully constructed wall of animosity. You found yourself noticing the way he focused on the track, the quick wit he displayed in interviews, and the surprising kindness he showed to his mechanics.

He was… charming. Dangerous charming.

And he knew it.

He started seeking you out. A quick word in the hospitality tents, a shared elevator ride, a casual inquiry about your work. He was persistent, but never pushy. He was subtle, but undeniably present.

You tried to deny it, to rationalize it, to attribute it to simple curiosity or a harmless flirtation. But deep down, you knew the truth. You were drawn to him.

The tension between you grew thicker with each passing race weekend. It crackled in the air whenever you were near each other, a silent electricity that threatened to ignite into something explosive.

The Italian Grand Prix in Monza was the breaking point.

You were in the team's garage after a frustrating qualifying session, your father's angry voice echoing in the air. Max had just secured pole position, a fact that only added fuel to your father's fire.

You were trying to focus on the data, but your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

He found you in the back of the garage, away from the noise and chaos. He leaned against a stack of tires, his expression serious.

"You look troubled," he said softly, his eyes searching yours.

"Just a bad day at the office," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"More than that," he insisted, taking a step closer. "I can see it in your eyes."

You finally looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "What do you want, Max?"

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to your lips. When he looked back up, his eyes were filled with a raw intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"I want you to stop pretending," he said, his voice low and husky. "I want you to stop acting like you don't feel it too."

"Feel what?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He closed the distance between you, his hand gently reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "This," he said, his voice barely audible. "This connection, this… pull."

You stood frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the electricity crackling between you.

"You know it's there," he continued, his gaze locked on yours. "You've known it for weeks."

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. "My father…" you began, but he cut you off.

"I don't care about your father," he said fiercely. "Or mine. This is about us."

He took another step closer, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. Your mind was screaming at you to run, to push him away, to remind yourself of the years of hatred and animosity.

But your body betrayed you, remaining rooted to the spot, yearning for something you knew you shouldn't want.

He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above yours. "The problem is," he murmured, his voice laced with a dangerous promise, "if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

The world seemed to shrink, the roar of the engines fading into a distant hum. All that existed was him, his eyes, his touch, the intoxicating possibility of something forbidden.

You wanted him. God, you wanted him more than you'd ever admitted to yourself.

But the weight of your father's expectations, the years of ingrained animosity, the potential fallout… it was all too much.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, and forced yourself to step back.

"Don't," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Just… don't."

He stared at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and disappointment. He hadn’t expected you to deny him.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Because it's wrong," you said, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "Because it would destroy everything."

He shook his head, his eyes filled with a sadness that pierced your heart. "You're choosing him over me?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't.

He took a step back, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I understand," he said, his voice flat. "You made your choice."

He turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in the back of the garage, the weight of your decision crushing you.

The next few weeks were torturous. You avoided Max at all costs, burying yourself in your work, trying to convince yourself that you'd done the right thing.

But every time you saw him on the track, every time you heard his voice, every time you caught his eye, the memory of that moment in Monza would come flooding back, a painful reminder of what you had denied yourself.

He, in turn, became distant. Acknowledging you with a curt nod whenever your paths crossed, his blue eyes now devoid of the warmth you had briefly glimpsed. He became the Max Verstappen the world knew - the ruthless, focused driver, untouchable and unapproachable.

It was as if he was deliberately burying the flicker of vulnerability you had witnessed, replacing it with an impenetrable wall.

One evening, after a particularly grueling race, your father called you into his office. He looked tired, the lines on his face etched deeper than usual.

"I know about you and Verstappen," he said, his voice heavy.

Your heart sank. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Don't play coy with me. I've seen the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him."

You remained silent, refusing to confirm or deny anything.

"I won't allow it," he said, his voice hardening. "I won't have you fraternizing with the enemy."

"He's not the enemy," you argued, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Your father slammed his fist on the desk, making you jump. "He is the enemy! He's a Verstappen! Don't you understand what that means?"

You looked at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of anger and disappointment. "Yes, I understand. I understand that you're letting a decades-old grudge dictate my life."

"I'm protecting you," he insisted, his voice softening slightly. "He'll only break your heart."

"And you won't?" you countered, the words laced with a pain you had kept hidden for years.

He looked at you, his expression softening, and you knew you had struck a nerve. He knew that, in his own way, he had already broken your heart, countless times.

You stood up, your body trembling with a mixture of anger and grief. "I can't do this anymore," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I can't live my life according to your rules."

You turned and walked out of his office, leaving him sitting alone in the silence.

You knew you couldn't stay. You couldn't continue to live a life dictated by other people's hatred.

That night, you packed a bag and left.

You didn't know where you were going, or what you were going to do. All you knew was that you needed to escape, to find a place where you could be free from the weight of your father's expectations and the shadow of the Verstappen rivalry.

You drove for hours, until you reached a small coastal town, far away from the noise and glamour of Formula 1. You found a cheap motel and checked in, collapsing onto the bed, exhaustion finally claiming you.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of the ocean. You walked down to the beach, the cool sand between your toes, the salty air filling your lungs. You sat down on a rock, watching the waves crash against the shore, and finally allowed yourself to cry.

You cried for your father, for the years of missed opportunities and unspoken words. You cried for Max, for the connection you had denied, for the love you had let slip away. And you cried for yourself, for the life you had been living, a life that wasn't truly your own.

As the sun began to set, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. You didn't know what the future held, but you knew that you were finally free.

A few days later, while you were having coffee at a small cafe, you saw a familiar figure walking down the street.

Max.

Your heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here? How had he found you?

He saw you too, his eyes widening in surprise. He hesitated for a moment, then walked towards you, his expression unreadable.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I needed a break," he said, his gaze fixed on the ground. "And I thought I might find you here."

You stared at him, your mind racing. "Why?"

He looked up then, his blue eyes meeting yours. "Because," he said softly, "I couldn't let you go."

A denial trembled on your lips. This is a mistake. It can't work. The feud, your father, everything stands in our way. But the words wouldn't come. Your heart, traitorous thing that it was, soared at his words, desperate to believe in the impossible.

"Max…" you began, but he cut you off, stepping closer, his presence filling the small space between you.

"Don't," he pleaded, his voice raw. "Don't tell me it's a bad idea. Don't tell me we can't. Just… just let me be here. With you."

The intensity in his eyes was almost overwhelming. You looked away, breaking the connection, needing to gather your thoughts, to reign in the emotions that threatened to consume you.

"You shouldn't have come," you said, the words sounding harsher than you intended. "It's not… it's complicated."

He sighed, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "I know it's complicated. I'm not stupid. But I don't care about complicated. I care about you."

He pulled out a chair and sat down, his gaze unwavering. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. You knew you should tell him to leave, to go back to his life, to the expectations and pressures that defined him.

But you couldn’t. The yearning in his eyes, the vulnerability he showed, mirrored the longing that had been buried deep within you for so long.

"My father knows," you blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush. "He knows about… us. And he’s not happy."

Max's jaw tightened. "I figured as much." A muscle twitched in his cheek. "Does he know how long 'us' has been going on?"

You looked down at your hands. "He doesn’t know there is an 'us'."

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "Right. Well, that's what you're afraid of. And that's the least of your worries. I'm sure he threatened you. He knows my father as well as anyone, and he'll have made it clear that he wants nothing to do with us."

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "He… he said I couldn't see you. He called you the enemy."

"And you listened?" There was a challenge in his voice, a flicker of the competitive fire that burned so brightly on the track.

You finally looked up, meeting his intense gaze. "No," you said, your voice stronger this time. "I didn't. That's why I'm here."

A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features. The weariness seemed to lift, replaced by a glimmer of hope. "Good," he said, his voice softer now. "Because I don't think I could have handled it if you had."

He’d sought you out, finding you holed up in this anonymous corner of a city far removed from the glitz and glamour of Monaco. A city where you hoped to disappear, to catch your breath after the fallout.

But Max, with his unwavering determination, had a knack for finding you.

“This is crazy, you know,” you said, the small smile on your lips trembling slightly. It was crazy. Everything about this was insane. The clandestine meetings, the stolen moments, the constant fear of discovery. And now, the open defiance of your father’s wishes.

“What’s crazy is you living by yourself this whole time,” Max replied, his voice serious, devoid of the playful banter that usually characterized your interactions.

“Yeah, I’ve been living in a small hotel, a big change from Monaco, right?” you joked, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. But Max remained unsmiling, his focus unwavering.

“Has anyone tried to do something to you?” he asked, a furrow appearing between his brows. The intensity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. The concern was real.

“Nope, nothing I couldn’t take care of before,” you answered, offering a reassuring smile. “You’re overprotective for someone who is supposed to be my enemy,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice low, insistent. “This whole situation… your father… it’s not safe. You shouldn’t be alone.”

You sighed, stirring your lukewarm latte with unnecessary force. “I know, I know. But what choice do I have? Staying in Monaco was… unbearable.”

The unspoken words hung heavy between you – the suffocating atmosphere, the judgmental eyes, the constant reminders of the chasm between your world and Max’s. Or, more accurately, between your fathers' worlds.

Silence descended, a pregnant pause filled with unspoken anxieties and desires. Then, Max broke it, his voice a quiet rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“You could stay with me.”

The words hung in the air, simple yet earth-shattering. You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. Stay with him? Live with him? It was a leap of faith so profound, so reckless, it took your breath away.

“Max…” you began, but he cut you off, his eyes pleading.

“Think about it. You wouldn’t be alone. You'd be safe. And… and I want you to be with me.”

The raw honesty in his voice was disarming, stripping away the layers of cynicism and doubt you had so carefully constructed. The thought of waking up beside him, of sharing your life with him, was a siren song you couldn't ignore.

You swirled the dregs of your latte, avoiding Max’s intense gaze. He’d sought you out, finding you holed up in this anonymous corner of a city far removed from the glitz and glamour of Monaco.

A city where you hoped to disappear, to catch your breath after the fallout. But Max, with his unwavering determination, had a knack for finding you.

"This is crazy, you know," you said, the small smile on your lips trembling slightly.

It was crazy. Everything about this was insane. The clandestine meetings, the stolen moments, the constant fear of discovery. And now, the open defiance of your father’s wishes.

"What’s crazy is you living by yourself this whole time," Max replied, his voice serious, devoid of the playful banter that usually characterized your interactions.

"Yeah, I’ve been living in a small hotel, a big change from Monaco, right?" you joked, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. But Max remained unsmiling, his focus unwavering.

"Has anyone tried to do something to you?" he asked, a furrow appearing between his brows. The intensity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. The concern was real.

"Nope, nothing I couldn’t take care of before," you answered, offering a reassuring smile. "You’re overprotective for someone who is supposed to be my enemy," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"I’m serious," he said, his voice low, insistent. "This whole situation… your father… it’s not safe. You shouldn’t be alone."

You sighed, stirring your lukewarm latte with unnecessary force. "I know, I know. But what choice do I have? Staying in Monaco was… unbearable."

Silence descended, a pregnant pause filled with unspoken anxieties and desires. Then, Max broke it, his voice a quiet rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

"You could stay with me."

"Max…" you began, but he cut you off, his eyes pleading.

"Think about it. You wouldn’t be alone. You'd be safe. And… and I want you to be with me."

"You don't have to answer now but can we get a meal, I'm starving after driving so long," Max said, breaking the heavy silence.

"I have food in my hotel, if you want," you replied, the offer escaping before you could fully register it. It was a small, hesitant step, a tiny crack in the wall you’d built around yourself.

Max's face softened, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. "Really? Are you sure? I don't want to impose."

"It's just leftovers," you said, trying to downplay the significance. "But it's better than this coffee shop. And cheaper."

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Alright, lead the way. But I'm buying dessert later."

The walk back to your hotel was short, the silence less oppressive than it had been at the cafe. You found yourself stealing glances at

Max, noticing the way the afternoon sun caught the golden flecks in his eyes, the slight stubble that shadowed his jaw, the easy confidence in his stride. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of energy and passion, and you were inexplicably drawn to him, even though every instinct screamed that it was a terrible idea.

Your hotel room was small and functional, a far cry from the opulent suites you were accustomed to.

You felt a flush of embarrassment as you opened the door, revealing the cramped space with its generic furniture and slightly musty smell.

"It's not much," you mumbled, gesturing vaguely around the room.

Max shrugged, unfazed. "It's a place to sleep. I've stayed in worse." He surveyed the room with genuine curiosity, his eyes lingering on the small framed photo on the bedside table – a picture of you and your mother, taken years ago on a sun-drenched summer day.

You busied yourself in the tiny kitchenette, pulling out the containers of leftover pasta from the fridge. "It's just pasta, nothing fancy," you said, your voice muffled.

"Pasta's perfect," Max replied, leaning against the doorway, watching you. "Especially when someone makes it for me."

You felt your cheeks flush again. "I didn't make it. I ordered it from a restaurant."

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. "Details, details. The point is, you're sharing it with me."

As you ate, the conversation flowed more easily. You talked about everything and nothing – the weather, the city, the ridiculousness of the reality TV show playing on the small television.

You avoided the topic of your fathers, of the racing world, of the complicated web of politics and rivalries that had brought you both to this point.

After you finished eating, you started clearing the dishes, but Max stopped you, gently taking the plates from your hands. "Let me do that," he said. "You relax."

You watched him as he washed the dishes in the tiny sink, the water splashing and the sound echoing in the small room. There was something surprisingly domestic about the scene, something that felt both comforting and unsettling.

When he was done, he turned to you, drying his hands on a dish towel. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension.

"So," he said, his voice low, "about that offer…"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Max, I don't know. It's… a lot to consider."

"I know it is," he said, taking a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "But I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was the right thing. For both of us."

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. Fear, doubt, longing, hope – they all battled for dominance.

"My father would kill me," you whispered, the words barely audible.

"He won't have to know," Max said, his voice soft. "We can keep it our secret. For as long as we need to."

The idea was tempting, dangerously so. A secret life, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world, where you could be with Max without fear of judgment or reprisal.

But the thought of deceiving your father, of living a lie, weighed heavily on you. "I don't know if I can do that," you said, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze.

Max's expression was unreadable. "Then what do you want to do?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You didn't know. You wanted to run away, to escape the suffocating pressure of your life. You wanted to be with Max, to explore the connection that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

But you were afraid. Afraid of the consequences, afraid of the pain, afraid of the inevitable heartbreak that seemed to follow you everywhere.

You stepped back, putting some distance between you. "I need time to think," you said, your voice trembling.

Max nodded slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. "I know. Just… don't take too long. I don't want to lose you."

He took another step closer, closing the gap between you. You could feel his breath on your face, see the flecks of gold in his eyes, smell the faint scent of his cologne.

"The problem is," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine, "if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

The air crackled with electricity. You knew he was right. One kiss, one touch, and you'd be lost. You'd surrender to the desire that had been building between you for months, and there would be no turning back.

You closed your eyes again, bracing yourself for the inevitable. But instead of kissing you, Max stepped back, his face etched with a mixture of longing and restraint.

"I should go," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'll let you think."

He turned and walked towards the door, leaving you standing alone in the small hotel room, your heart pounding, your mind reeling, and your body aching for a touch that you knew you couldn't afford to have.

The scent of him lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the choice you had to make, of the path you had to choose, and of the dangerous, irresistible man who was waiting for you on the other side.

You knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that your life would never be the same again. . . .

The sudden buzz of the hotel room door jolted you from your introspection, the muffled sound piercing the quietude that had settled over the space like a warm, velvet shroud.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart fluttering like a caged bird at the thought of seeing Max again. Two days had felt like an eternity, and you hadn't been able to shake the feeling that something was amiss. The buzz grew more insistent, and you realized you'd been holding your breath.

With a soft exhale, you approached the door, peeking through the peephole to confirm your suspicion. There he was, Max Verstappen, his frame slightly hunched as if he were carrying an invisible burden.

You swung the door open, the cool metal handle smooth against your palm, and took in the sight of him. Your eyes widened in alarm. Max looked as if he had been through a storm, his usually impeccable hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled, but it was the bruise blossoming on his left cheek that truly concerned you.

"Max! What happened!" you exclaimed, reaching for him, your voice a symphony of worry and relief. He stumbled forward, his eyes hazed with pain, and you caught him before he could collapse, the weight of his body a comforting presence that sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

With gentle insistence, you guided him to the plush couch that dominated the room, the soft fabric whispering against his skin as he sank into the cushions. He winced slightly, and you couldn't help but notice the way his muscles tensed beneath his shirt.

"Nothing happened," he muttered, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the air, thick with unshed emotion.

But the tremor in his words was a telltale sign of his distress, and you knew better than to take his dismissal at face value.

"Max," you said firmly, kneeling in front of him and placing your hands on his knees. The fabric of his trousers was rough against your palms, grounding you in the reality of the moment.

You searched his eyes, willing him to open up to you. "You can tell me." His gaze flicked to the floor, a silent confession of his vulnerability.

"My father…" he began, his voice cracking. "He hit me after I told him I was coming to see you today." The words hung between you, heavy with the unspoken implications of his actions and the price he'd paid for you two.

Your chest tightened with a mix of anger and fear for Max, but you pushed the feelings aside, focusing instead on the warmth of his body so near to yours.

"Why?" you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes met yours, the turmoil in his eyes a tempest that you desperately wanted to soothe.

"He doesn't approve," Max said, his jaw clenching. "But that's never stopped me before." A hint of defiance flashed in his eyes, and you felt a spark of admiration for his courage.

The silence stretched, a taut bowstring drawn between you both. The air grew thick with unspoken desire, and the space between you seemed to shrink until it was nothing more than a whisper.

You wanted to reach out, to trace the line of his jaw, to brush the hair from his forehead, to tell him everything would be alright. But you couldn't find the courage.

"I'll go get a first aid kit," you muttered, breaking the spell and standing abruptly.

You practically fled to the bathroom, grabbing the familiar box from under the sink. Your hands trembled as you opened it, the sterile scent of antiseptic doing little to calm your nerves.

You took a deep breath, trying to regain control, and walked back into the living room.

You returned with the familiar red and white box, the scent of antiseptic and sterile gauze a stark contrast to the intoxicating aroma of Max's aftershave that still lingered in the air.

He was lying back just as you'd left him, legs splayed slightly, a picture of vulnerable masculinity. A wave of protectiveness washed over you, eclipsing the earlier anxiety.

You walked between his legs, a move that felt both intimate and practical, and gently tapped his shoulder. "Max, wake up," you murmured, your voice soft.

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open, heavy-lidded and unfocused for a moment. He sat up slowly, wincing almost imperceptibly, and instinctively placed his hand on the side of your leg, a light, possessive touch.

"Yes, schat?" he asked gently, his voice thick with sleep and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

The word, Dutch for "treasure," sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to ignore the way your skin prickled under his touch, focusing instead on the task at hand. "I've got the first aid kit. Let's take a look, okay?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours, searching, questioning. "It's nothing, really. Just… a bit sore."

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Let me be the judge of that." You knelt before him, opening the kit and carefully laying out the contents: antiseptic wipes, bandages, gauze pads, and pain relievers.

"Where are the worst spots?" you asked, your voice professional, though your heart hammered against your ribs.

He hesitated, then unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing a faint bruise blossoming on his chest. You gasped softly, your fingers tracing the edges of the discoloration.

"He didn't hold back, did he?" you whispered, your voice laced with anger.

Max shrugged, trying to downplay the severity of the situation. "It's fine. I've had worse."

"That's not the point," you retorted, your voice sharper than you intended. You softened your tone, looking back up at him. "Let me clean it up. And then we can talk."

He sighed, relenting. "Alright."

You carefully cleaned the bruise with an antiseptic wipe, watching his face for any sign of pain. He remained stoic, his gaze fixed on your hands as they moved with gentle precision. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions.

Once you finished cleaning the bruise, you applied a thin layer of antiseptic cream and covered it with a bandage. "There," you said, stepping back to admire your work. "That should help."

Max looked down at the bandage, then back up at you. "Thank you," he said softly.

You met his gaze, and the air crackled with tension. You knew you couldn't ignore the elephant in the room any longer. "Why, Max? Why do you keep coming here, knowing what it costs you?"

His jaw clenched. "Because I want to," he said simply. "Because being with you… it's worth it."

"But is it really?" you pressed, your voice laced with doubt. "Is it worth the pain, the conflict, the disapproval of your family?"

He reached out and took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. His touch was warm, grounding, reassuring. "Yes," he said firmly. "It is. Because you make me happy. You make me feel… alive. And I don't want to give that up."

His words resonated with a raw honesty that tugged at your heart. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that your connection was strong enough to withstand the forces pulling you apart.

"I worry about you, Max," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

He squeezed your hand, his eyes filled with concern. "I know. But I can handle it. I'm a racing driver, remember? I'm used to taking risks."

You managed a weak smile. "That's not exactly reassuring."

He chuckled softly, the sound a welcome relief in the tense atmosphere. He pulled you closer, his gaze fixed on your lips. The air grew thick with anticipation.

It was a dangerous game you were playing, one that threatened to consume you both.

"I… I don't think we should see each other," you muttered, your hand instinctively reaching up to play with the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

The words felt like shards of glass in your mouth, each syllable a betrayal of your own desires.

"And why is that, schat?" he slowly smiled, his Dutch accent thickening with playful provocation. He rubbed the side of your thighs, the simple gesture sending shivers down your spine.

"Because you're getting hurt because of me," you replied, knowing it was a weak argument, but all you could manage.

"For you? I'll do anything," Max said, moving closer, his breath ghosting across your lips.

He was so close, you could see the flecks of the ocean in his blue eyes, the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, a memento from his karting days.

You knew you should pull away, end this before it went any further, but you were frozen, caught in his magnetic pull.

He raised his head, his lips hovering just above yours. "I wasn't joking," he whispered, his voice husky and low. "If I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, threatening to break free. The world seemed to narrow, focusing only on him, on the anticipation that was building inside you. You knew he was right.

One kiss, and you'd be lost, spiraling further into this forbidden love affair.

"Maybe that's the problem," you whispered back, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, his eyes searching yours. "What is?"

"That I don't want you to stop," you admitted, the truth spilling out like a confession.

A slow smile spread across his face, a genuine, heart-stopping smile that made you forget all the reasons why this shouldn't be happening. He lowered his head and finally, his lips met yours.

The kiss was electric, a jolt of pure energy that coursed through your veins. It was possessive, demanding, and utterly intoxicating.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, surrendering to the moment, to the overwhelming desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Time seemed to dissolve as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. He tasted of rain and adrenaline, of the forbidden thrill that defined your relationship. You ran your fingers through his hair, savoring the feel of it against your skin.

He pulled away slightly, gasping for air, his eyes dark with passion. "See?" he murmured, his voice raspy. "Told you."

You laughed breathlessly, the sound filled with a mixture of joy and apprehension. "You're impossible," you said, shaking your head.

"Maybe," he conceded, his eyes twinkling. "But you love it."

You couldn't deny it. You loved the danger, the excitement, the feeling of being completely alive when you were with him. But you also feared it. The consequences of your actions loomed large, threatening to crash down on you both.

"What are we going to do, Max?" you asked, the question heavy with uncertainty.

He sighed, his expression turning serious. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm not giving you up. Not without a fight."

He pulled you close again, burying his face in your hair. "Tonight," he murmured, "forget everything else. Just be with me."

You knew it was a temporary solution, a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. But in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, your love was strong enough to overcome the obstacles in its path.

The roar of the Formula 1 engines rumbled in the distance, a constant reminder of the world he belonged to, the world that was waiting for him.

He needed to leave, to go and fight, to drive the best race of his life.

You pulled away and looked in his eyes. “Go. Win. I’ll be watching.”

He smiles, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. “For you, I will.”

He kissed you once more, a quick but passionate kiss before turning and disappearing into the night. As you closed the door, you leaned against it, your heart pounding in your chest.

You knew this couldn't last forever.

But for tonight, you would allow yourself to dream, to believe in the impossible, and to hope that somehow, against all odds, your love story would have a happy ending. . . .

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andy-15-07 · 5 months ago

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Hi 🤗👋🏻, would you write a smut one about pedro x reader? Like they're babysitting a kid's friend, Pedro gets turned on by the reader who's trying to convince the kid to eat its food (or whatever you like). But every time things get spicy someone, even the kid or something interrupts them.

The Taste of Love

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1636| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The aroma of burnt toast hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the sweet stickiness coating the kitchen table. Five-year-old Leo, a whirlwind of boundless energy, was currently engaged in a battle of wills with a plate of spaghetti. His dark curls bounced as he shook his head emphatically, a tiny frown creasing his brow.

"No quiero," he declared, pushing the plate away with a decisive little hand.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Leo, we've talked about this. You need to eat something. You've been playing all morning."

Pedro, sprawled on the living room sofa, chuckled. "Sounds familiar," he called out, his voice laced with amusement.

You shot him a playful glare. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one dealing with a carb-resistant five-year-old."

He grinned, pushing himself up from the sofa. "Let me try my charm." He sauntered into the kitchen, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, Leo. You know, spaghetti gives you super strength. Like Superman!"

Leo eyed him skeptically. "Superman eats tacos," he countered.

Pedro’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Ah, good point. But, uh… this spaghetti… it’s magic spaghetti. It makes you run faster than a cheetah!"

Leo considered this, then shook his head again. "I want chicken nuggets."

You bit back a laugh. This was going nowhere. "Okay, new tactic," you announced, grabbing a spoon. "Leo, how about we play airplane? The spoon is the airplane, and the spaghetti is… fuel!" You made airplane noises, swooping the spoon towards Leo's mouth.

He giggled, but still refused to open his mouth.

"Come on, open wide! Choo choo!" You zoomed the spoon around his head, making exaggerated engine sounds.

Pedro leaned against the counter, watching you with an appreciative glint in his eyes. "You know," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "you're really good at this."

"Thanks," you replied, your eyes still on Leo. "It's all about persistence." You wiggled the spoon in front of Leo's nose. "Last stop, the yummy tummy station!"

Leo giggled again, finally opening his mouth. A small portion of spaghetti disappeared.

"Yes!" you cheered. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Pedro chuckled. "You're amazing," he whispered, his eyes lingering on your face. He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek. His touch sent a shiver down your spine.

"Gracias," you murmured, your cheeks flushing slightly. "Just trying to avoid a meltdown."

"Meltdowns are inevitable with five-year-olds," Pedro said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "But I have a feeling you can handle anything."

"I'm pretty resourceful," you replied, meeting his gaze. The air between you crackled with unspoken energy.

Suddenly, Leo piped up, "More airplane!"

You and Pedro exchanged a look, a mixture of amusement and frustration. "Right," you said, turning back to Leo. "More airplane it is."

The spaghetti saga continued, with you employing a variety of creative tactics, each accompanied by sound effects and silly voices. Pedro watched, a constant smile playing on his lips. He occasionally offered encouragement, his voice a low rumble that resonated through you.

As Leo finally finished the last bite, he declared, "I'm full!" and promptly slid off his chair, running back into the living room.

You and Pedro exchanged a sigh of relief. "Mission accomplished," you said, smiling.

"You're a miracle worker," Pedro said, stepping closer. He placed his hands on your waist, pulling you gently towards him. "You know," he murmured, his voice laced with a playful huskiness, "watching you… it was very… stimulating."

"Oh really?" you teased, raising an eyebrow. "And what exactly did you find so stimulating?"

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "Your… dedication. Your… creativity. Your… everything." He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. "You're incredible, (Y/N)."

"Pedro," you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

Just as his lips were about to capture yours, Leo came tearing back into the kitchen. "Pedro, can you build me a tower with the blocks?"

Pedro groaned inwardly. "Of course, Leo," he said, forcing a smile. He turned back to you, his eyes filled with longing. "Later," he whispered, brushing a kiss against your forehead.

The rest of the afternoon followed a similar pattern. Moments of intense connection between you and Pedro, punctuated by Leo's constant demands for attention. Every time things started to heat up, Leo would inevitably interrupt, needing a drink, a toy, or assistance with some imaginary crisis.

As the sun began to set, Leo’s parents arrived to pick him up. After a flurry of goodbyes and thank yous, you and Pedro were finally alone.

He turned to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Where were we?" he murmured, reaching for you.

You smiled, anticipation bubbling within you. "I believe," you whispered, "we were about to… explore the stimulating effects of spaghetti wrangling."

He chuckled, pulling you close. "Indeed we were." His lips met yours in a passionate kiss, a kiss that spoke of pent-up desire and long-awaited intimacy. His hands roamed your body, sending shivers of delight through you.

"Mmm," he murmured against your lips. "You smell delicious."

"And you," you whispered back, "smell like… slightly burnt toast."

He laughed, pulling you closer. "Worth it," he whispered, his lips finding yours again. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. His hands moved beneath your shirt, his touch sending sparks through you.

"Pedro," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.

"Sí, mi amor?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

"Let's go to the bedroom," you whispered, taking his hand.

He grinned, his eyes burning with passion. "Finalmente," he said, following you eagerly. As you reached the bedroom door, you paused, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

"You know," you said, "I have a feeling we're going to have a very… stimulating… evening."

He chuckled, pulling you into his arms. "I have a feeling you're right," he whispered, his lips capturing yours in another passionate kiss.

Pedro guided you to the bed, his hands sliding under your shirt, lifting it over your head. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You gasped softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he explored the sensitive skin along your collarbone.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he admired you. "Hermosa," he whispered, his voice reverent. His hands moved to your waist, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding them down your legs with deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your skin, igniting a fire within you.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath. Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Pedro groaned softly, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was both tender and urgent.

He gently laid you back on the bed, his body pressing against yours, the heat between you growing unbearable. His hands explored every inch of your body, leaving no part untouched, his touch both soothing and electrifying.

"Pedro," you moaned, your body arching towards him, craving more.

He responded with a deep, throaty groan, his lips trailing down your body, leaving a path of fire in their wake. When he finally reached the waistband of your panties, he paused, looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"May I?" he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He slid your panties down your legs, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers through you. His lips followed the path of his hands, kissing and nipping at your thighs, teasing you until you were trembling beneath him.

When he finally pressed his lips to your most sensitive spot, you cried out, your hands fisting in the sheets as waves of pleasure washed over you. Pedro’s tongue moved with expert precision, drawing you closer and closer to the edge until you finally tumbled over, your body convulsing with release.

Pedro didn’t give you a chance to recover. He moved up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he positioned himself between your thighs. You felt him, hard and ready, pressing against you, and you moaned softly, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

"Are you ready, mi amor?" he whispered, his voice a mix of love and desire.

"Yes," you breathed, your heart pounding in your chest.

He entered you slowly, his movements deliberate and tender, giving you time to adjust. The sensation of him inside you was overwhelming, a perfect combination of pleasure and intimacy that took your breath away.

Pedro moved with a steady rhythm, his body pressing against yours, his lips never leaving your skin. You matched his pace, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

"Pedro," you moaned, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure built within you, threatening to consume you.

"I’m right here, mi amor," he whispered, his voice strained with desire. "Let go for me."

With a final thrust, you tumbled over the edge, your body convulsing with release. Pedro followed moments later, his own release washing over him as he buried his face in your neck, his body trembling against yours.

You lay there, tangled together, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as the aftershocks of pleasure coursed through you. Pedro gently brushed the hair from your face, his eyes filled with love and adoration.

"Te amo," he whispered, his voice soft and sincere.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with emotion.

As you lay in his arms, you knew that no matter what life threw your way, you would always have this—this connection, this love, this passion. And that was all you needed.

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littlechick1 · 2 months ago

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Inside the Yeager Empire : Power, Scandal, and Legacy

Art by @sweetpie-ina

The Yeagers are no ordinary family. With roots planted deep in both aristocracy and ambition, the House of Yeager has long been a prominent name in Paradis society. Behind the name is a tangled web of brilliance, controversy, and a generational divide that continues to both fascinate and unsettle the public.

At the helm of the family is Dr. Grisha Yeager, a towering figure in the world of medicine and public service. Formerly a renowned university professor, Grisha now serves as the Minister of Health while also overseeing an expansive medical empire that includes the Yeager Medical Instruments Company, a prestigious private university for medical sciences, and the state-of-the-art Yeager Memorial Hospital.

Grisha's personal life has been just as eventful as his professional career. His first marriage to Dina Fritz, a woman of old money and noble lineage, created headlines not only for the union of intellect and royalty but also for its eventual unraveling. Together, they had one child—Zeke Yeager.

Zeke Yeager, the eldest son, inherited his father's intellect and his mother's quiet poise. A gifted physician and avid reader, Zeke is the golden boy of the Yeager lineage. He’s often seen as the epitome of responsibility—polished, eloquent, and disciplined. Despite a somewhat distant relationship with his father, Zeke has maintained a respectable public image. His hobby, baseball, is both a leisure and a symbol of his methodical, calculated nature.

After divorcing Dina, Grisha married Carla—a woman once employed as a household servant. Her transformation from commoner to aristocrat made waves across elite social circles. Her kindness and grace won over many, but whispers of envy and derision followed her for years. Nevertheless, Carla Yeager has come to define elegance on her own terms, leading charity galas, arts foundations, and women’s health initiatives. She remains a favorite among the press and socialites alike.

The second son of Grisha, and only child of Carla, Eren Yeager is the family's most polarizing figure. Brilliant yet rebellious, Eren was the talk of the town in his teenage years—not for his academic prowess (which he had in spades), but for his penchant for mischief. He was infamously labeled the "failed experiment" of the Yeager Empire after rumors of underground street racing, school suspensions, and even an alleged shooting incident that left a friend in a coma.

But Eren's story didn’t end there, Now approaching his 30s, Eren has evolved into a mechanical savant. His unparalleled skills in engineering, particularly in aviation mechanics, have made him indispensable in the aeronautical field. He has launched his own tech firm and collaborates with international defense and aerospace industries, proving that genius comes in many forms—even those dismissed too soon.

Despite their accomplishments, the Yeagers are no strangers to scandal. The whispered tales of favoritism between siblings, Carla's past as a servant, and the turbulent rivalry between Eren and Zeke have kept tabloids busy for years. Perhaps the most shocking was the alleged shooting incident during Eren’s youth, a claim that was quickly buried yet never forgotten. Some insiders speculate that the scandal was silenced to preserve the family's reputation.

Yet what fascinates the public most is the question of legacy. Who will inherit the Yeager name—not just its wealth, but its influence? Will it be Zeke, the picture of control and intelligence? Or Eren, the once-rebellious son who forged his own empire? the Yeager sons chart separate paths in drastically different worlds, one thing remains clear: the Yeager Empire is more than a family—it is an institution, for better or worse.

Stay tuned. The saga is far from over.

---

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txttletale · 2 years ago

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Do you have recs for combatless rpgs? sorry if someones asked this ! im getting into ttrpgs now and its just pretty hard to find anything non combat focused ?

i recommended wanderhome (melancholy animal roadtrip), dream askew (queer postapocalyptic survival), microscope (collaborative worldbuilding), and crescent moon (kids learning and growing in a fantasy land) in resposne to an ask earlier today. other great rpgs that aren't combat focused include:

chuubo's marvelous wish-granting engine: i'll level with you, if you're just getting into rpgs this one might be A Lot because it's quite mechanically complex. but it's a beautiful game about having ghibliesque coming-of-age adventures in a surreal dreamy world.

nobilis is by the same person (jenna moran, a genuine game design pioneer and genius) -- it's about being godlets, the living embodiments of concepts from the concrete to the abstract. you might find yourself fighting in this game, but it's unlikely to look anything like 'combat'.

brindlewood bay, which is about being elderly women investigating murders.

pasión de las pasiones, a pbta (powered by the apocalypse) game about doing ridiculous romance drama shit based on telenovelas

monsterhearts, about teenaged monsters having weird drama and exploring their sexuality. think buffy or twilight, but queerer

pigsmoke, about being professors at a college of magic and competing to see who can publish the best paper (yes, really)

the girlfriend of my girlfriend is my friend, about... i mean i think the title makes it pretty clear! being gay and poly and kinda broke

it's been a long, long, time, about two people who used to date, their relationship, their lives after it, and their reunion

sagas of the icelanders, about being viking settlers in iceland during the saga period and playing out quasimythical dramas

hieronymous, about being a bunch of sinners making your way across hieronymous bosch's garden of earthly delights

thousand year old vampire, a solo journalling game about being a vampire and living through long stretches of history

blow up hamlet, where your table performs hamlet while changing the plot and improvising new plot beats at semi-random

slugblaster, about being rowdy teens hoverboarding through interdimensional rifts in the spirit of 90s teen movies

woo! that's a fuckin' lot of ttrpgs, but i wanted to give a lot of suggestions because i think it's so important for people getting into the hobby to understand the breadth of games out there and how far from the popular image created by D&D they can go! there are two-player and GM-less and even one-player games on this list. you can do anything! the world of rpgs is so fucking wide and beautiful. good luck and i hope you find something that speaks to you!

(oh, also, my game, most trusted advisors -- about being the untrustworthy privy council to a dipshit king and falling over each other's nested dipshit schemes -- has no combat in it. just saying!)

#ask #ttrpg

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raymantogether · 9 months ago

Text

Rayman Together Community Spotlight #4 - MarkedAsUnreal

Introduction:

Rayman 3: Hoodlum Havoc was published by Ubisoft Paris and released on February 21st, 2003, in Europe and in March 2003 worldwide. That was almost 22 years ago. Feeling old yet? Well, Ubisoft did release Rayman 3: HD in 2012, but we won't talk about that. Rayman 3 is undoubtedly a fan favorite in the series thanks to its whimsical but very risque adult humor. The game is also critically acclaimed thanks to its very fun and diverse 3D platforming and its exceptional cast of characters and enemies. Nothing has ever come close in the series to the success of Rayman 3, in my opinion. And while I wait in hope for Ubisoft to bring back Rayman to his core 3D roots, I can't help thinking, Why doesn't Ubisoft just remake Rayman 3.

Fortunately, this is no longer an issue. For this latest Rayman Together Community Spotlight, I have the pleasure of interviewing Marked As Unreal, a Rayman fan from Poland who is working on the Rayman 3 Fan Remake on YouTube. This ground-breaking development blog focuses upon reimaging Rayman 3: Hoodlum Havoc using Unreal Engine 5. The development process has been fascinating to watch, and this has become undoubtedly a favorite fan project of mine. The results have been spectacular, and the game looks simply incredible. You can see the results for yourself below from these comparison shots.

(Rayman 3: Unreal Engine Fan Remake)

(Rayman 3: Hoodlum Havoc)

(Rayman 3: Unreal Engine Fan Remake)

(Rayman 3: Hoodlum Havoc)

So sit back and relax as this latest community spotlight takes you into more detail about the genius behind the Rayman 3: Fan Remake and a more personal insight into this amazing community project.

Spotlight:

1. Please introduce yourself.

"Hi! I’m Mark. I’m a gaming enthusiast from Poland who dreams of making his own small indie title one day. To help me achieve that goal, I’m currently trying to learn game development and Unreal Engine by remaking one of my favorite games of all time, Rayman 3. I didn’t have much coding or Unreal Engine experience prior to this project, but I did work as a 3D artist for almost 4 years. The most notable project I’ve worked on as a 3D artist was “The Medium” by the Bloober team. What was really awesome about this project is that its art style is based on Zdzislaw Beksinski’s paintings, who is a painter that I am a big fan of."

2. What do you do for a living?

"For most of the year I work at a campground doing maintenance, but in the summer I work at an ice cream/waffle shop."

3. What do you enjoy doing in your spare time

"I often play games and watch various shows when I’m looking to have a chill time. There are many games which I would consider my favorites, but to name a few (besides Rayman of course), there are the old Halo games, the Dead Space series, Old School RuneScape, Subnautica, the Bioshock series, Portal 2, Undertale, from software games, or the Respawn Entertainments Jedi series. As shows are considered, I lately find myself really enjoying anime. My favorites are Vinland Saga, Attack on Titan, and Jojo’s bizarre adventure. Jujustsu Kaisen is also really sick. Regarding more active ways to spend my free time, I really love bouldering (it’s a type of rock climbing) and snowboarding."

4. What got you into the Unreal Engine project on Rayman 3?

"Learning game development by trying to recreate one of my favorite games just seemed like it could be a ton of fun (and I wasn’t wrong, because it is a blast!). And I decided to go for Unreal Engine because I really wanted to try out the new features everyone was talking about (Nanite and Lumen). The fact that many AAA companies use Unreal Engine to make their games also made it feel like a better choice than Unity."

5. Tell us about your experience on the project with Rayman 3.

"The hardest part was the start, of course. I didn’t really know Unreal Engine, so doing the simplest things was a challenge. Every step required me to go through a tutorial first. Also, I started this project with the most complex part, while still having very little programming knowledge, which was coding in the characters movement and collision. On one hand, this was maybe not the wisest thing to start with, but on the other, I wanted to start with the hardest and most important part, to know if there is even a point in trying to make this game in the first place. Otherwise, I was at risk of doing something easy for half a year just to hit an unpassable wall. But you know, the greater the challenge, the greater the satisfaction once you overcome it. So, satisfying and fun are two main words that I would use to describe my experience working on this.

What’s also an amazing feeling is to have this complete freedom and agency over the project. I can make it look however I like, I can work on whatever I feel like working at the moment, and I can work at a pace that I feel like working at. It’s an amazing luxury that’s only possible because this is a passion project.

I’d also like to mention how cool of an experience it was working on the Teensie highway part of the level. Because of how surreal and random that part is, working on it felt very fresh and different. Not to mention that it was a nice way to see how much I’ve grown since I started this project, because while coding in all the logic for the surfboard Rayman, I could see how much easier this was for me to make in comparison to the regular Rayman that I was making when starting the project. Granted, the surfboard Rayman is much simpler in terms of complexity, but still, I felt like I could see a noticeable difference in my skill level.

Finally, I can’t leave this question without mentioning what a great laugh I had when putting in all the drunken Teensies around the Heart of the World area. I love those guys, and creating all those little stories (like the two teens fighting on a ledge) was such a fun experience."

6. How has it been for you personally revisiting Rayman 3?

"To be honest, this doesn’t really feel like I’m revisiting the game, because I replay Rayman 3 fairly often, so it kind of feels like this game is never far off."

7. Are you planning to recreate the whole game in Unreal Engine?

"I’m sorry to say that no, I am not. It’s like I said in one of my first videos: this was always meant to be a learning opportunity for me, as well as a way to get a grasp on what project scope seems realistic for one person or a small team. If I had unlimited time, then I would love to recreate the whole game, because I love working on this. But the sad reality is that I'd probably be well in my 40s before the whole game would be remade. I’d like to be younger before I start working on my own games.

I’m not yet sure where exactly I will stop, but I am going to finish the fairy council level and share it, so everyone will have a chance to play it.

I haven’t really ever mentioned, though, what my plans are for the project; once I decide, it’s time for me to move on, so let me reveal them right now. My plan is to share the whole project for anyone to download and create a Discord server that will act as a hub for the project. I will be there to assist and help anyone who would like to make something using my remake (like continue from where I left off, make their own custom levels, or even just use some parts of it to create something else entirely).

8. Has anyone at Ubisoft or within the gaming industry approached you during your time sharing your development blogs on YouTube?

"No, no one has."

9. Are you planning to do any other Rayman games or any other videogames in Unreal Engine in the future after you have finished with Rayman 3?

"After the Rayman 3 remake, I will start making my own title. I already have a pretty clear idea of what that game is going to be; however, I’m not going to share that information yet. There is a lot of work left in this project, even just for the first level, so I’m still keeping my focus on the remake."

10. You are also a fan of the Unity Engine; can you tell us why?

"I just really enjoy working in it. It’s really cool that anyone can just download this software and start creating a game. I really like how the software is structured. I feel like it's really daunting at first, but once you get the hang of it, using it just makes sense. Nowadays, I don’t really need to revisit many tutorials on how to do some things because I find the whole user experience pretty neatly organized and logical. What’s also really cool is that a lot of features are pretty cutting edge and yet still free to use (this is a bit of a double-edged sword, however, as new features are often pretty risky to use as they are not yet properly tested for production)."

11. How did you get into the Rayman series?

"My first Rayman game was Rayman 1 on the PS1. I was probably around 4 years old or something like that, so I think that it goes without saying that I didn’t beat it back then (and still haven’t, but I never really went back to try). Then, if I’m remembering correctly, I found Rayman 2 lying in a supermarket on a heap with other games and managed to convince my mom to buy it. I was probably around 6. This one I did manage to beat, but it took a long time. Some parts were really challenging back then. Also, it was really hard for me to figure out that I needed to backtrack in order to help Clark. Then I think I got Rayman 3 around the time it came out, so I was probably like around 8. So old enough to beat this one without too many issues. This is also the one that I liked the most at the time. I vividly remember how the first time I booted Rayman 3, I had this weird bug where the left key didn’t work, and I thought that maybe this was intended. I figured that since Rayman doesn’t have his hands (because Globox runs off with them), he has problems with keeping his balance, and that explains why I can't run left. Let me tell you, trying to catch that barrel without the ability to run left was pretty impossible, haha. Luckily, rebooting the game fixed the issue."

12. What is your favorite Rayman game and character?

"My favorite game is either Rayman 2 or Rayman 3, depending on my mood. Both to me have their respective strengths and weaknesses, but both are absolutely amazing. Rayman 2 is unmatched in its atmosphere and level design. Rayman 3 has really fun combat encounters, and I like the characters (design and writing) much more. And the whole Knaaren desert level is just so awesome! When I was a kid, my favorite character was straight up Rayman, but now it’s definitely the teensies. Though Globox from Rayman 3 is a close second place. Whenever I play Rayman Legends, I usually play as a teensie (but if I don’t feel like playing as a teensie, I always go for Rayomz)"

Thank you so much for being a part of my community spotlight, Marked As Unreal. It was a pleasure to read and see some of the creative processes behind the Rayman 3: Fan Remake. I look forward to seeing everything once it's complete. I wish you all the best with the development and in your future projects.

Please don't forget to support Marked As Unreal. If you are eager to see more, I have included links to their social accounts below. Have a good weekend, Rayman fans. See you next time.

MarkedAsUnreal Links:

https://www.linkedin.com/in/marek-holubowski/

Rayman The Boardgame:

Rayman fans, don't forget Rayman: The Boardgame Kickstarter campaign ends on October 8th. There isn't much time until the end of the campaign. If you haven't already, don't forget to pledge and don't miss out on this amazing board game and some amazing bonuses.

#rayman #ubisoft #nintendo #playstation #xbox

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exhaustedpirate · 4 months ago

Text

to be ready by your side

day 21 of @bucktommyfluffebruary it's the piper buckley-kinard saga, again! a continuation of "to make a family whole" (ao3) [there is more piper and her dads in "on waking up beside you" (ao3) and "fire engine red" (ao3)] piper is a safe haven baby that buck gets attached to post breakup and manages to adopts with tommy 3 years later

rated G | 1675 words also on AO3

“In 2 miles take exit 7 for CA-47 West / Union Road.”

They had been on the road for 2 hours already. The red convertible was still behind them but the blue minivan passed them about half an hour ago.

Buck’s leg bounces up and down. He feels jittery, he wants to scream. He feels hungry and ready to throw up. He’s so glad Tommy is the one driving.

His husband fiddles with the GPS, turns the knobs on the radio. The, supposedly, calming jazz is lowered to a faint hint of the saxophone.

“You need to take deep breaths, baby.” Tommy says with a quiet voice, his hand on his thigh.

Buck nods. Deep breaths. Right. It was all gonna be okay.

He matches his breathing to the rhythmic strokes of his husband’s hand on the meat of his thigh. Buck sighs, it was all gonna be okay.

Shit, did they-?

He whips his hand to the backseat, sighing in relief when his fingers touch the familiar plastic.

Tommy chuckles, his hand patting Buck’s thigh. “Denny’s old chair is still there, Evan. It hasn't disappeared since the last time you checked.”

“I know, I know,” Buck sighs, sitting back on the seat. “I’m just… anxious.”

“I know,” Tommy nods, eyes on the road. “I am too.”

Buck’s head whips towards the older man, catching the soft smile on the side of his face. “Y-You are? But you…you seem so calm about this.”

Tommy chuckles and Buck wraps his hand around the other man’s on his thigh, feeling Tommy squeeze back and glance at him. “Well, you are already stressed enough for the two of us, babe, I can be the strong one this time.”

Buck keeps his eyes on the profile of his husband’s face, noticing the hint of worry in his eyes, the almost imperceptible turn of his lip.

He’s been keeping it together for him, because, from the moment he finished his call with Joan, Buck’s been climbing the walls. He has made several lists over the past week. Has maybe spent far too much money online buying stuff for the baby. Maddie and Hen have volunteered things from their children for them. And through all that, Tommy had seemed so confident, firm, and yet-

“Tommy,” He squeezes his husband’s hand, feels him squeeze back. “Y-You should have told me, I would’ve, I don’t know, I would’ve helped.”

Tommy hums, a soft smile showing up on his face. “Do you remember our wedding, babe?”

Buck blinks in surprise at the sudden question. “Uh, y-yeah, of course!”

His husband’s smile grows, their fingers fitting perfectly between each other - like they always do. “You remember how much of a wreck I was? How horrible I was to everyone? I think I caught Howie saluting me when he thought I wasn’t looking.” He laughs and there’s only a touch of self-deprecation, he more than made up to their friends.

“Oh, I remember,” Buck turns on his side, his leg shifting up so their joined hands can rest on the inside of his thigh. “You were so hot with your lists and clipboards.” He bites his lip.

“Oh yeah?” Tommy smirks, glancing at him. A red car passes them by. “Is that why everytime I started checking the lists you decided to jump me?”

“Listen,” Buck laughs and his husband’s smirk softens to that soft smile he has most of the time - his smile. “I can barely keep my hands off you as is,” He squeezes their hands to make a point, feeling his whole body settle at Tommy’s giggle. “And you already know how much I enjoy a good clipboard.”

Tommy’s giggle turns into a laugh that he joins in. God, he loves making his husband laugh. Such a full sound, warm, genuine, reaching inside every nook and cranny of his being and just makes him feel worthy, makes him feel loved.

“Oh I do,” Tommy waggles his eyebrows and Buck is the one to giggle this time. “I also remember the way you helped me when our wedding went to shit.” He finishes pointedly.

“Fair point,” Buck grins and pulls on their hands to kiss the back of Tommy’s. “I still can’t believe those guys thought setting off fireworks inside a recreation center was a good idea.”

“Gender reveals make people go a little crazy,” Tommy’s tone sounds haunted, probably remembering a few calls from gender reveals gone wrong. “But the way the others improvised a ceremony for us?” He shakes his head disbelieving, his mind relieving the same moment - Bobby marrying them between the engines, their friends and themselves rumpled, dirty and minorly injured. The best day of their lives. They sigh. “Made all the stress worth it.”

Buck shifts closer to the driver’s seat, both hands wrapping around Tommy’s on his lap. “We have our crew, our family, behind us when things go wrong.”

Tommy smiles and nods at the memory, a small thing. “You’re so good at taking care of me when I’m anxious, or sad, or mad,” Tommy expertly maneuvers the car one-handed, and it sends a little thrill down Buck’s spine. “I want to do the same for you.”

Buck leans his head on the headrest, focused on the concerned frown in Tommy’s brow. “Y-you do, Tommy, you help me all the time,” He hopes his words reach that little insecure part of Tommy that still rears its head from time to time. “I’m just-, I’m nervous. We’re adop- hopefully, we’re adopting this little girl and bringing her home with us,” There’s a watery sheen to his husband’s eyes that he knows matches Buck’s along with the tremble in his voice. “I want this to be- I want it to work out.”

“Me too,” Tommy sighs, his thumb caressing Buck’s knuckles in the cocoon he created. “But, thanks to you, we have a big chance.”

Buck frowns, confused. “Me?”

“Well, yeah,” Tommy’s chuckle trembles, emotion still coursing through them. “You’re the one who took care of the baby that day, the one who charmed Joan so much she took all your calls, the one who made such a big impression that you were the first person she thought to call.”

Buck opens and closes his mouth. “I don’t think-”

“Evan,” Tommy interrupts, his head turning towards him for a quick moment, just long enough for Buck to see the look of faith and love in Tommy’s blue eyes. “You are a kind, loving, genuine man,” He pauses between words, emphasising each one and Buck feels his cheeks heat up. “I knew that from the moment I met you. I know Joan saw that and that this baby will also see that too. I know it.”

“Tommy-” Buck’s voice trembles, his vision blurring over.

“We might not go home with adoption papers signed and a child in the backseat and I might be absolutely terrified of being a shit parent and ruining our future, but,” Tommy stops the car, turning completely towards Buck. His eyes are just as watery, that wrinkle in his bottom lip that told Buck he is minutes away from crying and his other hand joins the pile. “Doing this with you? It makes me believe it’s possible,” His smile trembles and Buck’s gut is tugging at him. “You make me believe that happiness, our future, is possible.”

“Tommy.”

Buck’s voice comes out in a whine, a wrecked sound that merely hints at the rush of love inside him. He breaks the space between them to press their lips together, sharing that belief, the love, the unity their wedding rings display to the world. He presses their foreheads together, his hand cupping Tommy’s cheek.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Evan,” He presses a chaste kiss on Buck’s lips, a mere brush but it warms him up from the inside. “We can do this.”

Buck nods carefully. “Y-yeah, you’re right, we can, we can do this, we’re ready.”

Tommy smiles, a bright smile with shining eyes. “We can, baby, you made sure of that with your lists.”

Buck laughs, feeling the suffocating weight leave because he has Tommy to help him carry it. “I did,” His chest puffs out in pride and Tommy laughs, with just sheer love in his eyes. Buck’s thumb caresses the apple of the older man’s cheek. “And, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna be a wonderful father,” He doesn’t let Tommy duck his head, the blush warming up the skin under Buck’s fingers. “You are, I-I’ve seen you with Jee and Kevin,” Buck watches the fear, the anxiety, behind the blue of his eyes but Tommy nods, willing to push through it. “We’re ready.”

Tommy takes a deep breath and nods. “We’re ready,” Buck smiles and kisses him, a reward for pushing through the fear, for both of them really. “We’re also here.” Tommy smiles when they pull back from each other’s lips.

Buck rears back, looking around. “What?”

Tommy laughs as Buck takes note of the office building in front of their parking spot, the one he memorized from Maps’ Street View. “I shut down the GPS, it was making you more nervous, but we’re here.”

“We’re here.” Buck breathes out, almost a whisper.

“And we’re ready.” Tommy repeats, grabbing Buck’s hand in a tight, reassuring, still nervous, grip.

Buck turns to his husband and nods, feeling love, so much love, for this man. A man who, despite his own fears and anxiety, still took care of Buck because he loves him. A man who sees his lows and still loves him for them. A man who loves him and is loved back.

He’s so lucky.

“And we’re ready.”

They keep their hands on each other as they leave the car, as they make their way into the office - a team, a unit, two men in love wanting to build a family.

The drive back the next day goes much quicker. But it could also be because they’re busy singing to the radio and making Piper Buckley-Kinard laugh.

They are ready.

#carolina writes #bucktommy fluffebruary #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #piper buckley-kinard #roadtrip

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