#and there's no windows because of course there's not

[pucksandpower]

The One Left Behind

Max Verstappen x Lewis Hamilton’s ex!Reader

Summary: your first love was a seven-time world champion with a chip on his shoulder who would stop at nothing to finally get that eighth … even at the expense of you. Your second (and last) love is a five-time world champion with racing in his blood who proves, once and for all, that he would give it all up for you without even being asked … and regret absolutely nothing

Based on this request

The rain taps softly against the glass walls of the penthouse. The lights of Monaco shimmer beyond the windows, reflections dancing across the polished floor like scattered stars.

You sit cross-legged on the oversized couch, Lewis sprawled beside you, his legs stretched out, an arm slung casually over the backrest. He’s scrolling through his phone, something about sector times and telemetry, but his attention isn’t fully there. Not tonight.

“Lewis,” you say, gently nudging his side with your foot.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up.

You nudge him harder, and this time he glances your way, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “What’s up?”

“I need you to focus for, like, five minutes.”

“I am focusing,” he says, holding up his phone as evidence. “Race prep.”

“On me, Lewis.”

That gets his attention. He sets the phone down on the coffee table, screen still glowing with data, and leans back, giving you his full, undivided gaze. “Alright, I’m all yours. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitate for a moment, fingers curling into the soft fabric of your sweater. The words are there, sitting heavy on your tongue, but saying them feels like stepping off the edge of something solid. Still, you’ve been together for almost six years. If you can’t have this conversation with him now, when can you?

“I’ve been thinking,” you start, your voice steady but quiet, “about us. About the future.”

Lewis tilts his head, curiosity flickering across his face. “What about it?”

You take a deep breath. “I want to get married, Lewis. I want to have a family. With you.”

His expression shifts, not into shock or annoyance, but something harder to read. He doesn’t respond right away, which only makes the silence stretch uncomfortably between you.

“I know the timing’s not perfect,” you add quickly, trying to fill the gap. “I know you’re in the middle of-”

“The most important season of my career?” He finishes for you, a wry smile softening his tone.

“Yeah, that.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Babe, it’s not that I don’t want those things with you. I do. You know I do.”

“Do I?” The question slips out before you can stop it, and you see the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Of course you do,” he says, his voice low, almost defensive. “Six years. That’s not nothing.”

“I know it’s not nothing. But sometimes it feels like we’re stuck in the same place. Like we’re … waiting for something that never comes.”

Lewis scrubs a hand down his face, the faintest hint of frustration breaking through his calm demeanor. “It’s not that simple, love. You know how much this season means to me. Winning an eighth title, it’s history. Legacy. Everything I’ve worked for my whole life.”

“And what about after that?” You press, leaning closer. “What happens when you get it? Then what?”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, he looks almost … unsure. It’s a rare thing, seeing Lewis Hamilton unsure of anything.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve never really thought about it. Not in detail.”

“Well, maybe you should,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “Because I have. And I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with just being … your girlfriend forever.”

Lewis winces at the word, like it stings. “That’s not what you are to me. You’re everything. You know that.”

“Then prove it.”

He leans back again, running both hands through his hair as he exhales sharply. “God, you don’t make this easy, do you?”

“It’s not supposed to be easy. It’s supposed to be real.”

For a long moment, he just looks at you, his dark eyes searching your face like he’s trying to solve some impossible puzzle. Then, slowly, he nods.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steady now, resolute. “When I win this season — when I get that eighth title — I’ll retire.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I’ll retire. I’ll hang up my helmet, put a ring on your finger, and we’ll start trying for that family you’ve been dreaming about.”

You stare at him, equal parts stunned and skeptical. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Lewis, you can’t just say that to shut me up.”

“I’m not trying to shut you up,” he says, reaching for your hand. His fingers are warm, steady, and when he looks at you now, there’s no hesitation, no uncertainty. “I’m saying it because I mean it. When I win, it’ll be the perfect ending. The perfect time to step away. And then it’s just us. No races, no travel, no distractions. Just you and me.”

“And a baby,” you add, because if you’re going to dream, you might as well dream big.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich, and pulls you closer until you’re half in his lap. “And a baby,” he agrees.

It feels like a promise, one sealed with the way he presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you like they’re anchoring you to him.

But somewhere, deep down, a small, cautious voice whispers: what if he doesn’t win?

***

The suite is silent except for the faint hum of the minibar fridge and the muffled sounds of celebration filtering in from somewhere outside. It’s as if the entire world is rejoicing, but here, in the confines of this hotel room, everything feels like it’s crumbling.

Lewis hasn’t said a word since you got back. He walked in, dropped his helmet bag by the door, and slumped onto the edge of the bed, still in his team gear. His shoulders are hunched, his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.

You stand a few feet away, arms crossed over your chest, unsure whether to approach him or leave him to his thoughts. The weight in the room is unbearable, pressing down on your chest until it’s hard to breathe.

“Lewis,” you say softly, testing the waters.

He doesn’t move.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

You take a tentative step closer. “I know it hurts-”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, cutting you off. His voice is hoarse, raw from the screams and protests he let out over the radio hours ago. He still hasn’t looked up.

You flinch but press on, refusing to let the conversation die. “I’m just trying to help.”

“There’s nothing to help,” he snaps, finally lifting his head. His eyes are bloodshot, his expression a mix of devastation and barely restrained fury. “It’s done. Over. What’s there to say?”

Your heart twists at the sight of him like this — so broken, so unlike the unshakable man you’ve always known. “I just thought-”

“Don’t you get it?” He interrupts, his voice rising. He stands abruptly, towering over you, his frustration bubbling over. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to sit here and dissect how it all fell apart. I want to forget.”

You step back, your own emotions starting to fray at the edges. “You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. You need to face it.”

“And what good would that do?” He shoots back, pacing the room now like a caged animal. “Would it give me my title? My win? Would it change the fact that I got robbed tonight?”

His words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Me too.”

The silence stretches again, but this time it’s different. More fragile. You can feel it cracking under the weight of what you need to say next.

“Lewis,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “About what we talked about. Before …”

He stops pacing, turning to look at you with a frown. “What?”

“A few weeks ago,” you clarify, taking a shaky breath. “You said when you won, you’d retire. That we’d start … building a life together.”

His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as he stares at you.

“I know you didn’t win,” you continue hesitantly, “but does that really change anything? Can’t we still-”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, holding up a hand. His expression is hard now, a stark contrast to the vulnerability he showed earlier. “Don’t do this right now.”

“Why not?” You ask, frustration creeping into your tone. “Because it’s not convenient? Because it’s easier to bury yourself in racing than deal with what’s happening between us?”

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice rising again.

“Isn’t it?” You challenge, taking a step closer. “You made me a promise. And now, what? You’re just going to pretend it didn’t happen because things didn’t go your way?”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You don’t get it. You’ve never understood. Racing isn’t just something I do — it’s who I am. Walking away now, without that eighth championship … I can’t. I won’t.”

Your chest tightens, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “So what about me? What about us? Do we just stay on pause forever while you chase this thing that might never happen?”

His face twists with something you can’t quite place — anger, regret, maybe both. “This isn’t just about you,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “I’ve given everything to this sport. Everything. And I’m not quitting until I finish what I started.”

“So I’m just supposed to wait?” You ask, your voice cracking. “How long, Lewis? Another year? Two? Five? When is it going to be enough?”

“I don’t know!” He shouts, the words bursting out of him like a dam breaking. “I don’t know, alright?”

The room falls silent again, the weight of his outburst settling over both of you.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters after a moment, shaking his head. “Not right now.”

Before you can say another word, he grabs his jacket from the back of a chair and heads for the door.

“Lewis, wait,” you plead, your voice trembling. “Don’t walk away from this. From me.”

He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn around. “I just need some air,” he says, his tone clipped.

And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that makes you flinch.

You stand there for a moment, frozen, staring at the door as if willing him to come back. But the only sound is the muffled celebration outside, a cruel reminder of everything that’s been lost tonight.

Finally, your legs give out, and you sink onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears come. They’re hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wrack your body.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. None of it. You were supposed to be celebrating together, planning your future, looking ahead to the life you’d been dreaming of for so long.

But instead, it feels like everything is slipping through your fingers, and no matter how hard you try to hold on, it’s all crumbling around you.

You don’t know how long you sit there, crying into the silence, but when the tears finally stop, you’re left with an emptiness that feels even worse.

And for the first time in six years, you wonder if maybe Lewis Hamilton isn’t the man you thought he was. Or maybe he is, and that’s the problem.

***

One Year Later

The glass facade of the clinic looms above you, pristine and intimidating. Every time you glance at the sign — Centre de Fertilité de Monaco written in bold looping letters — your stomach churns. You’ve been standing outside for almost fifteen minutes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed tightly against the chill in the air.

The city is alive around you, luxury cars humming down the streets, the faint sound of waves crashing against the marina in the distance. But you feel like you’re in a bubble, trapped in your own swirling thoughts.

This is what you want. You’ve thought about it a hundred times, planned every detail, read every article, and filled out every form. And yet, your feet refuse to move.

“Just go inside,” you whisper to yourself, though the words feel hollow.

You take a step toward the door, but your hand falters just shy of the handle.

“Y/N?”

The voice is familiar, low and slightly accented, and it stops you in your tracks. You turn to see Max Verstappen standing a few feet away, a look of surprise etched across his face. He’s dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, but there’s no mistaking him.

“Max,” you breathe, startled.

He takes a step closer, his brows knitting together. “What are you doing here?”

You glance at the clinic sign and then back at him, your heart hammering in your chest. “It’s, uh … personal.”

Max’s eyes narrow slightly, curiosity and concern mingling in his expression. “Personal enough that you’re standing outside looking like you’re about to throw up?”

Your face heats, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself, as if that could shield you from his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He pauses, studying you. Then his eyes flicker to the sign again, and something seems to click. “Wait … are you-”

“Yes,” you blurt, cutting him off. There’s no point in pretending now. “I’m here to get artificially inseminated.”

Max blinks, clearly not expecting that answer. “Oh.”

You look away, embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal. Lots of women do it.”

“Without anyone here to support you?” He asks, his tone soft but pointed.

You shrug, your voice defensive. “It’s my decision.”

Max doesn’t respond right away, and when you finally look back at him, he’s frowning. “Why?”

The question catches you off guard. “Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want a baby,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And you can’t … I don’t know, meet someone?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right, because it’s that easy.”

Max shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re serious about this?”

“Yes, Max,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. “I’ve been serious about this for a long time. Just because my relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean I should have to give up on what I want.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he says quietly, “So you and Lewis really broke up.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The mention of Lewis still feels like a punch to the gut, even after all this time. “Yeah. A while ago.”

Max hesitates, his hands shoved into his pockets. “And now you’re just … what? Picking a random donor from a catalog and hoping for the best?”

The words sting, and you glare at him. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He presses, his voice still calm but insistent. “You deserve more than that. You deserve more than a child fathered by some random man you only know as lines of descriptions on paper.”

That’s the moment you break. The tears you’ve been holding back for weeks, maybe even months, come flooding out. You cover your face with your hands, trying to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use.

“Hey,” Max says quickly, stepping closer. “Hey, don’t-”

But you can’t stop. It’s all too much — Lewis, the clinic, the choices you’ve had to make on your own.

“I just want-” you choke out, but the words dissolve into another sob.

“Come here,” Max says softly, wrapping an arm around your back and gently tugging you closer. You collapse against him, your face buried in his shoulder as the tears keep coming.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just holds you, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles over your back. His hoodie smells faintly of cologne and something clean, like fresh laundry.

After a while, your sobs start to quiet, and you manage to pull back, wiping at your face. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” Max says, his voice low. He tilts his head, his blue eyes soft but serious. “You’re clearly not in the right state of mind to be making life-changing decisions.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“Look,” he says, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t do this. I’m saying maybe today isn’t the day. You’re upset. And I don’t think you should do something this big while you’re feeling like this.”

You hesitate, his words sinking in.

“My apartment is just around the corner,” he continues. “Why don’t we go there? We can talk, or not talk. Whatever you want. But at least give yourself a little time to think.”

You hesitate, glancing back at the clinic. The weight of the decision presses heavily on you, but so does the thought of going through with it now, like this.

“Okay,” you whisper finally.

Max nods, a small, reassuring smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Come on.”

He keeps his hand on your back as he guides you down the street, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel entirely alone.

***

Max’s apartment is modern, sleek, and surprisingly warm. The large windows overlook the Monaco skyline, the twinkling lights of the city reflecting off the sea in the distance. You sit on the plush gray couch, clutching a mug of tea Max handed you just moments ago. The ceramic is warm in your hands, grounding you as the weight of everything presses down on your chest.

Max settles in the armchair across from you, his long legs stretched out, one elbow resting on the armrest as he watches you carefully. He hasn’t said much since you got here, and you’re grateful for it. But now, with the tea steeping between your fingers and his steady gaze on you, you feel the urge to fill the silence.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max shrugs lightly, a faint, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Start anywhere.”

You exhale shakily, staring into the dark liquid in your mug. “Lewis and I were together for six years. Six years of my life … and for a long time, I thought we wanted the same things.”

Max’s brows knit together, but he stays quiet, letting you continue.

“I thought we were building something together,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “I wanted to get married. I wanted kids. He said he did, too. But there was always something in the way — another season, another championship, another goal. And I kept waiting because I believed in him, in us.”

Your voice cracks, and you take a sip of the tea, letting the warmth soothe your throat. Max leans forward slightly, his blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that’s both comforting and unnerving.

“And then last year …” You pause, trying to steady your voice. “He promised me that if he won his eighth title, he’d retire. That we’d finally start the life we talked about. And I believed him. I really believed him.”

Max’s jaw tightens, his knuckles pressing against his chin as he listens.

“But he didn’t win,” you continue, the memory still fresh, still raw. “And instead of keeping his promise, he said he couldn’t walk away. Not without that eighth.”

“Unbelievable,” Max mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

You glance at him, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “I thought maybe I could wait. Maybe I could put my dreams on hold for him a little longer. But it wasn’t just about the title — it was about him always choosing racing over me, over us.”

Max leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “So you broke up.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say, your voice trembling. “I couldn’t keep waiting for someone who would never choose me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken. You’ve said them to yourself before, in the quiet of your bedroom, in the midst of sleepless nights, but saying them out loud now feels different. More final.

“And now you’re here,” Max says after a moment, gesturing faintly toward the direction of the clinic outside the windows.

You nod, tears pricking at your eyes again. “I still want a family. I’ve always wanted that. And after everything with Lewis, I realized I can’t keep putting my life on hold for someone else. If I want a baby, I have to make it happen myself.”

Max stares at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I get it,” he says finally. “I do. But … I don’t know. It just feels wrong. Like, you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you say, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Not everyone gets a happy ending. Some of us just have to make do with what we have.”

He shakes his head, leaning forward again. “That’s not what I mean. I mean someone like you shouldn’t have to settle for this. You’re smart, beautiful, caring. Any guy would be lucky to have you. Hell, if it were me-”

He stops abruptly, his face coloring slightly as if realizing what he’s about to say.

“If it were you, what?” You ask, your voice softer now, curious.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “If it were me, I wouldn’t have made you wait. I wouldn’t have let you go, period. I would’ve dropped everything the second I got out of the car in Abu Dhabi.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut — not because they hurt, but because they’re so unexpected, so honest.

“You don’t mean that,” you say quietly, though your heart betrays you, fluttering in your chest.

Max’s gaze is unwavering. “I do. You deserve someone who sees you as their priority, not as something they’ll get to when it’s convenient. If I had someone like you …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t need anything else.”

The room falls silent, and you don’t know what to say. Your hands tighten around the mug, and you feel your cheeks flush under his intense stare.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, leaning back. “That probably crossed a line.”

“No,” you say quickly, surprising even yourself. “It’s … nice to hear. I guess I just don’t believe it.”

“Why not?” He asks, his brows furrowing.

“Because if that were true, Lewis wouldn’t have left,” you admit, your voice breaking. “If I were really worth all that, he wouldn’t have walked away.”

Max shakes his head vehemently, leaning forward again. “That’s not on you. That’s on him. He couldn’t see what he had. That’s his loss, not yours.”

You blink back tears, his words cutting through the doubt and self-blame you’ve been carrying for so long.

“Look,” Max says softly, his voice gentle now. “You’re not alone in this, okay? I know it feels like it, but you’re not. And whatever you decide to do, just … don’t rush into it because you think you have to. You’ve got time, and you’ve got people who care about you.”

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks you all over again. You nod, unable to speak, and Max offers you a small, reassuring smile.

“Finish your tea,” he says, standing up and heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab us something stronger. Tea’s good for a talk, but this feels like a whiskey kind of conversation.”

You laugh softly, the sound surprising you. For the first time in a long time, the weight on your chest feels just a little bit lighter.

***

The first time you showed up at Max’s apartment unannounced, it was a particularly bad day. The ache in your chest had been unbearable, the quiet of your own place suffocating. You hadn’t even thought twice before texting him: You home?

His response came within seconds. Always. Door’s open.

You found him lounging on the couch, his two bengals sprawled out lazily beside him. When he saw you, he didn’t ask questions. He just stood, grabbed two Red Bulls from the fridge, and let you curl up on the floor to play with Jimmy and Sassy while he sat nearby, chatting about nothing in particular until the knot in your chest loosened.

It became a ritual after that. On the days when life felt too heavy, you’d make your way to Max’s. Sometimes you’d talk, sometimes you wouldn’t. But more often than not, you’d end up on the floor with the cats while Max watched with quiet amusement.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Jimmy pounces on the feather toy you’re dragging across the rug, his sleek body moving with a precision that reminds you of Max on the track. Sassy, the more aloof of the two, lounges nearby, watching her brother with disdain until she decides to join in.

You’re lying on your back now, laughing as the two cats leap over you, chasing the toy you’re holding above your head. It’s the first time you’ve laughed all day, maybe all week, and it feels good.

“Careful, Jimmy,” Max calls from the couch, his voice warm with affection. “She’s not a scratching post.”

You tilt your head to look at him, still holding the toy above you. He’s sitting sideways, one arm slung over the back of the couch, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Jimmy would never hurt me,” you say, grinning as the cat lands lightly on your stomach before darting off again.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Max warns, shaking his head. “He’s a menace.”

“He’s perfect,” you counter, turning your attention back to the cats.

Max chuckles softly, but he doesn’t respond. You’re too distracted by Sassy’s sudden burst of energy to notice the way his gaze lingers on you, the way his smile fades into something softer, something deeper.

After a while, you sit up, your hair slightly disheveled and your cheeks flushed from laughing. Jimmy jumps into your lap, purring contentedly as you stroke his fur.

When you look up, Max is staring at you.

“What?” You ask, your brow furrowing.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are warm, almost tender, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“Nothing,” he says finally, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re just … happy. I like seeing you like this.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance away, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s the cats,” you say lightly, trying to brush it off. “They’re good for my mental health.”

“It’s not just the cats,” Max says, and there’s something in his tone that makes you look at him again.

He’s leaning forward slightly now, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked on yours. You feel your breath catch, the air in the room shifting, thickening.

“Max …” you start, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence.

“You don’t see it, do you?” He says softly, his voice almost reverent.

“See what?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“How incredible you are.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unshakable. You stare at him, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

“Max, I …”

Before you can finish, he’s on the floor in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, and you don’t pull away.

“You’re amazing,” he says, his eyes searching yours. “You’re strong, and kind, and funny, and … God, Y/N, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you forget how to speak.

“Max,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “This … this is a bad idea.”

“Why?” He asks, his hand still resting against your cheek.

“Because I don’t want to ruin this,” you admit, your eyes filling with tears. “You’ve been my rock these past few months. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly. “I promise you, you won’t. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

You’re silent, your heart warring with your head. But when he leans in, his lips brushing softly against yours, all your doubts fade away.

The kiss is gentle at first, hesitant, as if he’s afraid you might pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand sliding into your hair as he pours everything he’s been holding back into the kiss.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

Max chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Yeah. Wow.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. This wasn’t what you expected when you came here tonight, but now that it’s happened, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

“Max,” you say softly, your voice filled with uncertainty.

“It’s okay,” he says, cutting you off. “We’ll figure this out, whatever it is. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I promise.”

And to your surprise, despite the broken promises still shattered beneath your feet, you really do believe him.

***

The bedroom is bathed in the soft golden glow of the evening lights spilling through the windows. The Monaco skyline twinkles faintly in the distance, but you’re not paying attention to it. You’re wrapped up in Max’s arms, his warmth seeping into you as his fingers draw lazy patterns on your back.

You’re lying on your side, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His free hand brushes through your hair, the motion slow and soothing. Every so often, he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head or your temple, murmuring something sweet against your skin.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, his voice low and gentle.

“I’m just … content,” you reply, tilting your head to look up at him. “This is nice.”

He smiles down at you, his blue eyes soft with affection. “Yeah, it is.”

His fingers trail up to your jaw, tilting your face up so he can kiss you. It’s slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl and sends warmth blooming in your chest.

When he pulls back, his lips linger near yours, his breath fanning against your skin. “You know, I could get used to this,” he says, a playful lilt in his voice.

“You mean you’re not used to it already?” You tease, nudging him lightly.

“I mean forever,” he says, and the sincerity in his tone makes your heart skip a beat.

You smile, your fingers idly tracing the lines of his collarbone. “Forever sounds nice.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, filled with the soft sounds of your breathing and the occasional distant hum of the city below.

After a moment, you glance up at him, your heart beating a little faster. “Max?”

“Hmm?” He hums, his fingers still trailing along your back.

“Have you ever thought about … kids?” You ask hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stills for a moment, his hand pausing mid-motion before he shifts slightly to look down at you. “Kids?”

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly nervous. “Like, have you ever thought about having them?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his brows furrowing slightly as if considering your question. Then, to your surprise, he lets out a soft laugh.

“Honestly?” He says, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I’ve thought about it pretty much daily since I met you.”

Your eyes widen, and you push yourself up onto your elbow to look at him more closely. “Seriously?”

He chuckles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it before. But now? With you? I think about it all the time.”

“Max,” you whisper, your heart swelling at his words.

“I know it sounds crazy,” he continues, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “We haven’t been together that long, but … I don’t know. When you know, you know, right?”

You nod, unable to speak, your throat tight with emotion.

“And I know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re it for me, Y/N. There’s no one else. There’s never going to be anyone else.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and you laugh softly, leaning into his touch. “You’re really something, Max Verstappen.”

“I mean it,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “So … what do you think? Would you want to have a baby with me?”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The question is so outlandish, so unexpected, and yet it feels right.

“You’re serious?” You ask, your voice trembling.

“Dead serious,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re going to be an amazing mom. I can already see it.”

You laugh, covering your face with your hands as the weight of his words sinks in. “This is insane.”

“Maybe,” he says, pulling your hands away from your face. “But it feels right, doesn’t it?”

You look at him, at the way his eyes shine with hope and love, and you know he’s right.

“It does,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He beams, his grin so wide it’s almost boyish. “So … is that a yes?”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss him. “Yes, Max. Let’s have a baby.”

He kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you closer. The kiss is different this time — deeper, more urgent, filled with the promise of what’s to come.

When you pull back, you’re both grinning like fools, your foreheads pressed together as you laugh softly.

“This is happening,” he says, his voice filled with awe.

“It is,” you reply, your heart swelling with joy.

“And just so you know,” he adds, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. “I’m not leaving this bed until we make it happen.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he counters, flipping you onto your back as his lips find yours again.

The night stretches on for what feels like forever, filled with laughter, whispered promises, and the kind of love that feels like forever.

***

The moment you see the two pink lines on the test, your heart stops. For a second, you don’t breathe, don’t blink, don’t move. Then, a rush of emotions crashes over you all at once — joy, disbelief, terror, excitement. You sit on the edge of the tub in your bathroom, staring at the test in your shaking hands, trying to make sense of it.

“Max,” you whisper to yourself, and the thought of him steadies you.

He’s in the kitchen when you step out, his back to you as he busies himself with something at the stove. The faint smell of eggs and toast fills the air, but you can barely focus on it. Your hand tightens around the test in your pocket.

“Morning,” he says when he hears your footsteps, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile. “Hungry? I made breakfast.”

You don’t answer, your feet rooted to the floor.

“Y/N?” He says, turning fully to face you now. “Everything okay?”

You nod, though you’re pretty sure you don’t look convincing. Your chest feels tight, and suddenly, you don’t know how to say the words.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

His hands find yours, grounding you in the way only he can. You take a deep breath and pull the test out of your pocket, holding it up between you.

Max stares at it for a moment, his eyes wide.

“Is that-”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “It’s positive.”

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Then, a slow, disbelieving grin spreads across his face.

“We’re having a baby?” He asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You nod, your own tears welling up as you watch his expression shift from shock to pure, unfiltered joy.

“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, the words finally sinking in.

Max lets out a breathless laugh, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground. “Oh my God, Y/N, we’re having a baby!”

You laugh through your tears, clinging to him as he spins you around. When he finally sets you down, his hands frame your face, his eyes searching yours.

“Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you need anything? Oh my God, we need to call the doctor, right? That’s what we do next?”

“Max,” you say, cutting him off with a laugh. “I’m okay. We’ll figure it all out.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding quickly. “Okay. But, wow … we’re having a baby.”

The way he says it, like he can’t quite believe it, makes your heart swell.

From that moment on, Max is all in.

***

Max surprises you at every turn. Where you once thought the worlds of racing and family couldn’t coexist, he proves you wrong with every thoughtful gesture, every sacrifice, every time he puts you first.

At first, you hesitate to bring it up. You know how important racing is to him, how much of his life has been dedicated to it. You don’t want to be a distraction, don’t want to pull him away from something he loves.

But Max is quick to shut down any of those thoughts.

“You and this baby come first,” he says one night, his hand resting gently on your still-flat stomach. “Always.”

You blink at him, your throat tight. “You don’t have to say that, Max. I know how much racing means to you.”

“And I know how much you mean to me,” he counters, his voice firm. “This doesn’t have to be one or the other. We’ll make it work. I promise.”

And he does.

***

You don’t feel ready to travel yet, and Max doesn’t push you. He understands when you tell him you’re not ready to face the paddock, to face him. It’s still too raw, too soon. Max doesn’t question it.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing your forehead. “You don’t need to explain. You do what’s best for you. I’ll come to you.”

And he does.

Even in the middle of the season, when his schedule is packed and his commitments are endless, Max never misses a single appointment. He’s always there, whether it’s for the early check-ups or the first ultrasound.

“Can you believe that’s our baby?” He whispers during the first scan, his voice filled with awe as he watches the tiny flicker of the heartbeat on the monitor.

You can’t answer, your own emotions overwhelming you. Instead, you squeeze his hand, and he leans over to press a kiss to your temple.

***

The weeks pass, and soon it’s time for the big ultrasound — the one where you’ll finally learn the baby’s gender. Max is in São Paulo for the Brazilian Grand Prix, and you’ve convinced yourself he won’t make it back in time.

“It’s okay,” you tell him over the phone the night before. “You’ve got a race to focus on. I’ll record everything for you.”

“Y/N,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not missing this.”

“But-”

“I’ll be there,” he promises. “Trust me.”

True to his word, Max walks into the clinic the next afternoon, still in his favorite set of sweats for traveling, his hair slightly disheveled from the flight.

“Max,” you say, standing up from your chair in the waiting room, your heart swelling at the sight of him. “You made it.”

“Of course I did,” he says, pulling you into his arms. “I told you I would.”

The ultrasound room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the machine and the occasional click of the technician’s keyboard. You’re lying on the examination table, Max sitting beside you, holding your hand tightly.

“Are you ready to find out?” The technician asks, her eyes crinkling with a warm smile.

You glance at Max, and he nods, his excitement barely contained.

“Let’s do it,” you say.

The technician moves the wand across your stomach, and a moment later, the screen lights up with the image of your baby.

“Congratulations,” she says, her smile widening. “It’s a girl.”

A girl.

Max lets out a laugh, his hand flying to cover his mouth as he stares at the screen. “A girl,” he repeats, his voice filled with wonder. “We’re having a girl.”

You laugh through your tears, your heart full to bursting. Max leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your nose, your lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” You ask, your own voice shaky.

“For this. For her. For everything,” he says, his eyes shining as he looks at you.

You don’t have the words to respond, so you just squeeze his hand, your heart so full it feels like it might burst.

And in that moment, you realize: Max was right. Racing and family don’t have to be at odds. They can coexist, as long as you have someone who’s willing to make it work. And Max? He’s more than willing. He’s all in. Always.

***

It’s been a long start to the season, and the 2024 championship is already shaping up to be a nail-biter. The RB20 is much more unwieldy than its predecessor, the points gap narrowing with a DNF in Australia. The pressure is on, and you know it. Max knows it too.

But despite everything — the late nights, the media frenzy, the endless travel — he never wavers in his commitment to you and the baby. Even as the world watches him fight for the title, Max’s focus always returns home.

As your due date approaches, the Japan Grand Prix weekend looms closer on the calendar. Suzuka is pivotal, everyone says. The kind of race that could determine the championship. The team is counting on Max to deliver.

But Max doesn’t seem fazed by any of it when you bring it up one evening in bed, your hand resting on your swollen belly while his fingers gently trace circles over the skin.

“You know Suzuka’s right around the corner,” you say hesitantly, watching his expression.

“Hmm,” he hums, his eyes focused on your stomach, his lips quirking into a small smile when he feels a kick.

“Max.”

He glances up at you, his gaze softening. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate, unsure how to phrase it. “I just … I know it’s an important race. And my due date is so close. What if-”

“I’m not going to Japan,” he says firmly, cutting you off before you can spiral.

You blink at him, startled. “What?”

“I’ve already told Christian and Helmut. They’re putting Liam in the car for the weekend.”

“Max,” you whisper, your heart swelling. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he says, his voice steady. “This is our daughter we’re talking about. There’s no way I’m missing her arrival, not for any race, not for anything.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and you blink them back quickly. “But the championship-”

“Doesn’t matter as much as this,” he interrupts again, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Y/N, I love racing, but you and our baby? You’re everything. You’re my world. If I have to miss a race, so be it.”

You stare at him, your throat tight, and you can’t stop the tears this time. “I love you,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I love you too. More than anything.”

***

When the weekend of the Japanese Grand Prix arrives, you’re still pregnant, and Max is at your side, refusing to let you lift a finger.

The race plays out on the television in the background while Max spends most of the day doting on you. He rubs your feet, makes you tea, and checks on the hospital bag for the millionth time, making sure everything is in order.

“Max, sit down,” you say, laughing softly as you watch him double-check the contents of the bag again.

“I just want to make sure we’re ready,” he says, zipping it up and placing it neatly by the door.

“We’re ready,” you assure him, patting the space next to you on the couch.

He finally sits, pulling you close and resting his hand on your belly. “You’re sure she’s not coming today?”

“She’s not on your schedule, Verstappen,” you tease, and he laughs, leaning in to kiss your temple.

***

But she does come.

Two days later, in the early hours of the morning, the first contraction wakes you. At first, you’re too groggy to register what’s happening, but when the second one hits, you gasp, clutching at the sheets.

“Max,” you manage to get out, shaking his shoulder.

He bolts upright, his eyes wide and alert. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I think … I think it’s time,” you say, your voice trembling.

Max is on his feet in an instant, grabbing the hospital bag and helping you out of bed with remarkable calmness for someone who was sound asleep just seconds ago.

“You okay?” He asks, his arm around your waist as he guides you to the car.

You nod, though your breaths are shallow. “Yeah. Just … hurry.”

***

The hours in the delivery room pass in a blur of pain and anticipation. Max never leaves your side, his hand gripping yours tightly through every contraction, his voice steady and reassuring as he encourages you.

“You’re amazing,” he says, brushing the hair from your sweaty forehead. “You’ve got this. Just a little more, liefje. You’re so strong.”

When the moment finally comes, and the sound of your daughter’s first cries fills the room, both of you dissolve into tears.

“She’s here,” Max whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s really here.”

The nurse places the tiny, wriggling bundle in your arms, and you look down at her, overwhelmed by a love so powerful it takes your breath away. Max leans over your shoulder, his face close to hers, his tears falling freely now.

“She’s perfect,” he says, his voice breaking.

You glance up at him, your heart swelling as you see the pure adoration on his face. “She looks like you.”

“She looks like us,” he corrects, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her cheek.

***

When the nurse takes her to be weighed and cleaned up, Max stands frozen for a moment, watching her with wide eyes. Then, when they bring her back, he hesitates.

“You want to hold her?” You ask, smiling through your exhaustion.

He looks at you like you’ve just handed him the most precious thing in the world. “Can I?”

“Of course,” you say, carefully passing her to him.

Max cradles her in his arms, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving her face. He looks utterly awestruck, his tears still streaming down his cheeks as he rocks her gently.

“Hi, little one,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m your papa. And I already love you more than anything.”

Your heart clenches as you watch him, the way he holds her like she’s the most fragile, most important thing in the world.

“You okay?” You ask softly, reaching out to touch his arm.

He nods, but when he looks at you, his expression is serious. “Y/N,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “If you or she ever said the word, I’d stop. I’d walk away from racing tomorrow and never look back.”

“Max-”

“I mean it,” he says, cutting you off gently. “I don’t need any of it. All I need is right here.”

Tears spill down your cheeks as you reach for his hand, your fingers lacing through his. “You don’t have to stop, Max. I don’t want you to. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” he says, his gaze dropping back to your daughter. “You and her — you’re everything.”

The three of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other and the overwhelming love that fills the room.

And as you watch Max rock your daughter, his eyes shining with tears and joy, you realize that this is it — this is the life you always dreamed of.

***

The Australian Grand Prix marks the beginning of the 2025 season, and the paddock is alive with its usual chaos: reporters shouting questions, cameras flashing, and engineers rushing to and from garages. But for you, it feels like an entirely different world as you step onto the paddock with your daughter perched on your hip.

She’s bundled in a tiny Red Bull jacket Max had custom-made, her baby blue eyes wide as she takes in the flurry of activity around her. She giggles as a gust of wind tousles her fine blonde curls, and you can’t help but smile, brushing them back into place.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask Max, who stands beside you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back.

He glances at you, his expression soft but resolute. “You’re my family. I want everyone to know.”

Your chest tightens, equal parts touched and nervous. “It’s just … people are going to talk.”

“Let them,” Max says simply, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. Then he shifts his attention to your daughter, gently tickling her chin. “Aren’t they, prinsesje? Let them say what they want.”

Her delighted squeal pulls a laugh from him, and for a moment, your nerves melt away.

But the attention is immediate. As soon as you cross into the paddock, a ripple of recognition sweeps through the crowd. Photographers pause, their lenses snapping up. Team personnel do double takes. Whispers spread like wildfire.

You’re prepared for it — at least, as much as you can be. What you’re not prepared for is running into Lewis.

You spot him before he sees you, standing just outside the Ferrari hospitality area in conversation with Fred Vasseur. Your stomach twists as you consider turning around, but before you can move, Lewis glances up.

He freezes.

His gaze locks on you, then drops to the baby in your arms, and his expression shifts from shock to something darker. He mutters something to Fred and strides toward you, his movements purposeful and tense.

“Y/N,” he says, stopping a few feet away. His eyes flicker to Max, who hasn’t left your side, and then back to you. “What … what’s this?”

You take a steadying breath. “Hello, Lewis.”

He ignores the pleasantries, his attention fixed on the child in your arms. “Is that your-” He stops, his jaw tightening. “Is that his?”

Max steps forward slightly, his hand now firm on your back. “Yes,” he says evenly, his voice calm but unyielding. “She is ours.”

Lewis’s eyes narrow, his gaze darting between you and Max. “How long has this been going on?”

“Lewis, I don’t think-”

“How long?” He snaps, his tone sharper now.

You glance at Max, who gives you a reassuring nod. Turning back to Lewis, you say, “A little over two and a half years.”

Lewis exhales sharply, shaking his head as if trying to process the information. “Two and a half years. So, what? You moved on that fast?”

“Don’t do that,” you say quietly, your grip tightening on your daughter. “It wasn’t fast. You know that.”

“Do I?” His voice is bitter, his expression unreadable. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks like you didn’t waste any time replacing me.”

Max stiffens beside you, but you place a hand on his arm, silently urging him to let you handle it.

“I didn’t replace you,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I moved on. There’s a difference.”

His gaze softens for a moment, flickering with something like hurt. But then he looks at Max again, and the hardness returns. “With him?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, your chin lifting.

Lewis laughs bitterly, running a hand over his face. “Unbelievable.”

“Lewis,” Max interjects, his tone measured but with an edge of steel. “This isn’t about you. It’s about her. And our daughter.”

“Your daughter,” Lewis repeats, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. And you think this is going to work? Bringing her into this circus?”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “It’s already working. She’s happy. We’re happy.”

Lewis scoffs, his eyes narrowing. “You think this is happiness? Dragging a baby into this environment? Do you even understand what kind of life you’re giving her?”

You step forward before Max can respond, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Don’t you dare judge me. You don’t get to do that. Not after everything.”

Lewis falters, his anger giving way to a flicker of guilt. “I’m not trying to-”

“Yes, you are,” you interrupt. “I get it, okay? You’re hurt. But you don’t get to stand there and act like you know what’s best for me or my family. Not anymore.”

There’s a long, tense silence. Finally, Lewis looks away, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I just … I didn’t think it would end like this,” he mutters.

Neither did you. But you don’t say it. Instead, you adjust your daughter in your arms, her tiny fingers clutching at your jacket, grounding you.

“It’s not about how it ended,” you say softly. “It’s about how we move forward.”

Lewis looks at you, and for a moment, you see the man you loved — the man who promised you a future he could never give. His eyes drop to your daughter, and his expression shifts, softening in a way that makes your heart ache.

“She’s beautiful,” he says quietly, almost reluctantly.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Max steps closer, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. “We should go,” he says, his voice low but kind.

You nod, giving Lewis one last look before turning away.

***

In the Red Bull motorhome, you sink into a chair, your emotions crashing over you. Max kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he studies your face.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, though tears blur your vision. “It’s just … hard. Seeing him. The way he looked at me.”

Max leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t owe him anything. Not your guilt, not your sadness. Nothing. You’re here with me now, with our daughter. That’s all that matters.”

His words soothe you, and you reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice unwavering. Then he glances at your daughter, who’s dozing peacefully in her stroller. “And I love her more than anything.”

You smile through your tears, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. No matter what challenges lie ahead, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

Nine Months Later

The final race of the 2025 season is a sea of chaos and celebration. The Yas Marina Circuit glows under the floodlights, the air electric with cheers as Max steps onto the top of the podium for the fifth time in his career. Champagne sprays from the bottles, glistening under the lights, but Max barely seems to notice.

His eyes search through the crowd, scanning the blur of faces until they land on you. There you are, cradling your daughter in your arms, her little Red Bull ear protectors sitting snugly over her head. She’s clapping her hands in that uncoordinated, infant-like way that makes his chest ache with love. And you — God, you. Your smile is soft but radiant, tears glinting in your eyes as you look up at him.

Max feels his heart tighten, his grip on the champagne bottle slackening. He’s been chasing dreams for as long as he can remember — titles, wins, perfection on the track. But now, looking at you and the life you’ve built together, he knows none of it compares to what he has waiting for him off the podium.

He knows what he has to do.

As the podium ceremony winds down, Max fumbles at the inside pocket of his race suit. His fingers brush over the small velvet box he’s carried with him for weeks, waiting for the right moment. This is it. There’s no better time.

Lando Norris, standing to Max’s right after clinching second place, notices his movement and raises a brow. “What are you up to?”

Max doesn’t answer, too focused on what’s coming next. His fingers close around the box, and his pulse quickens.

He steps forward, champagne still dripping from his suit, and motions to the crowd below. “Can we … can someone help her up here?” He calls, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.

You blink, confused, as several Red Bull mechanics glance at each other before moving to you. One of them gestures toward the podium. “Come on,” he says, grinning. “You’re part of this moment.”

“What? No, I-” you stammer, clutching your daughter closer. “I’m fine here-”

“Y/N,” Max says from above, his voice carrying across the noise. His tone is warm but insistent. “Please. Come up.”

Your heart races as you glance around, overwhelmed by the attention, but the mechanics are already helping guide you to the platform. Before you know it, you’re being hoisted onto the podium, your feet landing on the cool metal as you steady yourself.

Max steps toward you, his eyes locked on yours. His gaze is tender, but there’s a flicker of nerves there, too. The crowd’s roar dulls in your ears as he takes a deep breath, his focus entirely on you.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice trembling slightly. He drops to one knee, the champagne bottle rolling away unnoticed. In his hand is the small velvet box, now open to reveal a sparkling diamond ring.

The crowd erupts.

Your breath catches.

“Y/N,” Max says again, louder this time, his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I once thought winning a championship would be the best moment of my life. But then I saw you. Holding our daughter, looking at me like that, and I realized the best thing I’ve ever done has nothing to do with racing. It’s us. It’s you. It’s her.”

Tears blur your vision, your hand covering your mouth as you stare down at him.

“I love you,” he continues, his voice cracking. “I love you more than anything in this world. You’ve given me everything I never knew I needed. You’re my family, Y/N, and I don’t want to wait another second to make it official.”

He swallows hard, his hands shaking as he holds the ring toward you. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, everything seems to stop. The crowd, the cameras, the other drivers — it all fades away. All you can see is Max, his face open and vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen. The man who’s always so composed under pressure, the fierce competitor, is looking at you with nothing but love and hope.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice breaking. Then, louder. “Yes, Max. Yes!”

The crowd explodes into cheers as Max lets out a breathless laugh, his face lighting up in relief and joy. He stands quickly, wrapping one arm around your waist while slipping the ring onto your finger with the other. It fits perfectly.

Before you can say anything else, Max cups your face and kisses you, his lips warm and urgent against yours. The kiss is met with an even louder roar from the crowd, but all you can focus on is him — the way his hands tremble slightly, the way he pulls you closer as if afraid to let go.

Your daughter giggles in your arms, and Max pulls back just enough to glance down at her. He grins, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “What do you think, prinsesje? Did Papa do okay?”

She babbles something incomprehensible, and the three of you laugh.

***

Later, in the quiet of his driver’s room, the chaos of the podium ceremony behind you, Max pulls you into his lap as you sit together on the small sofa. Your daughter sleeps soundly in her stroller nearby, her tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm.

Max toys with the ring on your finger, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he says, his voice soft, “I’ve won a lot of things in my life. But this … this is my greatest victory.”

You smile, resting your forehead against his. “You’re pretty good at making me cry today, Verstappen.”

He chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Get used to it. I plan on spending the rest of my life making you cry happy tears.”

You hum, leaning into his touch. “Good. Because I plan on spending the rest of my life loving you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you. “Deal.”

And in that moment, with Max holding you close and your daughter sleeping nearby, you realize that this — this is your podium. Your victory. Your forever.

***

The night is impossibly quiet for Abu Dhabi, the hum of the city dulled by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse suite. The celebrations are over, the crowds dispersed, and now it’s just the three of you. Your daughter sleeps soundly in her cot near the foot of the bed, her tiny face relaxed in peaceful dreams.

You’re wrapped up in Max’s arms, the weight of the day finally catching up with both of you. His chest is warm against your back, his heartbeat steady as his fingers lazily trace patterns on your arm. The ring on your finger catches the faint glow of the bedside lamp, a small, perfect reminder of the life-changing moment you shared hours ago.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur, shifting slightly to glance up at him.

Max’s gaze is soft, his blue eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. “Just thinking,” he says, his voice low and a little hoarse from the day’s shouting and champagne sprays.

“About?”

He pauses, his fingers stilling on your skin. You can feel the hesitation in him, the way his body tenses ever so slightly. It’s not like Max to be unsure — he’s always been decisive, charging into life with the same fearless determination he has on the track.

“Max?” You press gently, turning fully to face him now. “What’s on your mind?”

He exhales a long breath, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he starts, his accent curling warmly around the words. “But after today … I think I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

His hand moves to yours, thumb brushing over the ring he gave you just hours earlier. He stares at it for a moment before meeting your gaze, his eyes clear and steady.

“I’m going to retire,” he says softly.

The words hit you like a jolt. For a second, you’re sure you misheard him. “Retire?” You repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his expression unwavering. “Yeah. I’m done.”

“Max,” you say, your brow furrowing. “You just won your fifth title. You’re at the peak of your career. Why would you …”

He shifts slightly, sitting up so he can look at you more directly. “Because I don’t need it anymore,” he says simply. “I’ve achieved everything I ever wanted in racing. More than I ever thought I could. But now …” He pauses, his gaze flicking briefly to the cot where your daughter sleeps. “Now I have something I want more.”

Your chest tightens, emotions swirling in a chaotic mess you can’t quite untangle. “Are you sure? I mean, Max, this is huge. Racing has been your entire life.”

“I know,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “And I’ll always love it. But I don’t want to spend the next ten or fifteen years chasing something I don’t need, not when it means missing out on moments with you. With her.” He nods toward your daughter, his face softening.

You sit there in stunned silence, trying to process what he’s saying. “But what about the team? And your fans? You love the thrill of it, the competition-”

“Y/N,” he cuts you off gently, reaching for your hand again. “I love you more. I love our family more. And I don’t want to be the kind of dad who’s always gone, always distracted. I’ve seen what that does. I don’t want that for her.”

His words hit you square in the chest, a wave of emotion crashing over you. Tears prick at your eyes as you search his face, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all you see is love and certainty.

“You’re really serious about this,” you say softly, your voice trembling.

He nods. “I’ve thought about it for months. After last season, I told myself I’d give it one more year. One more title. And then I’d walk away. Today, seeing you and her in the crowd, knowing everything we’ve built together … it made me realize I’m ready.”

You reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “Max … I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’re okay with it,” he says, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Say you’ll let me stay home and annoy you every day.”

A laugh escapes you, watery but real. “I think I can handle that.”

He leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because this is what I want, Y/N. You, her, our life together. That’s enough for me. More than enough.”

For a while, you just sit there in the quiet, wrapped up in each other. Your mind is still racing, but your heart feels full, overflowing with love for the man beside you.

“So,” you say after a moment, your voice lighter, “what’s the plan? Are you going to call Christian in the middle of the night and drop this bombshell on him?”

Max chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. “I’ll give him a day or two to recover from the title celebrations first. Then I’ll tell him.”

“And how do you think he’s going to take it?”

“Oh, he’ll try to talk me out of it,” Max says, rolling his eyes. “He’ll tell me I’m too young, that I’ve got years left in me, that I can win even more. But I’ve already made up my mind.”

You smile, resting your head against his chest. “He’s going to miss you. They all will.”

“I’ll miss them too,” he admits. “But this isn’t goodbye forever. I’ll still be around — just not on the grid.”

“And me?” You ask, your voice teasing. “What if I’m not ready to have you home all the time?”

Max grins, his hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

As the night stretches on, the weight of the day starts to fade, replaced by a quiet sense of peace. Max lies back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you’re nestled against his side.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice drowsy but warm, “I used to think racing was everything. That I’d be lost without it.”

“And now?” You ask, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

“Now I know it was just a part of me. A big part, yeah, but not the most important one. Not anymore.” He pauses, his hand brushing over your hair. “You and her … you’re my everything now.”

Tears sting your eyes again, but this time they’re tears of joy. “Max,” you whisper, your voice catching. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he says, his words a soft promise against your skin.

And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together.

***

The room buzzes with an electric energy, the kind that only the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony can create. It’s a night to honor champions, to toast to a season of victories, and to revel in the highs of motorsport. The crowd is a mix of drivers, team principals, engineers, and journalists, all dressed to the nines. You’re seated in the front row, a place reserved for the most important people in the room.

Max is on stage, holding his freshly polished World Championship trophy, the applause still roaring from the moment his name was called. His tuxedo fits him like a glove, and there’s a boyish grin on his face that makes him look impossibly proud — and a little nervous.

In your lap, your daughter wiggles, her tiny hands clutching at the hem of your sparkling gown. She’s too young to understand what’s happening, but the excitement of the room has her wide-eyed and curious. You adjust her slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as you watch Max step up to the microphone.

“Wow,” Max begins, his voice carrying over the hushed murmurs of the crowd. “What a year. What a … career.”

There’s a ripple of surprise at his choice of words. You feel it too, a sharp intake of breath as he pauses. He hasn’t told anyone outside of your family and a select few about his decision yet, and it hits you that this is the moment.

“I want to start by saying thank you,” Max continues, his accent thick with emotion. “To everyone who made this season possible. To my team at Red Bull — Christian, Helmut, GP, the engineers, the mechanics — every single person who has been part of this journey. We did this together. Five championships in the last five years … it still feels surreal.”

The room breaks into another round of applause, but Max raises a hand to quiet them.

“But tonight isn’t just about this trophy or this season,” he says, his voice steady despite the emotion creeping into it. “It’s about something bigger. About knowing when it’s time to close one chapter and start another.”

Your heart races, and you tighten your hold on your daughter as Max’s words hang in the air.

“When I was a kid, all I ever wanted was to race,” Max says, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “I grew up at circuits, watching my dad, dreaming of being in Formula 1. And for the last decade, this sport has been my whole life. It’s given me everything. It’s taught me more than I ever imagined — about hard work, about resilience, about pushing beyond what you think is possible.”

He pauses, his eyes flicking down to where you’re sitting. The faintest smile plays on his lips as your gazes meet, and you see the love and certainty there.

“But these past two years,” he continues, his voice softening, “I learned something else. That as much as I love this sport, there’s something I love more. Someone I love more.”

The murmurs in the crowd grow louder, heads turning to you. You feel your cheeks flush, but you keep your focus on Max, your heart pounding.

“Last season, I became a father,” Max says, his tone warming with pride. “And it changed everything. It changed the way I see the world, the way I see myself, and the way I think about my future. I realized that as much as I love racing, I don’t want to miss the little moments … the things that really matter.”

The room falls completely silent, everyone hanging on his every word.

“So,” Max says, his voice unwavering now, “tonight, as I accept this trophy, I also want to announce that this was my last season in Formula 1.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by stunned silence. Your daughter squirms in your arms, oblivious to the magnitude of what’s just been said.

Max smiles faintly, taking in the shocked faces in the room. “I know it might seem sudden,” he says, “but this is something I’ve thought about for a long time. I’ve achieved everything I could have dreamed of in this sport. I’ve worked with the best team in the world, competed against the best drivers in the world, and I leave with no regrets. But now, it’s time for me to focus on the next chapter of my life. On my family.”

He glances down at you again, and this time his gaze lingers. “Y/N, you and our daughter … you’re my everything. You’ve given me a reason to look beyond the racetrack, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Your vision blurs with tears, and you can’t help but smile up at him. The crowd erupts into applause, some people rising to their feet in admiration and respect.

After a moment, Max raises a hand again, signaling for quiet. “I want to thank the fans,” he says, his voice growing steadier. “You’ve been with me through every win, every loss, every crazy overtake and late-breaking move. You’ve pushed me to be better every single day. And while I won’t be on the grid next season, I’ll always be part of this sport. It’s in my blood, and it always will be.”

The applause grows even louder this time, the room filling with a wave of emotion and admiration. You clap along, your daughter bouncing slightly in your arms at the sound.

When Max steps down from the stage, he comes straight to you. The cameras follow his every move, the flashes almost blinding as he crouches in front of you.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, your throat too tight with emotion to speak.

He reaches for your daughter, lifting her into his arms with ease. She giggles, grabbing at the shiny lapel of his tuxedo, and Max laughs softly, the sound breaking through the tension in the room.

“We did it,” he says, his eyes locking with yours.

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. “We did,” you whisper back.

***

The rest of the night is a blur of congratulations, handshakes, and emotional farewells. But through it all, Max stays by your side, his arm around your waist or his hand in yours.

As the event winds down, you find yourselves back in the car, your daughter sleeping peacefully in her car seat. The city lights blur past the windows, and Max leans back against the seat, exhaling deeply.

“That went better than I thought,” he says, his voice tinged with relief.

“You were incredible,” you tell him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He glances down at you, his expression soft. “Are you happy?”

You smile, lacing your fingers with his. “More than I ever thought I could be.”

And as the car carries you through the quiet streets, you realize that this is just the beginning of a new adventure — the one Max always knew was waiting for him.

***

Two Years Later

Lewis doesn’t plan to be on this street. He’s never liked taking the busy Monaco thoroughfares, even after all these years of calling the principality home. But a morning run had turned into aimless wandering, and now he’s here, jogging along the promenade, music blasting in his ears, trying to clear his head.

The past two years since Max retired have been strange. No fierce wheel-to-wheel battles with Verstappen, no reminders on the track of the rivalry that defined his career for so long. And yet, Max still lingers in his thoughts — like an echo, a shadow, a specter. Every headline about the Verstappens pops up in his feed: Max is spotted at home with his family. Max is thriving in retirement.

But it’s not Max that Lewis thinks about most. It’s you. It’s always been you.

Lewis slows his pace as he nears the bakery that used to be your favorite. He has no idea if you still come here, or if Monaco even feels like home to you anymore. He shakes his head, chastising himself for thinking like this. You’re gone. You’ve been gone.

But then, he hears it. A child’s voice, high-pitched and sweet, chattering happily. He instinctively looks over, and his feet stop moving altogether.

There you are.

You’re walking hand-in-hand with Max. Max, who looks completely at peace, a little older but no less recognizable. Beside him, a little girl. She’s animated as she talks to him, her tiny hand curled securely around his. And then, there’s the stroller. A navy blue, high-tech design Lewis recognizes from catalogs. Inside is a baby boy, fast asleep, his chubby face serene as he snoozes against the soft fabric.

Lewis feels the air leave his lungs.

You don’t see him. You’re busy talking to Max, laughing at something he says. You’re dressed casually, a flowy sundress swaying around your knees, sunglasses perched on your nose. Your free hand rests on the stroller handle, the gesture almost instinctive. The sight of you like this — effortless, happy, and surrounded by a family — sends a sharp pang through Lewis’ chest.

It’s everything he could’ve had. Everything he pushed away.

His feet are rooted to the spot. He should turn around, jog in the other direction, forget he ever saw you. But he can’t. He watches, transfixed, as your daughter stops mid-sentence to look up at you. “Mama,” she says brightly, tugging Max’s hand. “Can I have a croissant?”

Max chuckles. “You already had one,” he tells her, his voice gentle.

“But they’re so good!” She says, throwing her head back dramatically.

Lewis can’t stop staring. The little girl is Max’s spitting image, but there’s something about her smile, the way her nose scrunches, that reminds him of you.

And then, she notices him.

Your daughter’s bright eyes land on Lewis, and she grins like she’s just seen a new friend. “Hello!” She says, waving enthusiastically with her free hand.

You glance up, confused at first, following her gaze. Lewis freezes.

But it’s not him you’re looking at. It’s a man unloading bags from his car in front of him, and you nod politely before turning back to Max and your daughter.

Lewis exhales shakily, a mix of relief and a pang of disappointment. He steps back, half-hidden by the awning of a nearby café, watching as you and Max resume walking.

The little girl waves once more, still beaming, before Max gently nudges her along. “Come on, prinsesje,” he says. “Let’s not keep your brother waiting for his nap to be over.”

Lewis stays there, unmoving, as you all walk away. He watches the way Max leans toward you, saying something that makes you laugh again. He watches the way your daughter skips a little ahead, still clutching Max’s hand, her voice bubbling with excitement as she points to a pigeon fluttering by. And he watches you look down at the stroller, adjusting the blanket over the baby boy who sleeps so peacefully, oblivious to everything around him.

It’s a picture-perfect scene. A life filled with love and joy, one that Lewis now realizes — painfully, completely — he could have been part of.

The memories flood in uninvited.

The nights spent on this same Monaco promenade with you, your hand slipping into his as you admired the lights reflecting off the water. The quiet mornings when you’d sit at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and talking about what life might look like after racing. The promises he made and didn’t keep.

He thinks about the last time he saw you, about the anger and hurt in your eyes, about the way he walked out that night because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words you needed to hear. And now, here you are — walking down this same street with someone who isn’t afraid to put you first.

Lewis sinks onto a nearby bench, running a hand over his face. His chest feels tight, his breathing shallow. He thinks he’s moved on, that he’s made peace with the choices he’s made. But seeing you, seeing your family — it’s a wound he didn’t even realize was still open.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the spot where you disappeared from view. Minutes? Hours? Long enough for his playlist to loop back to the beginning.

A group of tourists wanders past, laughing and snapping photos of the marina. Lewis doesn’t look up. He stays on the bench, shoulders slumped, the weight of what he’s lost pressing down on him.

By the time he makes it back to his apartment, the sun is setting over Monaco, casting the city in hues of orange and gold. He heads straight for the balcony, leaning heavily on the railing as he stares out at the water.

It should be a beautiful view, but tonight it feels empty.

For years, racing has been his everything. It’s been his escape, his purpose, his identity. But now, for the first time, he wonders if it was worth it.

Because no trophy, no title, no amount of glory could fill the space you once inhabited.

And for the first time, Lewis feels like the one who’s been left behind.

[layover-linux-official]

These companies will never stop trying to have it both ways, either. Many of them depend on open source labor and products, their business model literally wouldn't be possible without it. They'll want to keep getting free shit, but deny the privilege to you.

They can't pursue this course without fucking themselves, obviously. They'll be surprised when the same laws or social pressures are used against them, and paywall gridlock makes it unbearable to get any real work done. But not seeing it coming, or not caring because it's a fourth quarter problem, is basically the standard of incompetence in corporate leadership across the globe. Given the choice, they will fuck themselves over long term for the sweet taste of a brief window where they get to fuck you.

They don't have to get what they want.

before it gets bad I'm just gonna tell y'all certain rich people have literally only recently noticed Open Source software availability compromises the bottom line of their proprietary investments so if you see little chickadees on this website talking about the dangers of Open Source software all of a sudden it's cuz they accidentally sipped some koolaid mixed up by the far right yacht people to fuck with peoples software sovereignty and right to repair, modify, and redistribute robust codebases that become a problem when 30% of your portfolio is in, oh, say, adobe or openai.

This is your unfriendly neighborhood computer fucker telling you not to fall for it and to demand your right to digital sovereignty rather than trusting companies to make correct choices about what to do with the parts of your life they would very much like to have in the cloud to continue improving their products.

[xaer1s]

ㅤㅤ ❛ ㅤ✿ ──────​ cuteness clad in silk ⸝⸝

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ 최산 ] ─── ​CHOI SAN​ ⨾ ATEEZ

ㅤㅤ synopsis:ㅤsan was always a calm and collected guy, not riling himself up easily but this simple change you made tonight, unexpectedly -especially for him- had him feeling a bit too excited.ㅤ⨾ㅤwarnings:ㅤnsfw!!, spooning sex, unprotected sex (guys don't do it), needy-dom!san, fem!reader, sub!reader, clit play, p in v, cream pie, lil begging?, pwp??, pet names, slight overstim, lil swearing, praisingㅤ;ㅤword count:ㅤ1,8kㅤ;ㅤa/n.: after my other account with the name of xa3r1s got shadow-banned and i didn't really get help from the staff, i decided to make another blog. i probably won't reupload all of my works. happy reading

ㅤㅤ › ARCHiVE ; NAViGATiON ・・・・・; ✉︎ message me on: @smnxi ; please reblog and follow if you like my posts! do not spam likes, or you'll be blocked, sorry! ♡

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ• . ˚ ⋆ . ｡.

. . . having to lay your head on the pillow at the most boiling hot night in mid august was just straight up torture, so you decided to change sleepwear. placing the soft cotton shorts and thin, plain tops aside, for an even thinner, pure white nightgown. it actually looked very cute if we’re gonna be honest and very practical too. you never once thought about wearing one but when you finally gave it a try and it wasn’t that bad at all.

the silky fabric clung to your skin because of the after shower steam in all the right places, pronouncing your hips as the material stretched deliciously. showing the faint outline of your nipples and the straps occasionally slipping down on your bare shoulders, made your boyfriend attention perk up. it had san already in a frenzy.

experiencing you like this first in his whole lifetime was a game changer for him, he just got so used to seeing you in your usual night wear that he didn’t really pay attention to it anymore. not to misunderstand, you were absolutely cute like that too.

now turning off the lights, making your way from the bathroom to sit on the edge of the bed, your bare feet quietly thumping on the cold wooden floor, the harsh feeling sent goosebumps over your skin. the bedroom was quiet and dark aside from the lamp’s small, orange tinted light providing the only source of light, placed on the bedside table. still, you felt his sharp eyes tracking over you. the window wide open, the gentle summer breeze tickling your skin and the sky foggy.

he was already under the warm, fluffy duvet, his dark eyes drinking in the sight in front of him just within his reach, and at this point he was just struggling to keep himself composed and his actions in check. he itched to reach out to tug the inviting material off of you, he had so easy access it made him go nuts.

of course you noticed, his gaze quite literally burning holes into your back as you made yourself comfortable under the blankets, pulling it over you as you curled against his side, as he continued to stare shamelessly. a content sigh escaping you and a gentle smile made itself clear on your lips.

“hug me..” just like you asked, one of his arm draped over your shoulder to pull you flush against him, his palm splayed out flat on your waist as his fingertips caressed you gently over the shiny fabric.

he already saw you in every way he possibly could by now after spending years with you and knew every inch and crevice of your soft body like the back of his hand. still, the innocence you carried in wearing a simple white nightgown with nothing but panties underneath just send tingles of excitement through his body, straight to his cock and made his heart thump faster. you seemed so pure and adorable in his embrace, soft locks falling forward and framing your cheeks, eyes ready to flutter close to drift off to sleep, knowing nothing about his inner turmoil.

the cute little flares adorning the hem where it rode up your thighs, made his tummy hot. after some time, now deep in slumber, you turned to your other side, presenting your back to him. he managed to force himself to sleep too but as soon as you moved, it shook him awake. his tired gaze traveling to your frame and gulping down a big lump in his throat.

adjusting himself after you, missing the feeling of your body against his, san wrapped his arms around your mid section, his front pushing against your back. he was already struggling real bad at this point, but the quiet whine you let slip out in your sleep and the way you wriggled your butt against his crotch in the search of his warmth just did the work.

his hold now tighter as each second passed, hips bucking into you, just slowly and lazily grinding himself through his sleeping shorts. making sure you were still asleep and snoring softly, his face found its home in the back of your neck, your hair brushing against his face as he made incredible effort to muffle his whiny moans while rutting himself against you.

in a futile attempt to keep quiet, his teeth sank into his plump lower lip almost drawing out blood and god he was ashamed of himself for being so fucking horny just from lying next to you. his embarrassment from the absurdity of the situation slowly seeped into pleasure as a small wet patch made itself visible in his already tight underwear.

you stirring awake, a quiet whine escaped from deep within your throat, blinking your weary eyes open to meet with darkness. it took a few seconds to realize what’s going on behind you, your lips parted with an exhausted sigh.

“san..” but he continued, you didn’t protest, not when he was so adorably needy, you knew he simply just wouldn’t let you until he’s satisfied.

“darling.. i’m sorry- you’re just-..” he tries to explain, his voice coming in quick and unsteady pants, his palm flat on your hips now and fingertips flicking over the hem of your clothing. “can I, please?.. the tip.. only the tip, i swear, baby..” even while asking for permission, he didn’t seem to stop grinding so instead you just appreciated the effort of him pleading so desperate for you. reluctantly, you mumbled a small and very exhausted ‘yeah’ and gave the green light.

you were tired but you still weren’t so cruel to leave your handsome boyfriend wanting so of course you gave in even if it meant sacrificing a little sleep. feeling his hands inch higher on your sides, pushing the material with them, giving himself more place to reach. one of his hand rested on your ass and the other moved to pull the waistband of his shorts just under his member, letting it lewdly slap against his firm abdomen, eliciting a quiet hiss from san.

taking himself into his grip, his fingers tightened around the flushed red tip and his thumb smeared the sticky pre-cum across his already pulsing erection with a low groan before giving it a few squelching pumps quickly for an easier slide. his breathing heavy and actions unsteady, he managed to hook his fingers into the elastic band of your panties, tugging it down your thighs just enough for him to finally reach your most sensitive places. this was all it took for him to get to you, hiking up your nightgown and simply just pulling off your underwear. the thought alone made him twitch in his firm grasp, making his hold tighten around it.

his fingers grazed your dripping slit, feeling the evidence of your excitement on the pads of his fingers, so slimy and warm, it made his mouth water, his tasting buds aching to just lick it off. pushing those fantasies aside, he felt like he’d explode if he’s not in you in the next two minutes. he moved flush against your back, his other hand guiding his throbbing erection to nudge your entrance, sinking slowly in with a stretched out moan, breathing it against the back of your neck.

he bottomed out, just savoring the exquisite feeling of your warmth surrounding him, you clenching down tightly in response, feeling the small ridges and veins running along his cock against your wet walls, it made your needy hole gush too. his digits dug into your plush hips, his nails forming small, red half circles as he squeezed your flesh to guide you slowly. his other hand sneaked its way around your torso aiming to have you as close as humanly possible while he was taking you from behind.

“so warm and snug.. you feel so good, baby.. bet you love feeling me inside you so fucking deep..” he seethed through gritted teeth, pulling out to quickly slam himself back, his tip kissing your cervix, your body jerking forward with a sudden gasp from the force, his arm keeping you safe and still, pressing you back against his broad chest.

your juices dripped down along his shaft, coating it thickly, sweet droplets landing on the sheets beneath you, your hole fluttering crazy, sucking him in subconsciously. his cock dragged along your gummy walls lazily, his eyes closed down as delicate whines left your plump lips.

one of his hand slipped between your thighs, nudging them further apart, the pads of his index and middle finger drawing circles furiously on your puffy, throbbing clit as he continued to thrust away, pace only picking up slightly. the pleasure had your muscles tense and your back arch, instinctively squirming from him while he shushed you, trying to keep you there with force and helping to guide your movements.

“‘m close!-.. s-san!..”

“yeah.. go ahead, my sweet girl..” to his reassurance wrapped words, the knot in your tummy tightened further, heat spreading all over your body from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, your skin tingling. “you deserve it, let go.. let me feel you come over my cock. can you do that for me?..”

with a sharp pinch and a quick tug on your swelled nub, a loud moan rippled from your heaving chest as your release hit you like a tidal wave, clamping on his shaft as he continued to piston into you from behind. fucking you through your orgasm turning into chasing his own high when he moved even faster. it was almost as if he didn’t hear your protest. you reached behind, pushing on his chest with your palm and legs closing on his hand still between yours. he resisted well, by just easily keeping you in place.

“it’s okay- i know, love, i know.. a little-.. just a little more, yeah? gonna be good for me and make me cum too, hm?” his sweet and comforting tone made you relax, stopping all your earlier resistance. his abdominal muscles flexed and with a stinging bite in the nape of your neck, he shot his hot ropes of thick seed deep into your waiting womb, your fucked out body shuddering at the sensations.

after a few, sloppy thrust, he finally stilled inside you completely with his spent cock. catching his breath while he peppered soft kisses to the reddened marking he left just now.

his hands sliding to your sides now, soothing your heated up and flushed skin as your eyes fluttered down close, ears already starting to block out his quiet words targeted towards you.

“‘love you.. so grateful for you, baby..” a small, genuine smile threatened to stretch on his lips as he just followed you to sleep soundly, pulling the duvet over you to tuck you in again, keeping you in his strong yet so caring and gentle grip, making the clean up tomorrow’s problem.

plagiarism is strictly forbidden, do not translate my works, copy them or publish them on another site ; @xaer1s

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

It’s dark. The window is still open, but the chillier air is kind of nice on Eddie’s flushed skin.

The clean bedding is nice too; Eddie tries to remember the last time he appreciated something as nice as clean sheets and draws a blank.

Probably when he still lived with Wayne. Probably before they made it big. Probably before the partying started.

Eddie picks up his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button. He presses it.

Wayne doesn’t pick up. Eddie’s not surprised, not really.

He tries Chris; she doesn’t answer either.

Likewise Gareth.

He doesn't bother calling Jeff.

There’s no one else in his phone; Chrissy took it all away when Eddie couldn’t differentiate between a friend a dealer or a booty call.

Like the worst Marie Kondo ever, Chrissy had held up the hundreds of friends Eddie had in his phone, one by one, ‘does this spark joy?’

No. Sometimes sucked his dick, though.

Eddie has money though. He twirls his phone on his chest, flipping it from long edge to short. There’s always somewhere open. Flip. Flip. Flip.

Not like anyone's answering him right now anyway. They’ve just left him here. With fucking Steve. It’s just one time anyway, he wouldn’t get away with it more than once. Chrissy would put him on proper lock down if she found out. Probably shove him back in the clinic.

So...just once.

One last go. And then he’d quit for sure. He hasn’t touched it for months, so he’s pretty much proved he can do it, anyway.

Eddie gets dressed. Finds cash balled up in random places.

Eddie stands in the doorway. Look up at the stars and then across the lawn at the security gates. He hasn’t had so much as a cigarette in nearly half a year. This is fine.

“Where you going, Eddie?”

Eddie sighs. Fucking busted. Still, “no where you need to worry about.”

“Uh hu.”

“Look, I’m not on house arrest okay? I can go out, I’m a grown fucking man.”

“You totally are. You want to go out, you go for it. No skin off my nose.”

Eddie whirls, shocked, “what the fuck? Aren’t you supposed to try and stop me from doing dumb shit?”

Steve raises the eyebrow, “so you admit it’s dumb?” He looks sleep rumpled, wearing sweats and a white tee shirt.

Walked right into that one. “You’re dumb.”

The face again. The totally schooled features that are utterly professional and give absolutely nothing away and yet...somehow...he’s laughing at Eddie. Eddie can feel it.

“So you go out,” Steve saunters over, stands next to Eddie, bare toes curling over the doorstep, “you score or drink or do whatever it is you’re aiming to do. Then what?”

“Then what,” Eddie mimics, all bitchy, “I’ll come home, and I’ll sober up, and it won’t change a fucking thing,” Eddie bites out.

“You think? You’ve had sober spells before, is that how it’s gone in the past?”

Eddie takes a deep breathe, because no, no that is not how it’s fucking gone in the past, “this time is different.”

“Is it?” Steve asks, completely fucking nonchalant, “how so?”

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to punch someone so bad in all his life. Imagines it viscerally, Steve's fucking head cracking on the door frame while he slumps to the floor in a bloody heap.

Eddie does not do that, obviously.

“Look, I’ll come home, we don’t do anything about it, you still get paid, sound good?”

“I get paid either way,” Steve shrugs one shoulder, because he’s a cunt. “This is how a lot of addicts die, did you know that?”

“What?” Eddie asks, startled by the left turn.

“Yeah, get out of rehab, think their tolerance is still the same, get back on it…” he doesn’t bother to finish.

“That won’t happen to me.”

“Oh yeah, right. Of course. Because you’re Eddie Munson, sorry, sorry, forgot a second there.”

Eddie takes two thumping angry steps into the yard and just...just fucking screams at the sky. Just...roars at nothing. This is shit. It’s so shit. Everything is shit. And Eddie nearly fucking died last time and there’s no escaping that fact. There’s no help. There’s no point to any of this. There’s just pain and fucking misery and something clawing at Eddie’s insides trying to get out.

He roars until he’s hoarse. Until he can’t any more. Until his chin is wet with spit and he feels week and rung out.

He sits on his ass on the cold, dewy lawn.

Steve is still standing in the doorway, he doesn’t look like he’s moved at all. If he’s at all bothered by Eddie’s little meltdown, he isn’t showing it.

“Why did you want to go?” Steve asks finally, "did something change?"

Eddie shrugs, he’s got nothing, not really. No real reason past just wanting to get fucked up. Because it feels good. Because he likes it.

“Okay, what’s worth staying for?”

Eddie makes a dismissive ‘pfffft’, made croaky by his fucked out voice.

“They always say you need to do these things for yourself,” Eddie glares at Steve, because that's some dumb shit right there. Always had it in therapy though. Self worth. Mindfulness. Living in the moment and being proud of what you’ve already achieved and every journey starts with a single step and all that other bull shit they try and feed you. “I know. I agree. When you...feel like you’re nothing, you’re not worth any effort. It’s the hardest time. So pick someone else. Who can you do it for?”

“They don’t care,” Eddie croaks, “they didn’t answer,” he pulls his phone out, flips it onto the grass.

“Who?”

“Chris. Wayne.”

“Okay, give me a good reason why Wayne didn’t answer? That’s your uncle, right?”

“Yeah he...he could be at work,” Eddie admits quietly. Eddie’s given Wayne money. Well, practically forced it on him. Set him up with a nice place; or at least as nice as he could talk Wayne into. Wayne doesn’t believe in free loading though. Eddie’s convinced him to do less hours, but he still works nights two or three times a week. Claims it’s ninety percent of his social life, or some shit like that.

“Okay, and Chris?”

Eddie shrugs, embarrassment over his outburst making him petulant now.

“Eddie, what time is it where Chris is, right now?”

Eddie sighs up at the stars. It’s the middle of the fucking night, “late. Early. I guess.”

“Okay. So they’re not ignoring you, they’re just living their lives like normal human beings. Come on, get up, your ass is gonna be wet.”

“And do what?” Eddie snaps, “what’s the fucking point.” It’s not a question.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

“It was a tough time, you know? Like, life sucks hard sometimes. Music helps. My favorite is The Wilds, you know? You heard that one?” The interviewer mumbles something indistinguishable, “it’s kind of...like the bit about the shining sea, you know? How like, it’s so beautiful, but it’s fucking hard to sail on. Or like how the mountains are so beautiful, but if you go up there alone, you’re gonna’ die, right? So I think...like how insignificant, and meaningless my life is, in like, the grand scheme of things, but like...that makes what you do even more important, right? Like, it means more, when you choose to be...I dunno,” the kid with a million piercings shrugs, “like just be good to each other, you know?”

“That’s not even remotely what that song is about,” Eddie mumbles at the laptop monitor.

Behind him, Steve snorts a laugh, “well that kid thinks it is.”

Another kid, more makeup than the whole of Kiss slathered on her face, “I just think it has meaning, you know?” The interviewer mumbles something again, “oh my favorite?” A lip bitten in thought, she looks at the sky for inspiration, it’s sunset, Eddie figures. Lots of similarly dressed kids in the background. Takes him a second to realize this was filmed outside of a gig, or something like that. “It’s hard to pick, but if I gotta’, it’s definitely Double Down. Those lyrics are just...Eddie Munson is just...he’s a fucking genius, you know?” She frowns, “but also really fucking dumb soemtimes, I hope he’s okay.”

“I didn’t even write that one. Jeff wrote most of that. On napkins, I think. I just...worked it together.”

Another kid, saying how important Corroded Coffin are; how they helped this kid through hard times. Honestly it’s a difficult watch, Eddie has no fucking clue where Steve even found this, and when Eddie’s phone rings he jumps on it, glad of an excuse to slap the screen of the laptop closed.

“Hi, Eddie! You called, sorry it’s early I got up to go for a run-”

“No. No, it’s fine, I...I shouldn’t have called you so late. Early. You were probably sleeping.”

“That’s okay, of course it’s okay, it’s nice you called me,” she snickers, “you never call me.”

That’s true, and Eddie feels bad. It’s always Chrissy chasing after Eddie. Trying to keep a lid on him...trying to keep him safe. He was always the one dodging her. “Yeah, sorry…” Eddie gets up so he can walk away from Steve, tail between his legs he slinks into the hall, he vows, “I’ll try and do better.”

“Good, how are you feeling? Hows your rut?”

Eddie is not fucking admitting that he just had a breakdown and nearly fucked it all up in the middle of the night. No fucking way is he admitting that, “yeah...yeah, just...couldn’t sleep, you know? I guess the rut...still going. Feels weird.”

Eddie can hear Chris moving around, figures she has him on speaker or something, “uh hu, that’s because you haven’t cycled a proper rut in like, four years honey, these things take time to settle. Is Steve doing okay? You’re not being a cunt to him are you?”

“Well I’ve only thought about punching him,” something jogs in Eddie’s mind, “Chrissy, what happened to the cleaning lady?”

“Oh...we did talk about it honey but you weren't really...taking it in, I don’t think-”

“I was fucked up.”

“Yeah...but she…”

“Just say it.”

“The...you know, the vomit. You were constantly trashing the place. She was worried she was...well she was mostly scared she was going to walk in one day and find your body.”

“Oh.” Eddie slumps down on the bottom step, “that sucks. I liked her.”

“Don’t worry, her final pay was incredible. She got a really impressive bunch of flowers.”

“Oh...well. Thank you. For sorting that.” Eddie’s eyes feel wet. His lip wobbles a little, but he holds it in. He’s got no right to guilt about that, not now. “The place looks okay though, I think Steve’s been cleaning some.”

“Yeah, probably, he seems like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, but the first tear breaks free and he knows he can’t hide it much longer, “go on your run.”

“Okay, speak later?”

“Yeah, course.”

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s so great to hear you sounding more like yourself, I missed you so much.”

Eddie hangs up, draws his knees up to his chest, the material of his sweats already darkened with tears.

[fatsamsgrandslamspeakeasy]

I purchased my 1st VHS VCR in 1981. It was a real dinosaur....top loading, 2 video heads, manual dial channels, wired remote control for pausing record function to edit out commercials, and weighed roughly 25 lbs. The ejection caddy was a manual spring-loaded mechanism and was NOT electronically controlled. Those units were produced a few years later. I paid $1200, pre-tax back then. It was a Magnavox unit, and later on I found out that it was really made by Matsushita of Japan, which was parent company for Panasonic Maganavox, Quasar, and GE!! The T-120 blank video tapes, which allowed for up to 2 hours of recording on SP mode (best quality), 4 hours of recording on the LP mode (reduced quality) or 6 hours of recording on the SLP mode (poor quality) cost roughly $17 each back then. I mostly used TDK or MAXELL because of their high quality standards. VHS pre-recorded licensed movies were sold to retailers and marketed through the studio production company, ie...Warner Brothers, Universal (MCA), Paramount, etc..... and were roughly averaging $100/title in those days. The big appeal, of course, was that for the very 1st time ever, the public could buy a FULL release licensed motion picture to have in one's library to be shown whenever one chose to play it. Because the prices of most movies were so expensive initially, this lead to the creation of the mom- n- pop video rental stores which hit their peak by 1988, and started to disappear in the early 1990s, when prices started to drop drastically. It was safe to say that at the height of the video rentals, there was a video rental club on just about every block of a major city, with BLOCKBUSTER VIDEO being the Megalodon of the video sea, offering multi-copies of hit movies so you'd never have to hear the dreaded words "sorry, it's out!" whenever you requested a title. The small mon-n-pop stores started to fall like flies, not being able to compete with BLOCKBUSTER, which eventually closed it's doors in March 2010! The very 1st VHS movies that I started off my collection were JAWS and SUPERMAN, THE MOVIE. Each Studio company had their own unique sized packaging for the videocassette. This roughly 10 year window of American history, offered a unique experience for those who lived through these times, much like the Citizen's Band Radio craze of the mid-1970s and the Mopeds craze of the late 1970s! Ya just had to be there to get caught up in the mania.....

That concludes today's history lesson in ancient electronics, you young whippersnappers.....

Time, December 24, 1984.

[cloudyluun]

Press play (p2) | boyfriend!harry

Summary: The first tape wasn’t enough. Harry’s obsessed. One camera? Not enough angles. One location? Not enough variety. One night? Not enough time. This time, he films her in every room, in every position, with every toy he owns—and makes sure she begs for more. Because this isn’t just about recording anymore. This is about pushing her to her absolute limit while the cameras catch every second. 

A/N: So… if the first fic was a little spicy, this one is hellfire levels of unholy. 🫠 Writing this felt like a crime, but a crime I would absolutely commit again. 🔥 Hope you’re hydrated and emotionally stable because this is a lot—and yes, before you ask, there will be a part tree. 😈

Also, if anyone asks why my search history includes “best high-sensitivity microphones for ASMR,” no, you don’t.

Word Count: 7,8k

Warnings: 

Heavy BDSM elements – Bondage, impact play, restraints, gagging, plugs, edging, overstimulation… Basically, if it belongs in a locked drawer, it’s in here.

Spit, deep-throating, gagging, face-fucking – Hydration is important, folks.

Filming/recording during sex (consensual) – Harry’s got a passion for cinematography. Scorsese could never.

Public teasing & humiliation – Sex shop, car ride, open windows… Someone revoke this man’s driver’s license and curtain privileges.

Rough sex – Choking, spanking, forced orgasms… the usual scheduled programming.

Dirty talk, degradation, praise kink – A poetic balance of “good girl” and “filthy little slut.”

Multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breath play – Hope you weren’t planning on walking after this.

Aftercare – Because Harry’s only a menace 98% of the time. The other 2%? He’s feeding you water and telling you how proud he is.

(if i missed any, dm me please!)

[part 1]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You can feel his eyes on you again.

It’s been happening for days—catching him watching you, smirking like he knows something you don’t. He isn’t even subtle about it. He’ll stretch out on the couch, legs spread wide, fingers lazily tapping against his thigh as the screen flickers, bathing his face in dim light. He watches you on repeat. Watches the way you fell apart for him the first time. The way you begged, the way you shook. He knows every second by heart, every moan, every filthy plea.

And the worst part? You don’t even blame him.

Because the few times you’ve dared to look—just a peek—you were just as wrecked as he claimed. Eyes glassy, mouth parted, body trembling under his touch. A perfect mess. His.

So when you catch him again, he doesn’t look guilty. Not even a little.

“Can’t help it, angel.” His voice is rough, thick with something dark. “You look so fucking good coming apart for me.”

Heat licks up your spine, your thighs pressing together on instinct. But he notices. Of course he notices.

He cocks his head, dragging his gaze over you, slow and heavy. Then, as if deciding something, he stands and holds out his hand. “Come on.”

You blink. “What?”

“We’re going out.”

He doesn’t give you a choice.

--

The electronics store is bright, all sleek displays and humming screens. It smells faintly of new plastic, and if you weren’t so hyper-aware of the man next to you—the way his hand rests low on your back, the way his thumb strokes slow circles against your hip—you might have actually paid attention to the endless rows of cameras.

But Harry is focused.

Not just on you—though you can feel the weight of his gaze every time you shift—but on the equipment. He moves with purpose, eyes scanning through specs, occasionally nodding like he’s mentally checking things off a list you aren’t privy to.

You watch as he picks up a high-end camera, testing the weight in his palm.

“This one?” you ask.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, tilting it slightly, examining the lens. “Good quality, but not enough angles.”

The words shouldn’t make your stomach flip.

You know what he’s planning. Know this isn’t just about upgrading. It’s about more. More angles, more footage, more ways to capture exactly how wrecked he can make you.

Your breath catches as he moves onto something else—a small, discreet device.

“Is that—”

“A hidden camera?” He smirks. “Yeah. Could put it anywhere. Get a nice little collection going.”

You swallow hard.

He keeps going. A high-sensitivity microphone. A ring light. A sleek little tripod. He handles them with the kind of ease that makes your knees weak, like he’s already imagining exactly where he’ll set them up.

The sales clerk approaches then, offering a polite, professional smile.

“Can I help you with anything?”

You barely hear the question before Harry shifts behind you, his body pressing up against yours, his lips grazing your ear. His voice is low, for you and only you.

“Could fuck you right here.”

Your entire body goes rigid.

“Harry—”

“Bend you over the counter,” he continues, voice thick with amusement. His fingers ghost up your thigh, barely there, but your skin burns all the same. “Let the security cameras catch everything.”

Your breath stutters, a choked gasp slipping out before you can stop it.

The sales clerk clears his throat. “Uh… I can walk you through some of the settings if you’d like?”

You try to nod, try to play it off, but Harry doesn’t move. He stays pressed against you as the clerk launches into a dry explanation, and it takes everything in you to stand still. To keep your composure while Harry’s fingers tease the hem of your skirt, inching higher, higher—

You nearly jump when the touch disappears.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry says smoothly, stepping back like nothing just happened. “We’ll take all of these.”

Your head spins.

All of them.

Three cameras, a microphone, a ring light. Enough to film you in every angle he wants, from every perspective, with every sound recorded crystal clear.

You don’t even realize you’re shaking until Harry’s fingers brush over your wrist, grounding you.

“One more stop, angel.” His voice is warm, teasing.

Your stomach twists.

You already know where he’s taking you.

--

The sex shop is discreet, tucked between two high-end boutiques. The windows are dark, the sign subtle, but the moment you step inside, you feel the shift—the heavy hush, the intimate displays, the slow thrum of something low and pulsing over the speakers.

Harry walks in like he’s been here before. Like he owns the place.

And in a way, he does.

You can feel it in the way he moves, the way his fingers trail along the shelves, occasionally plucking something up, rolling it between his fingers, considering. You barely have time to register what he’s holding before he makes a quiet noise of approval and adds it to the growing collection in his arms.

Nipple clamps. A flogger. Silk restraints. A plug set.

Your face burns as he turns to you, offering one of the smaller plugs in his palm.

“Go to the bathroom.”

You freeze.

His eyes don’t waver.

“Put them in.” His voice is calm, steady. “Now.”

You hesitate for half a second—just long enough to see the flicker of warning cross his features.

And then you obey.

The moment the door shuts behind you, your hands shake as you follow his command. The plug is smooth, easy, but it’s the panties that make you squirm—just the thought of them in public, the knowledge that Harry could turn them on at any moment.

When you return, he’s waiting.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches. Then, after a long pause—long enough for you to start fidgeting under his stare—he steps closer, brushing his lips over your temple.

“Good girl.”

The praise makes your knees nearly buckle.

He smirks. “Let’s go.”

--

The drive home is torture.

You should have known it would be.

Because the second Harry starts the car, his fingers flick something on his phone, and suddenly—

“Oh,” you gasp, your back arching slightly.

The vibrations are low, teasing, barely enough to do anything but make you ache.

Harry hums, casual. “You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn, but you nod, breathless.

He turns the setting up. Just a little. Just enough to make you squirm.

Red light.

The car slows.

His hand drifts over your thigh.

“You can hold it, can’t you?”

You bite your lip, nodding again, your thighs pressing together.

Green light.

The vibrations ease slightly, but the pattern shifts, unpredictable.

It continues like this—slow torture, relentless teasing, each stoplight an opportunity for him to push you closer and closer to the edge.

By the time you pull into the garage, you’re shaking. Your fingers dig into the seat, your breathing uneven.

Harry watches, amused.

Then, just as he parks, he leans in, his voice silk-smooth against your ear.

“Come.”

Your breath stutters.

“Now,” he murmurs. “And don’t make a sound.”

The vibrations increase, sudden and sharp, and it takes everything in you not to cry out. Your entire body trembles as the orgasm washes over you, your fingers clutching the seat, your lips parted in a silent whimper.

Harry watches it all.

When it finally fades, your body slumping back against the leather, he exhales, slow and satisfied.

“That’s one, angel.”

His fingers trace your thigh, teasing.

“Hope you didn’t think we were done.”

His voice is warm, teasing, dripping with amusement, but there’s something darker beneath it. Something that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. That look in his eyes—the one that tells you he’s not even close to satisfied.

Your skin is still buzzing, oversensitive from what he did to you in the car, but he doesn’t care.

He’s already moving.

He steps out, rounding the car without urgency, and when he opens your door, he doesn’t say a word—just waits. Expecting.

You step out on shaky legs.

The air outside is thick and warm, but the heat that lingers between your thighs is worse. You can still feel the echoes of pleasure from the first orgasm he ripped out of you, still feel the way your body clenched around nothing when he left you empty.

He knows it, too.

He watches you carefully, fingers ghosting over your hip as he leads you inside, through the dimly lit hallway, past the living room where you’ve already let him ruin you so many times before.

The moment the bedroom door shuts behind you, the shift is immediate.

Harry rolls his shoulders, tilting his head slightly, studying you.

Assessing.

Your pulse spikes.

The room is different.

You notice it instantly—the small but deliberate changes.

The cameras.

One on a tripod at the foot of the bed. Another placed carefully on the nightstand, positioned just right. The third—mounted directly above the mattress. Overhead shots.

Your stomach twists.

Then your eyes catch on the microphone.

It’s clipped beside the camera on the nightstand, small but powerful, capable of picking up every gasp, every moan, every tiny, desperate sound you make for him.

Your thighs squeeze together.

And on the sheets?

Silk.

Black silk ties, draped neatly across the mattress. Waiting.

Your breath catches.

He planned this.

Your skin prickles as you turn back toward him, but he’s already watching you, already smirking like he can hear the way your thoughts are racing.

His hand lifts, his fingers brushing along your jaw.

“Strip.”

One word.

No room for hesitation.

A slow, creeping shiver spreads down your spine, and your hands move before you can even think.

You reach for the hem of your dress, slipping it over your head in one slow motion. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you bare—except for the lace panties he forced you into earlier and the plug still nestled between your cheeks.

Harry’s gaze darkens.

His tongue drags along his bottom lip, and he exhales slow, controlled, fingers flexing at his sides.

“On the bed.”

You shudder.

It’s not just a command—it’s a promise.

Your heart pounds as you move toward the mattress, sinking onto the soft sheets. The moment you do, Harry follows, climbing onto the bed with deliberate slowness, his toned body flexing as he hovers over you.

The silk restraints are still lying there. Waiting.

He picks one up, twirling it lazily between his fingers before tilting his head, green eyes locking onto yours.

“Let me tie you up, angel.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a test.

You swallow hard, feeling the last shred of control slipping away, and nod.

But he doesn’t move.

His smirk deepens.

“Say it.”

Your breath stutters. The words feel thick in your throat, but when they finally come, they’re barely more than a whisper.

“Tie me up, Harry.”

Something flickers in his eyes. A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips, and then—

He moves.

Swift. Effortless. Expert.

He grabs your wrist, looping the silk around it, securing it to the headboard with a practiced ease that makes your stomach tighten. Then the other wrist—soft but firm, tight but not painful. You test the restraints. No give.

Your breathing is already uneven.

He shifts down, grabbing your ankle next.

You jerk instinctively, but it’s useless.

Harry likes you like this—helpless beneath him, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

By the time he secures your other ankle, your body is already trembling. Spread wide. Exposed. Completely at his mercy.

You test the restraints again.

You can’t move.

The realization sends a sharp, dizzying pulse of heat straight between your legs.

Harry notices.

He always does.

He hums, pleased, dragging his knuckles along your inner thigh. His touch is featherlight, teasing, barely even there.

And then—

He reaches into his pocket.

Your breath hitches.

The remote.

Your stomach drops.

The plug.

He clicks it on.

The vibration is instant.

Low at first—deep, pulsing, sending sharp, concentrated pleasure straight through your core. Right where you need it most.

A helpless whimper rips from your throat. Your hips jerk automatically, body arching against the restraints, but there’s nowhere to go, no way to escape the relentless stimulation.

Harry watches every second of it.

The way your thighs tremble, the way your lips part in desperate little gasps, the way your stomach tightens.

And then—

He turns on the camera.

You freeze.

The red light blinks.

Recording.

Your stomach clenches, heat flooding your skin, because this moment—your wrists tied, your legs spread, your body already writhing from the toy still pulsing inside you—is being captured.

For him.

Forever.

Harry tilts his head, smirking.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his fingertips along your trembling thigh. His voice is low, smooth, hypnotic. “So fucking pretty like this.”

You let out a broken whimper.

His hand slides higher, teasing along the waistband of your panties. Not touching you where you need it most.

Not yet.

He licks his lips, watching you squirm.

“Think you can come like this, angel?”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly. You don’t answer. You can’t.

But Harry doesn’t need one.

He just turns up the vibration.

And watches.

The vibrations deepened.

Your breath hitched—sharp, desperate, a ragged little sound that barely even made it past your lips. The plug was already relentless, pulsing deep inside you, the sensation twisting tight in your stomach, coiling lower with each slow, calculated increase of the setting.

You were already trembling. Already aching. Already so close.

And Harry hadn’t even touched you yet.

He watched you squirm, wrists and ankles straining against the silk restraints, body arching involuntarily.

Completely at his mercy.

Completely his.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, his voice slow, measured, but dripping with hunger. His knuckles skimmed along your inner thigh, grazing just close enough to where you needed him—but never quite there. Just teasing. Just watching.

And the camera?

Still rolling.

Still capturing every little gasp, every tremor, every desperate little attempt to chase the pleasure he was holding just out of reach.

The red light blinked.

Recording.

His smirk deepened.

“Such a pretty mess, angel.” His voice was low, approving, hypnotic.

You whimpered, hips twitching, but the restraints left you helpless—spread wide, open, exposed, your body reacting instinctively to the overstimulation.

But Harry?

Harry was calm.

Patient.

He sat back, admiring his work—admiring you—as if he had all the time in the world.

And then, finally—finally—

His fingers traced over your panties.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips, your entire body jolting at the sudden touch. Even through the soaked lace, the warmth of his fingertips sent electricity crackling through your veins.

Harry hummed, pleased.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” His fingers pressed lightly, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the fabric. “Been like this all day, haven’t you?”

You nodded frantically, swallowing back a sob. “Y-Yes.”

He chuckled, dark and satisfied, rubbing just a little harder.

“Good girl.”

Your thighs quivered, muscles tensing, your wrists tugging at the restraints again. Every little movement sent shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through your body.

And then—

He ripped your panties.

A sharp tear, the lace splitting effortlessly beneath his fingers. The fabric vanished in an instant, and suddenly, there was nothing between you and him.

Nothing stopping him from touching you—truly touching you.

And he did.

Slow. Gentle at first. Just his fingertips, gliding over your drenched folds, exploring.

Spreading you open.

His thumb circled your clit, barely any pressure at all—but after everything? After the teasing, the buildup, the vibrations inside you?

It was too much.

A strangled, helpless sob ripped from your throat, your back arching clean off the mattress.

Harry’s breath caught.

He groaned—actually groaned—watching you break for him.

“Fuck. That sensitive, angel?” His tone was teasing, but there was something else there. Something hungry.

He dragged his fingers through your slick, slow, deliberate.

“Bet you could come just from this.” His voice was silk and sin, completely entranced by the way your body shuddered, twitched, begged.

Your head jerked frantically, desperate, pleading, already teetering on the edge.

“P-Please—”

But before you could even finish the sentence—

He slid two fingers inside you.

Your vision blurred.

The stretch—the depth—the angle—all of it was perfect.

The moment he curled his fingers, you screamed.

The sound punched out of your lungs, raw and wrecked, as he pressed against that perfect, devastating spot.

Harry cursed under his breath, watching every second of it.

The way your body clenched around his fingers, the way you writhed against the restraints, the way your chest heaved, nipples peaked and sensitive beneath the cool air—

Every. Little. Detail.

Captured.

The red light blinking.

Recording.

He moved faster, fingers stroking deep, precise, thumb circling your clit in tight, merciless patterns.

“Come for me,” he growled.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

And you had no choice.

The pleasure slammed into you like a tidal wave, tearing through every nerve ending in your body. You came with a sob, a scream, a desperate, shattered cry, your body convulsing, legs shaking, clenching so hard around his fingers it was almost unbearable.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept fucking you through it, fingers relentless, dragging out every last tremor, milking every last drop of pleasure until you were shaking, sobbing, gasping for air.

And only then—

Only then—

Did he finally slow.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your wrists trembling against the silk. Your whole body felt like static—shattered, floating, buzzing.

And Harry?

Harry was grinning.

He kissed your knee, slow and lazy, as he finally pulled his fingers out of you.

“Such a good girl.”

Your lashes fluttered, vision still hazy, but you could barely even register his words. Your body was spent, ruined, completely undone.

But Harry wasn’t finished.

Because then—

He licked his fingers.

Your stomach plummeted.

He hummed low in his throat, savoring, before grinning.

And then—

He reached for the camera.

Still rolling.

Still capturing everything.

And he smirked.

“Hope you didn’t think we were done.”

Your pulse was still pounding in your ears.

Your body was wrecked, trembling, every nerve ending overstimulated and raw from the orgasm that had just torn through you.

And yet—

Harry still wasn’t done.

He loomed over you, tall, broad, completely in control, the red recording light casting a soft glow over the sharp lines of his jaw. His eyes devoured you, taking in every little detail—

The way your chest heaved. The way your thighs still trembled against the sheets. The way your wrists flexed instinctively against the silk, as if you could stop him.

You couldn’t.

And you didn’t want to.

The bed dipped as he climbed over you, the heat of his bare skin searing against yours.

His cock—hard, leaking, thick and aching—dragged against your swollen folds, notching at your entrance, but not pushing in.

Not yet.

You whimpered, body arching instinctively, desperate for him, but he just chuckled—low, deep, indulgent.

“Mm. Look at you.” His voice was warm honey, slow and deliberate, each word sinking deep into your bones. “So pretty when you beg, angel.”

You bit your lip, hips shifting, trying to chase him.

He smirked.

And then—

The first inch.

You gasped, eyes flying open, head tilting back against the pillows.

He was thick, stretching you open so slowly that it almost burned.

But Harry didn’t give you time to adjust.

Didn’t give you time to think.

Because then—

Another inch.

And another.

Until he was halfway inside you, filling you, the intrusion both devastating and perfect.

Your nails dug into your palms, your body trying to take more—needing more.

And then, Harry reached for the camera.

Still recording.

He angled it down, making sure to capture the way your body was taking him, stretching around him.

His cock twitched.

And then, his voice—low, thick, wrecked:

“Fuck, angel. Look at this.”

You tried to, tried to open your eyes, tried to focus, but then—

He pushed all the way in.

The breath punched out of your lungs.

A sharp, desperate gasp—loud, needy, broken—tore from your throat as he bottomed out, pressing so deep you could feel him everywhere.

Your body clenched around him, still too sensitive, still feeling everything from before.

But Harry just groaned, deep and guttural, hips rolling in the slowest, most devastating grind.

Your toes curled, pleasure sparking white-hot under your skin.

You were still tied up. Still helpless. Still completely his.

And now, you were full.

So full you could barely breathe.

Harry pulled out—slow, deliberate—before thrusting back in just as slow, pushing you open all over again.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, watching you, watching the camera, watching everything.

Your body twitched, squirmed, begged.

He just smirked.

And then—

He set the pace.

Deep, slow strokes, hitting every spot just right, dragging against the oversensitive nerves he’d already ruined.

Your mouth fell open, pleasure crashing over you with every slow thrust.

Every inch of him pressing deep, stretching you so perfectly it hurt.

The camera blinked.

Recording.

Capturing the way your body was shuddering, the way your fists clenched the silk, the way your lips trembled around the moans he was pulling from you.

He leaned down, breath hot against your ear.

“Gonna give me another one, angel?” His voice was taunting, dripping with amusement. “Think you can come for me again?”

You shook your head wildly, chest heaving, eyes glazed over.

“I— I can’t—”

Harry just hummed, lips brushing your temple.

“Yes, you can.”

And then—

He fucked you deeper.

Your back arched instantly, wrists straining, a sob ripping through your throat.

The pleasure was blinding, white-hot, unbearable.

“Harry—”

His teeth scraped against your jaw, his voice gravel and smoke.

“Say it.”

Your breath hitched, nails digging into your palms, body trembling from the sheer force of it.

“Y-Yours,” you gasped.

His hips snapped harder, cock grinding against that devastating spot over and over—relentless, unforgiving.

“Again.”

A strangled sob.

“Yours—fuck—I’m yours.”

His groan was low, wrecked, dangerous.

“Good girl.”

And then—

His hand dropped to your clit.

Your vision blurred.

A sharp, overwhelming cry ripped from your chest, your body jerking violently, pleasure spiraling out of control.

You were gonna come. You were gonna fall apart for him again. You couldn’t stop it.

Harry knew it.

He wanted it.

He fucking needed it.

His fingers worked your clit in tight, ruthless circles, hips grinding deep, pushing you further, further, further—

And then he stopped.

Your body shuddered violently, the cruel absence of release ripping through you in an aching pulse. Your wrists strained against the restraints, fingers curling into fists as if grasping at the pleasure he had just stolen from you.

“No—Harry, please—” Your voice was wrecked, trembling, broken.

He only chuckled, slow and dark, as he withdrew from you completely, leaving you empty and throbbing.

“You were about to come, weren’t you?” he murmured, running a single finger up the slick seam of your cunt.

Your thighs twitched, trying to chase the friction, but the spreader bar kept you locked open, helpless. A desperate whimper crawled up your throat.

“Y-yes, I was—”

Harry tsked, tracing idle circles around your entrance, not giving you what you needed. “Shouldn’t have done that, angel. Didn’t I tell you? You come when I say.”

Tears of frustration burned behind your blindfold. “I c-can’t take anymore—”

A sharp slap landed between your legs, a quick sting against your soaked, sensitive cunt. You gasped, jerking at the impact.

“Oh, you can take more,” Harry said smoothly, rubbing the heated skin where he had just spanked you. “And you will.”

Your whole body quivered as he slid his fingers down, pressing them against the plug still nestled inside you. A strangled sound escaped your lips when he pushed it deeper, rocking it in place.

“Wanna stretch you out properly, baby,” he mused, voice thick with something dangerous. “But first—”

You heard the rustling of fabric, the creak of leather as he stood from the bed.

“Up.”

You barely had the strength to move, but you forced yourself to obey, arms shaking as you struggled against the restraints. The blindfold remained in place, leaving you vulnerable as you listened to him unbuckle something, the unmistakable sound of a belt sliding free from its loops.

Then—his hands were on you again, untying your wrists, removing the spreader bar. Your legs instantly trembled, weak from the overwhelming denial.

“Good girl,” Harry murmured, massaging the sore skin where the restraints had been. “Now, come with me.”

He grasped your chin, tilting your face up as he pulled the blindfold away. Your eyes blinked open, pupils blown wide as you took in the wicked smirk on his lips, the lust-darkened green of his gaze.

Before you could catch your breath, he scooped you into his arms. You barely had time to register the movement before he was carrying you out of the bedroom, past the cameras still recording every second.

The bathroom door swung open. Steam clung to the air as he stepped inside, turning the shower knob until hot water cascaded down, filling the room with a thick, humid heat.

Your back hit the cold tile a second later. You barely had time to react before he pressed his palm against your sternum, urging you down, down, down until your knees met the wet floor.

He grabbed the camera from the counter, flipping the screen toward him. The red recording light glowed as he aimed the lens at you, already kneeling and dripping with arousal.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice a slow drag of filth.

Your breath hitched.

You obeyed.

The second your lips parted, Harry’s smirk deepened. He took his time, letting the camera capture every little detail—the way your tongue flicked out, the way your breath came in short, desperate little pants, the way your lips glistened from the mix of your own arousal and the steam filling the room.

“Fuck, angel,” he murmured, palming his cock, stroking himself right in front of you. “You look so pretty like this.”

He tilted the camera slightly, making sure it caught the way you were already trembling, still wrecked from everything he’d put you through in the bedroom. He hadn’t even touched you yet, but your body was still in pieces, still aching, still on the brink.

He tapped the head of his cock against your bottom lip. “Go on. Take it.”

You leaned forward instantly, eager, desperate to please, desperate to have some part of him back inside you. Your tongue darted out, licking the swollen tip before wrapping your lips around it.

The deep groan he let out sent a shiver straight down your spine.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he praised, one hand still holding the camera, the other coming to the back of your head. “Messy, baby. I want to see spit dripping all over that pretty face.”

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him in deeper, bobbing your head as your hands found purchase on his thighs. The hot water pounded against your skin, the steam thick, making the whole room feel like a fever dream.

The camera shifted in his grip, the angle catching the way your lips stretched wide around him, the way your throat fluttered as he pushed deeper.

“Shit—” He exhaled sharply, fingers tightening in your hair. “Keep going, angel. Take it all.”

You did. You let him guide you, let him control the pace, let him push further and further until the tip of his cock nudged against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, eyes watering, but you didn’t stop.

Harry groaned, low and wrecked. “Fuck, you’re so good for me.”

He pulled back, just enough to let you breathe, before pushing in again—this time rougher, faster, with more force. You moaned around him, the vibrations making his hips jerk forward. Spit dribbled down your chin, mixing with the hot water that streamed over your face, but you didn’t care.

“That’s it, baby. Get it all wet for me.”

He adjusted the camera again, angling it downward, capturing the way your lips were red and swollen, the way his cock disappeared between them over and over again. He licked his lips, voice dropping to something even darker.

“Gonna fuck your throat now, angel. You ready for that?”

You could barely nod, but you did, blinking up at him with big, watery eyes.

Harry growled.

“Good girl.”

Then he snapped his hips forward, holding your head in place as he started fucking your mouth.

The force made your throat tighten, made your gag reflex threaten to fight back, but you took it. His cock dragged against the back of your tongue, thick and heavy, every thrust sending you further into the haze of pleasure and submission.

Tears spilled down your cheeks. Drool dripped from the corners of your mouth. Your nails dug into his thighs as he used you, each thrust more relentless than the last.

“Fuck—look at you.” His voice was wrecked, barely holding on. “Gonna come down your throat, angel. Gonna fill you up nice and fucking full.”

You moaned, the sound muffled around him, but he understood.

“Yeah? You want that?”

You nodded desperately, tears spilling freely now.

Harry cursed, deep and rough, before pulling out just enough to let you breathe—then pushing in one last time, shoving himself as deep as you could take.

With a low, guttural groan, he came, hot and thick down your throat.

“Don’t swallow,” he panted, pulling back just enough to see the mess he’d left on your tongue. He angled the camera, zooming in on your wrecked, ruined expression.

“Show the camera, baby.”

You opened your mouth wider, letting him see everything—the cum pooling on your tongue, the spit clinging to your lips, the way you were completely, utterly wrecked for him.

Harry groaned. “Fuck.”

He smirked down at you, lowering the camera slightly, his thumb tracing the edge of your mouth.

“Now swallow.”

You did.

His gaze darkened even more.

“Good girl.”

The moment your lips closed around the last drop, Harry grabbed your chin, tilting your face up toward him. His thumb swiped over the corner of your mouth, catching the mix of spit and cum before pressing it back against your tongue.

“Still so fucking messy, angel,” he murmured, his voice rough, raw. “I should make you lick it off my fingers.”

Your tongue flicked out before he could even tell you to, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking obediently. Harry groaned, his free hand fisting in your damp hair as he tilted the camera, capturing the way you looked up at him—wrecked, desperate, willing.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth with a pop, gripping your jaw tight before hauling you to your feet.

“Not done with you yet,” he muttered, voice dripping with something dangerous. “C’mon.”

He dragged you out of the bathroom, still naked, your legs barely steady after everything he’d put you through. The cameras in the bedroom were still recording, red lights blinking as he led you straight through and into the living room.

The moment your bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor, your stomach flipped.

The windows.

The massive, floor-to-ceiling windows, wide open, stretching across the entire room.

Anyone could see.

Your breath caught as Harry maneuvered you toward the couch, his grip firm, unyielding. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even give you a moment to protest before pushing you down, bending you over the armrest, pressing your chest into the soft fabric.

“Stay.”

A shiver rolled through you.

You didn’t dare move.

Behind you, you heard him shifting, placing the camera down, adjusting it for the best angle. Then—his hands. Rough and warm as they skimmed over your hips, down the backs of your thighs. His palms kneaded your ass before spreading you open, exposing every inch of you to both him and the camera.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you.”

Heat flooded your body. You squirmed under his touch, your thighs already sticky, already aching.

He didn’t like that.

His palm cracked against your ass, sharp and sudden.

You gasped, jolting forward.

“Be still,” he ordered. “Wanna make sure the camera gets a good look.”

You bit your lip, your body thrumming with anticipation as his fingers slid between your legs, teasing, testing. You were still soaked—already wrecked from the way he’d used you in the bedroom, the bathroom, every fucking room he wanted.

And yet, you still wanted more.

He chuckled darkly.

“So fucking needy,” he murmured, rubbing slow circles against your clit before pulling away.

You whined softly.

“Patience, angel,” he said, his tone taunting.

He reached for something—a bottle of lube, cold as he drizzled it between your cheeks. His fingers smoothed it over your skin, teasing your hole, making you twitch beneath him.

“One day,” he murmured, leaning in, voice just for you. “One day, baby, I’m gonna fuck you here too. Gonna stretch you out nice and slow.”

You whimpered, fingers curling into the couch.

“But not tonight.”

Instead, he pushed inside your pussy in one hard, punishing thrust.

You cried out, your body arching at the overwhelming sensation. He was still thick, still hard, still relentless. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, but he didn’t give you a second to adjust—his hands gripped your hips, holding you still as he set a brutal pace.

The wet sounds of skin against skin filled the room, mixing with your gasps, your whimpers, the deep groans spilling from his lips.

The camera was still recording.

Harry reached for it, lifting it with one hand, angling it down to catch everything—the way he filled you, the way you took him so fucking well, the way your body trembled beneath him.

He smirked, never slowing down.

“Wave, baby,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “Let them see how good you take it.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, a sharp spike of humiliation cutting through the pleasure. You could feel the heat of the camera on you, the weight of his stare, the way he watched you through the lens, utterly transfixed.

Your fingers gripped the couch tighter, your body burning with the mix of overstimulation and the sheer, undeniable thrill of it all.

“Go on,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr. “Be good for me.”

Shame curled in your chest, but the need to obey—to give him exactly what he wanted—was so much stronger.

You lifted one trembling hand from the couch and waved.

Harry groaned. “Fuck, look at you.”

He rewarded you with a brutal thrust, his cock slamming so deep it knocked the breath from your lungs. Your arm dropped, a broken sound slipping from your lips as he kept going, his grip tightening on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin.

The angle was devastating—his cock hitting deep, rubbing against every sensitive spot inside you, his pace merciless. The obscene sound of your slick filled the space, your body taking everything he gave without resistance, already so fucking ruined for him.

The camera was still rolling.

He moved it slightly, shifting to get a better angle, then pressed it close to where your bodies met, capturing the way he disappeared inside you over and over again.

“See that, angel?” he taunted. “See how fucking good you take me?”

You couldn’t even form words, your forehead pressing into the couch, your entire body trembling.

He leaned down, his chest flush against your back, the camera still in his hand. His breath was hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You were made for this,” he whispered. “Made for me.”

Your walls clenched at the words, your body betraying you completely.

Harry groaned, his hips stuttering for just a second before he caught himself, before he pulled back and gave you a particularly sharp thrust—one that had you gasping, your hands gripping the couch for dear life.

His free hand snaked between your legs, finding your clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles.

Your whole body tensed, the pressure inside you coiling tighter, tighter, so close to snapping—

And then he stopped.

You sobbed, your body shaking, your walls fluttering helplessly around nothing as he pulled out of you completely.

You felt him shift behind you, setting the camera back down, letting it capture the way your body trembled, the way your thighs clenched, desperate for more.

Then his hands were on you again, flipping you over, pressing your back against the couch cushions. His weight caged you in, his gaze dark, predatory.

“Not done with you yet, angel,” he murmured, dragging his thumb across your swollen lips, watching the way you panted beneath him.

The camera was still rolling.

His hand slipped between your legs again, teasing your slick entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your overstimulated clit just to watch you squirm.

“You want more?” he asked, voice rough, teasing.

You nodded frantically, too wrecked to form words.

He smirked.

“Then get on the counter.”

Your legs barely worked as you scrambled up, body still trembling, overstimulated and desperate as you obeyed his command. The moment your feet hit the floor, Harry grabbed you by the waist, guiding you toward the kitchen with effortless control.

The counter was cold against your burning skin as he lifted you onto it, positioning you exactly where he wanted. Your thighs fell open instinctively, the evidence of everything he’d done to you glistening between them, your body still slick, still aching.

Harry groaned at the sight.

“Fuck, angel. Look at you.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he reached down, grabbing something from the bag on the counter. Your stomach flipped as he held it up.

The large plug.

Your breath hitched, anticipation and overstimulation clashing in a way that made you shiver.

“Color?” he murmured, his voice softer now, more serious.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe past the haze of it all. “Green.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he smirked, trailing his fingers up the inside of your thigh, teasing.

“That’s my girl.”

He kissed you then—hot and deep, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing the air from your lungs. His free hand worked between your legs, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clit, making you whimper against his lips.

Then, without warning, he pressed the plug against your entrance, pushing it in.

Your whole body tensed, a broken gasp spilling from your lips as the stretch burned for just a second—before the pleasure hit. The fullness, the pressure, the way it made everything more intense.

Harry pulled back, watching your face, drinking in every reaction.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured. “Taking it so fucking well.”

The praise sent another shiver down your spine. You clenched around the plug instinctively, and Harry groaned at the sight, gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he taunted. “How much better it makes everything?”

You nodded weakly, barely able to breathe.

But he wasn’t done.

Reaching down, he clicked a button—and vibrations pulsed deep inside you.

A strangled moan tore from your throat, your body jolting against the counter as the sudden stimulation hit all at once.

Harry just chuckled, watching you squirm.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Already falling apart for me.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust, to catch your breath—his hands were already on you again, pushing your legs wider, lining himself up.

“Just one more, angel,” he whispered. “Just one more.”

Then he thrust inside you.

You choked on a gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as the sensations overwhelmed you. The vibrations, the stretch, the way his cock filled you so perfectly—

It was too much.

And yet, not enough.

Harry grunted, his grip on your hips bruising as he set a punishing pace, fucking into you deep, fast, relentless. His free hand shot up to your throat, his fingers curling around the column of your neck, squeezing just enough to make your pulse race.

Your vision blurred at the edges, your body trembling beneath him.

“S’this how you wanted it?” he growled. “Getting fucked so hard you can’t even think?”

Tears streamed down your face, your body wracked with pleasure, every nerve alight, every inch of you burning with overstimulation.

Harry groaned at the sight, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. His pace never faltered, his thrusts deep and brutal, fucking you through it, dragging it out.

Your walls clenched around him, the vibrations pushing you closer, closer—

And then you shattered.

Your entire body convulsed, pleasure slamming into you like a freight train, the orgasm ripping through you so violently you nearly sobbed. Your nails raked down his back, your thighs squeezing tight around his hips as he fucked you through it, chasing his own release.

Harry cursed under his breath, his movements growing erratic, rougher. He pulled out at the last second, groaning as he spilled across your stomach, his chest heaving, his body tense.

For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was your ragged breathing.

Then, slowly, Harry reached for the camera—lifting it, angling it down, capturing the absolute wreckage of you.

“Fuck,” he murmured, tracing a hand down your trembling thigh. “You look so pretty like this.”

The camera clicked off.

And then, he lifted you into his arms, carrying you straight back to bed.

The sheets were cool against your overheated skin as Harry laid you down, his grip still firm but gentle. Your body felt weightless, trembling, drained from everything he had put you through—but he wasn’t finished.

Not yet.

He reached for a towel, wiping the mess from your stomach, his touch softer now, deliberate, taking his time as he cleaned you up. You shivered under his hands, your body still sensitive, overstimulated beyond belief.

Harry hummed, low and satisfied. “You did so fucking good for me, angel.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he brushed damp hair from your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shift in him was stark, a complete contrast from the dominant force he had been just minutes ago. Now, he was patient. Tender.

He grabbed a water bottle from the nightstand, twisting the cap off before bringing it to your lips. “Drink.”

You obeyed, swallowing the cool liquid, letting it soothe your raw throat. Harry watched you carefully, thumb stroking over your jaw.

“There you go,” he murmured. “That’s my good girl.”

Your heart squeezed at the praise, warmth curling in your chest. Even now, with your limbs weak and body wrecked, you craved it.

Harry must have seen it on your face, because he smirked, setting the bottle aside before slipping into bed beside you. His arm curled around your waist, pulling you in, pressing you flush against him.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, running his palm up and down your back, soothing, grounding.

You sighed into the touch, relaxing against him, sinking into his warmth.

His lips ghosted along your shoulder, pressing soft kisses up your neck, along your jaw. He traced every mark he had left on you, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sensitive skin.

A deep, contented sound rumbled from his chest as he held you close, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along your hip. “Proud of you, angel. Took everything so well for me.”

A sleepy hum slipped past your lips. You barely had the energy to respond, too far gone, your body melting into his.

Harry chuckled, the sound low and raspy.

Then, you felt it—his fingers reaching for the remote, grabbing it from the nightstand.

A moment later, the TV flickered to life.

Your stomach flipped.

You didn’t need to look to know what he was playing.

Heat crept up your neck as the sounds of your own moans filled the room, the unmistakable echo of skin on skin, the filthy words he had murmured against your lips now playing back in crisp, high-definition audio.

Your breath hitched.

Harry smirked, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, hungry, still burning despite everything.

“Look at you,” he murmured, watching the replay, his hand trailing down, fingertips ghosting over your still-sensitive core. “So fucking wrecked. So perfect.”

Your cheeks burned, embarrassment and arousal clashing, twisting deep in your stomach.

Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re keeping all of this,” he whispered against your skin. “Our own little collection.”

You barely had the strength to respond, your body too heavy, your brain too foggy.

But just before sleep claimed you, you heard him murmur one last thing—

“Hope you know… there’s going to be a part three.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[chrrific]

綺麗 IT’S A BAD IDEA, RIGHT? 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 & 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

slytherin! 엔하이픈 x 𝑓. gryffindor! reader wc 2.005k ─── fluff forbidden relationship au est. relationships l’avis kissing pda pining nicknames like ‘doll’ & ‘pretty’

for : love 💌 mick’s coming back from the dead ?? this one’s for my love ai ( @jjennuine ) >< she’s mine y’all !!!! stay away 😾😾 and go support our collaboration series — lovestruck ! — @lovestruck-show-official

read more fleur

LEE HEESEUNG forbidden relationship

“y/n?”

a whisper echoed through the silent astronomy tower, the only source of light being the moon glimmering through the small window and the stars glimmering above, clearly visible through the enchanted ceiling; it wasn’t enough for heeseung’s eyes to adjust to the dark.

you tiptoed out from your hiding place, and gave him a silent wave and a smile. his lips instantly tugged up sat the sight of you, and he stepped forward, arms finding their home on the nape of your waist as he looked at you.

the look in his eyes was lovesick; wistful.

he hoped and dreamed so hard of the day when the two of you wouldn’t have to hide your relationship, and when you wouldnt have to meet in secret at night.

because this wasn’t right. slytherins and gryffindors just didn’t belong together.

the way you looked in the moonlight was breathtaking, so much so that he swears you’d put amortentia in his porridge that morning. but no, he knew you didn’t. that’s just how much he was in love with you.

PARK JONGSEONG hot boy x unnoticed

jay was the it guy of your year. girls would probably fall at his feet even if he didn’t ask them to. and for some, totally random, unknown reason, it made you almost jealous.

you could almost feel your gaze hardening whenever you saw him with another girl; a girl thats not you. I mean, it’s not like you like-liked him, right? he’s just hot. that’s all it should be, and that’s all it can.

but is that really true?

with the way he’s been shamelessly staring you down from the other end of mcgonnagal’s classroom, you’re sure he can hear your heart pounding from where he’s sat, arms crossed against his chest and gaze set on you in a way that made your breath hitch.

your gaze locked with his, the confidence in his eyes almost intoxicating.

you sighed in relief as the bell rang, snapping him out of your little staring competition before he shoved his stuff into his bag and got off his chair, almost lazily.

just as you were about to walk out of the classroom, a hand wrapping around your wrist stopped you from moving ahead.

“what class do you have next, pretty?”

needless to say, you could feel the ghosts of his fingers around your wrist the entire week.

SIM JAEYUN cocky rival

“good morning, class. today, we are going to be making the love potion known as ‘amortentia’. anyone who knows what it is?”

snape’s cold voice rang around the room, the sound monotonous. everyone knew — of course they did, they were just too scared to answer. there were only two people who were willing enough to answer his question; you and jake sim.

“ah, l/n, yes. so tell me, what is amortentia?” snape asked, shooting jake a glance from rhe corner of his eyes, as if to get him to shut up; like he wanted to see you fail, like he thought all gryffindors did.

you cleared your throat, making sure your voice was loud and clear, wanting your stone-minded, biased professor to see you shine. “amortentia is the most powerful love potion, that is characterised by its—”

you were cut off by another voice, that came from behind you.

“the scent. it is multifaceted, with the scent varying with different people”

a slight frown found its home on your lips, annoyed that jake just had to cut you off in between. “yes, professor. it’s scent.” you muttered, giving jake a glare.

“alright, since the two of you seem to know a lot about the topic, you two will be partners for the entirety of this class.”

you almost wanted to combust right then and there, from those words. why him? why not karina, or jungwon — your friends. at this point, you’d even go to the length of partnering with pansy parkinson, the slytherin girl who acts like she owns the world.

after a reluctant sigh, you shifted your things so jake could move next to you.

as you began to make the potion together, you found yourself struggling with one thing, just one; measuring the pearl dust.

it was so iridescent and was flying all over your workstation, creating a sheen layer that shone even in the dimly lit dungeon.

“need some help, doll?”

PARK SUNGHOON shy x tease

the smell of books overtook your senses as you stepped into the large library, overflowing with shelves upon shelves.

the library was surprisingly full today, and from what your eyes could catch, there was only one seat left; a seat next to a slytherin.

he was focused on whatever he was reading, and it was honestly kinda cute to you. you caught yourself staring for a moment before you got yourself out of it, reprimanding yourself inwardly for a second, before you gathered the courage to go talk to him.

“hey,” your voice rang through the somewhat silent library, even though it was relatively soft. “can i sit here?”

his eyes shifted from his book to you, before he gave a small nod.

you put your bag at the bottom of the chair, and sat down on the seat, not paying much heed to the discomfort the hard cushion underneath brought.

you pulled out a thick book on transfiguration out, starting to read it. it wasn’t like you really liked the subject like rei did, but you had to; you were very close to failing.

as you were starting to get into the book, you felt a pair of eyes on you. you glanced up, only to see said boy sitting next to you being the one looking.

he quickly looked away, pale skin undeniably flushed, staring at the table as if it was an art piece in a museum.

you smirked inwardly, before looking back at your book. maybe sitting next to a slytherin wasnt so bad after all.

KIM SUNOO sunshine x grumpy

sunoo; he just had a way with his persona. that is, he knew exactly how to trick anyone into doing absolutely anything for him, without them realising what trap they fell into.

as you tried to take a step into flitwick’s charms lesson, another person entering made you stop. you glanced behind your shoulder to see who it was, and it was sunoo — cheery smiles and all.

“go ahead,” you murmured, stepping back to let him go ahead. you were met with a too bright ‘thank you!’ before you stepped in yourself.

your eyes scanned the room, only to find that your usual seat at the back was taken already, and the last seat remaining was the one next to him. bracing yourself for the cheery sunshine-ball that sunoo was, you took a step to the desk, plopping down on the seat with your facical expression screaming uninterested.

the class began, with sunoo happily answering flitwick’s questions and taking his notes; meanwhile, you sat, barely able to keep yourself awake because of the all-nighter-study-session you did the previous night.

he shot you a glance from rhe corner of his eyes, his bangs getting in the way of his view ever so slightly. without thinking, he picked up a scrap piece of parchment, scrawling something on it in his overly near handwriting.

it was only because of the parchment being cautiously slid to you that you didn’t nod off, but the words were a bit blurry due to lack of sleep as you tried to read. yet, the second you read it, your brain immediately snapped to its senses.

“hey, you look tired. have you been sleeping well?”

YANG JUNGWON prefect x troublemaker

“another time?” his groan of frustration echoed off the walls, his fingers running through his hair. how many more pranks could you pull? well, considering your new attack, the number of times you could go again would be innumerable.

there you stood in front of his desk, slightly sheepish, but your signature smirk was still on — the one that irked him oh, so much.

“you see, your little warnings really won’t do much. in any case, they make me want to do it more.” the confidence in your tone got under his skin, causing him to look up at you with a glare, as firm as he could muster.

you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped your lips at his attempt to look intimidating, and for some odd reason, it made your heart stop slightly.

you paused, cockiness wavering for just a few seconds, before it came back stronger. “you do know that look it just making it easier to laugh at you, right?” you teased through a chortle, but the way your eyes softened a minuscule amount didn’t go unnoticed by jungwon.

and for a second, it all stopped.

the room went silent, the spirit of your laughter dying down until all that was left was a tension filled with unspoken emotion.

it only lasted a couple moments, though, before he locked back in and looked at you again, voice firm but with a hint of something else lingering at the back.

“just.. keep yourself out of trouble for a bit, yeah? you don’t wanna get yourself suspended before the school year ends.”

NISHIMURA RIKI quidditch rivals

the stakes were high, as the first slytherin vs. gryffindor quidditch match was about to begin.

niki — being the slytherin captain, and you, the gryffindor captain — had always had some sort of issue with you simply existing.

he always found ways to talk to you, always teasing and making fun of you until you’d snap and do something about it.

it just annoyed you so much; the ever-cocky smirk, the smugness layering onto his words, and the way his confident aura that made your heart stutter slightly in your chest each time you spared him a glance.

you couldn’t like him: it’s not right. you’re quidditch rivals from two different houses, and that’s all it would ever be.

but the way his gaze would trail towards you during matches, in the great hall, in the middle of classes, it all made you second guess everything you knew about him and how you felt.

the air was filled with a static kind of energy as the two teams hopped onto their broomsticks, shooting upwards into the sky as madam hooch blew her whistle.

the snitch was set free, and both your and niki’s eyes immediately locked for a moment, a hint of challenge and something else lurking beneath.

as the game went on, slytherin was winning by 130 points, and it felt like continuing to play was a lost cause. the only way you could win was if you were able to spot the sneaky little snitch.

it was all so sudden; you saw the snitch and so did he, and both of you dive bombed towards it. the next thing you knew, you were in the hospital wing with a broken arm and a pounding headache.

apparently, you and niki had hit each other in your speed, and you fell off your broom while he caught onto his somehow.

the second your eyes opened, you were met with the sight of two things; an overly bright light above your head and an apologetic niki sitting on the visitors chair next to your bed.

“hey, you feeling okay? i am so sorry about what happened.” the second he noticed you look up, trying to sit up with a disoriented and confused expression, the guilt crept back in even stronger, and he just word-vomited whatever came to mind: to hell with the so called ‘I hate you’ tag.

“o-oh, it’s fine. ill be alright.” you said, trying to ignore the fact that it felt like someone drove a drill through your skull.

yet, the guilt didn’t leave him at all.

in fact, it came back stronger, along with a weird thump in his heart.

it was probably today’s breakfast, right?

PERMANENT TAGLIST ✉️ 𐔌 ﹒ @liya07v @strvvy-anniee @flufflights @eunandonly @hannamoon143 @irasvr @ateez-atiny380 @amoressb @ikeulove @gudkc @mrsjohnnysuh @sol3chu @nerdywitchcrown @sol3chu @puma-riki @xeee334 @suhiiiies-blog @haerinheartss @layzfy @manaah02 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @enoclockz

likes + reblogs are appreciated !!

[deadrobinthoughts]

†  marry me : various.

♦ request: drafted request ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: none

𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 —

The morning is soft and golden, a lazy warmth curling between you like something that belongs here. The city hums beyond the window, the muffled sounds of Gotham waking, but neither of you are in a hurry to move. Dick is half-asleep, one arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek a quiet comfort. His fingers skim slow, absentminded circles against your back, the kind of casual, easy touch that only comes from years of knowing someone by heart.

You’re not thinking when you say it. It isn’t planned, isn’t something heavy or serious, just a thought spoken aloud in the quiet. "We should get married."

For a moment, he doesn’t react. There’s a slight hitch in his breathing, a fraction of stillness in the way his hand stills against you. And then, carefully, deliberately, he opens his eyes. They are softer in the morning, deep blue and a little dazed from sleep, but there’s something else there now, something awake, something searching.

"You think so?" His voice is quiet, hoarse from sleep, but not teasing.

You shift slightly, tilting your head to look at him properly, brushing the edge of his jaw with your fingertips. "Yeah," you murmur. "It just makes sense, doesn’t it?"

Something in his expression cracks. Because it does. Because of course it does. Because there is no version of his future where you are not in it, no reality he would ever want where you are not the person he wakes up beside.

For all his life, Dick has been good at keeping people at arm’s length, at making things light and easy, never too serious. But this? This is real. And he wants it. He has always wanted it. And now, you’re giving it to him like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 —

The night is still clinging to him - bruised knuckles, adrenaline still lingering in his bloodstream, the sharp scent of leather and gunpowder thick in the air. He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, methodically wrapping a fresh bandage around his wrist, the movements sharp and precise, muscle memory at this point. He doesn’t look up when you step in, doesn’t acknowledge your presence, but he doesn’t have to. He knows you’re there.

You kneel in front of him, settle between his legs with careful ease, reaching for his hands before he can pull them away. Your fingers ghost over raw skin, over the places that have been broken and healed more times than you can count. He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t flinch, but you can feel the tension in him, coiled tight beneath the surface.

"If I ask, will you run?" Your voice is quiet, but there is no hesitation in it.

Jason stills.

His breath goes uneven, his pulse kicking sharp beneath your fingertips, but he doesn’t move. His eyes flicker over your face, searching for something - for the joke, for the out, for a reason to pretend that this is not what it is.

"You don’t want that," he says finally, his voice rough, something uneven in the way it lands between you. "Not with me."

You tilt your head, your grip on his hands tightening just slightly. "Says who?"

He exhales, slow and sharp, fingers twitching around yours. "Says me."

You let the silence settle, let him sit in it, feel it, face it. And then, finally, you murmur, "I know it's a surprise, but you aren't always right."

For a moment, Jason doesn’t know what to do with that. Doesn’t know how to hold it, how to believe it. But you don’t let go. And he realizes, maybe for the first time, that you aren’t asking him to prove himself.

You’re just asking him to stay.

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 —

The loft is dim, the only light coming from the pale glow of Tim’s monitors, the familiar hum of a dozen open tabs filling the silence. He’s at his desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, head buried in another night of chasing something only he can see. You’re curled up on the couch, watching him in quiet amusement, because for all his brilliance, Tim Drake is painfully oblivious to his own needs.

So you say it.

Not seriously. Not carefully. Just casually, tossed out like an afterthought, meant to be nothing.

"We should get married."

Tim freezes.

Completely, utterly freezes.

You glance up from your phone, biting back a laugh at the way he’s suddenly locked in place, fingers hovering mid-typing, his entire system short-circuiting before your eyes.

"Wait, what?" His voice is flat, stunned, like he just took psychic damage.

"You should have seen your face just now." You grin, stretching lazily. "Classic."

For a long moment, he says nothing. Just stares at you, mouth slightly open, like he’s trying to piece together whether this is real or a glitch in the matrix.

And then -

"Do you mean it?"

And oh.

Because now, he’s thinking about it. Now he’s looking at you like he’s considering it. Like it’s something he could have. Something he wants.

And suddenly, maybe you do mean it.

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

You say it to mess with him.

Because Damian is always composed, always measured, always so damn serious. You love to push him, to test the boundaries of that unreadable mask, to see how much he will let you get away with.

So you wait for a moment when he’s distracted—seated at his desk, sketching in his notebook, utterly unaware of you watching him.

"We should get married."

There is a pause.

And then - slowly, carefully - he sets the pencil down.

When he turns to face you, his green eyes are quiet, unreadable.

"I do not jest about such things."

And oh.

Because you were joking.

But he isn’t.

Damian Wayne does not love lightly. He does not give what he is not willing to keep. And now, you have said something that cannot be undone.

Because if you mean this - if you are asking for this - then you are asking for something he will give you completely.

And suddenly-

Maybe you do mean it.

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

It isn’t meant to be a heavy moment. It isn’t planned, isn’t some great declaration, isn’t anything more than an absentminded thought spoken aloud as you lean against the kitchen counter, sipping your coffee in the dim light of early morning.

"You should marry me."

Your voice is light, teasing, barely breaking the quiet between you. It isn’t meant to change anything.

But Bruce stops.

He was flipping through the morning paper, reading one of the latest Gotham articles, already half-distracted by the weight of the day ahead. But now, he isn’t turning the page.

His grip on the paper tightens slightly, jaw locking, but he doesn’t move.

"What did you just say?"

His voice is low, measured, as if he’s giving you a chance to take it back. As if he’s not sure if he heard you right, or if he’s already started imagining what it would be like if you meant it.

You blink at him, sipping your coffee. "I said.. you should marry me."

Silence.

And now he’s looking at you.

Not a passing glance. Not something brief. A full, steady gaze, like you just spoke something into existence that he cannot ignore.

Because Bruce Wayne does not let himself want.

Not like this.

Not out loud.

And now, you’ve given him something to want.

And if you don’t take it back - he will never let you go.

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧 —

Cass has always been careful with words.

Not because she doesn’t feel them - but because she feels too much.

And so, when you say it, when you look at her like it’s the simplest thing in the world, she doesn’t know what to do with it.

"We should get married."

You say it softly, the weight of it sinking between you as you sit together on the rooftop, watching the lights of Gotham flicker below. The wind moves through her hair, strands catching the glow of the neon skyline, and for a long moment, she doesn’t speak.

She just watches you.

Not with shock. Not with hesitation. With something deep and unreadable.

"Forever?"

It isn’t a rejection.

It isn’t fear.

It is a question.

Because Cassandra Cain knows how to be a weapon, how to be a shadow, how to exist in the spaces between people without ever truly belonging.

But she does not know how to be someone’s forever.

And yet - you are offering it to her now.

And if you mean it-

Then maybe she can learn.

𝐃𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 —

You don’t plan it.

You don’t think before you say it.

It’s late, too late, and you’ve both been running on fumes, coming back from a long night in the Narrows, the weight of exhaustion settling into your bones. Duke is sitting on the fire escape outside his apartment, one foot resting against the metal railing, head tilted back against the brick wall, eyes closed but not asleep.

And you say it before you can stop yourself.

"We should totally get married."

Duke snorts.

Not because he doesn’t care, not because he’s laughing at you, but because he thinks you’re joking.

And then - he realizes you aren’t.

He opens his eyes, head turning slightly, gaze sharp beneath the glow of the streetlights.

"Are you serious?"

The way he says it - it’s not doubtful. Not hesitant. Just quiet, cautious, like he doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

Because Duke Thomas has never been the guy people stay for.

Has never been the person someone chooses in the end.

But now, you are looking at him like he is something worth choosing.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

Because if you’re serious - if you really mean it - then he’s already yours.

𝐑𝐨𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐫 — ( bonus )

It happens like a punch to the gut.

Not a soft moment. Not a sweet, dreamy confession. Not a candlelit dinner with an open velvet box.

It happens because Roy Harper doesn’t know how to accept good things without bracing for the pain that comes after.

It happens because you don’t know how to love him halfway.

"We should get married."

You don’t say it softly. You don’t hesitate, don’t cushion the words with humor or give him an easy way out. You just say it, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like it’s obvious, like it’s already been decided and the only thing left is for him to realize it.

And Roy-

Roy doesn’t know how to breathe.

You had been watching him for a while, watching the way he kept his distance without actually leaving, watching the way he smiled like it didn’t hurt, watching the way he always stood on the edge of something without ever stepping forward.

Because Roy Harper does not let himself want things.

Not things like this.

Not things that last.

Not when everything he has ever held onto has slipped through his fingers, burned to ash, or walked away before he could even start to hope.

But now - you are here.

And you are not leaving.

And now, you have said something he doesn’t know how to hold.

So he does what he always does.

He laughs.

A short, sharp breath, more exhale than amusement, because that’s the only way he knows how to deal with things that make his chest ache. He shakes his head, leans back against the kitchen counter, tries to play it off the way he plays off everything that matters too much.

"You know, most people ease into this kind of thing," he says, smirking like it doesn’t hurt, like it doesn’t feel like you just took a knife and pressed it gently against his ribs. "What, no romantic speech? No getting down on one knee?"

But you don’t let him run.

You step closer.

And Roy - Roy flinches. Not physically, not in a way that anyone else would notice, but inside, deep in his ribs, in the part of himself that always expects love to come with conditions.

"Roy." Your voice is steady, grounding. "You know I don’t need all that."

And that’s the worst part.

Because you don’t.

Because you have never asked him to be anything other than what he is.

Because you don’t want the cleaned-up version of him.

Because you want him, just as he is.

And that terrifies him.

Because if you really mean it - if you really want this — then that means you think he’s someone worth staying for.

And Roy Harper has never been someone people stay for.

His mouth feels dry.

His fingers twitch at his sides, his whole body locked in that instinctual urge to move, to step back, to put space between himself and whatever this is before it can sink too deep.

But he doesn’t.

Not this time.

Because you are still looking at him like this isn’t a mistake.

And for the first time in his life - he lets himself think about it.

Not the loss.

Not the inevitable heartbreak he always expects.

Not the way people always leave.

Just this.

Just you.

And maybe - just maybe - that’s enough.

[badhee]

𝑼𝑵𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑲𝑨𝑩𝑳𝑬 ⋅˚₊ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

pairing: musician bf!heeseung x skater gf!reader ft. jake & sunoo genre/tags: smut, fluff, some angst, takes place in the year ‘08, scenecore aesthetic, forbidden relationship, references to old media n other stuff, mentions of weed, way too much dialogue, very cringey texting (it’s fitting for that time period tho lol), y/n has a toxic home life, heeseung and y/n get into an argument but gets resolved quickly, mentions of crying, switch!hee (he do be switchin’), fingering, oral (m. rec), semi-public sex, piv, unprotected sex, creampie words: 7k+

[ note. ] — this is another old fic of mines from my old blog that i wrote over a year ago (05/30/23), i felt nostalgic reading this again so i wanted to share it on my page!

No one likes being given lectures or told they can’t do something. If anything— it only drives the person to want to do it more. Unlucky for you, you were about to receive yet another antagonizing speech as soon as you arrive back home. It’s past 10 o’clock and way beyond dark, you should’ve been home a good hour ago. This was all Jake and Sunoo’s fault though; they were the ones who kept distracting you from keeping track of time.

They wouldn’t stop bombarding you with messages on MySpace. Spamming your inbox asking you to meet them at the mall after classes. Sunoo really wanted to get a Skelanimal hoodie from Hot Topic and Jake wanted to look around Spencer’s. You only bought a fuzzy Domo-Kun keychain for your bag. The only goal you had was to save as much money as possible in hopes of being able to eventually move out.

You had overbearing and controlling parents, they were strict and had extreme core values for the household. It was nearly impossible to live up to their excessively high standards so you started going against them. Self-expression was not something they celebrated, instead they treated it with disdain. They thought your dyed hair, dark clothes, and excessive use of eyeliner was “too eccentric” and the work of the “devil”. It also didn’t help that they absolutely hated all your friends, including your boyfriend, Heeseung.

On a random night, you had him over while you thought everyone was gone for a while. Turns out they arrived back earlier than expected and ended up catching you and Heeseung red handed, making out in your bed. Your parents were completely mortified to see a boy covered head to toe in tattoos and piercings with their daughter. Not exactly the ideal man they had in mind for you. It was hell to pay for you after that, they never wanted you seeing him again. Threat after threat to kick you out all because they believe he was nothing but a bad influence on you.

Will you ever listen though? Of course not, you love him like crazy. There was nothing getting in your way from seeing him. You’re an adult and can make your own logical decisions, they still treated you like a baby which infuriated you. Naturally your only choice now was to date in secrecy, sneaking out the house so you can go hang out at his place. You had a solid routine at this point— just wait until everyone was asleep and sneak out through the window. Your house was only one level so ideally it worked out perfect. Once you got out successfully, Heeseung would pick you up and just drive around for a bit sometimes. Today would be no different, you were on your way to sneak out again.

You skated all the way back home from the mall since neither Jake or Sunoo had a car. Listening to Bring Me The Horizon on your iPod while sipping on a slushy from 7-Eleven, one more block until you got home. You pivot your board to the side entering your driveway; feeling that pit in your stomach knowing what’s about to erupt. You lift your board up from the ground and walk inside the house with it.

“Where the fuck have you been y/n?! It’s 10:45 pm on a school night! You better not have been hanging out with those damn junkies again!” Your mom practically screams in your face the minute you walk through the door.

“I was just at the skatepark after class, leave me alone!” You snap back at her viciously, “and for the last time, they’re not fucking junkies they’re my friends!”

Now seeing her face visibly redden with anger, she points her finger at you harshly. “Who the hell are you talking to like that? I’m the one who runs shit around here, not you. Speak to me like that again and you’re going to wish you’ve never been born, got it?”

You really couldn’t help but laugh in her face, you’ve heard it all at this point.

“That’s hilarious, you make it seem like even I asked to be brought into this shitty world to begin with!” You shove her out the way, walk to your room and block out the rest of her nonsensical hollering.

Finally you’re able to text Heeseung in peace. Your heart was still pounding from that whole encounter. You don’t stand up to your mom often enough, praying to God that she doesn’t end up kicking you out right this instant. Pulling out your BlackBerry phone with a sliding keyboard, you text your boyfriend after hours of not talking.

Seungieeee, where r u ? xc

He replies to your message almost instantly,

@ Jake’s. can i scoop?

Yes pls get meee, my mom’s being an annoying cunt again!!

Not again… ok will be there in 10. cul8r

Also Jake is having horror movie night he says i have to come -_-

Tell him we MUST watch bride of chucky or else i’ll fuck him up >:[

I gotchu babe lmaoo :p

You quickly change into different clothes and reapply your smeared eyeliner from earlier. It was safe to say you needed to pack a few things in your bag incase of having to stay over; who knows how tonight might ensue. Since it became frigid outside you put on your favorite hoodie which was previously Heeseung’s. You’ve grown a lot of attachment to it over time. The most sickening part of it was that even after months of wearing it you still never washed it, wanting to keep the scent of him lingering on it for as long as you could. The smell of him brought you a sense of comfort, whenever you’d come home and your mom starts cursing at you you’d just curl up in bed cuddling with Heeseung’s hoodie.

A loud thump clamoring against your window startles you. You come closer in it’s direction to slowly walk up and see what the commotion was.

*Thump*

There it goes again.

You froze in confusion, feeling a bit worried now. Could it just be the wind?

You swing open the curtain to reveal your boyfriend, standing outside the window actively throwing rocks to get your attention. You couldn’t believe he’d attempt something so bold like this, your parents weren’t asleep and could catch you at any minute. Prying open the window so you can finally talk, you tell him to back away and stop causing a ruckus.

“Are you fucking crazy? My mom’s in the living room, quit making all that damn noise!”

“I got tired of waiting, just wanted to see you already!” He whines, anxiously waiting for you the whole time.

He literally just saw you yesterday but is so obsessed that he could never get sick of being around you.

“Gimme one sec.” You pause to grab all your stuff and jump out the window to go meet him.

Almost lost your balance in the process but thankfully Heeseung swooped in to keep you stable. You landed backwards into his chest and felt the warmth of his body against you. Your boyfriend was too dreamy, every part of him made your kitty throb. He was more than just a pretty face though, he was a hard-working musician too. He played the guitar, drums, and could sing beautifully. He was the true definition of a one man show, his real passion was to become a singer and songwriter.

You fully supported him in anything in he does, he uploaded most of his music on MySpace and got thousands of interactions instantly. His songs would continue to grow more popular online and he got more gigs to perform at shows. You were beyond ecstatic for him but also worried about it all in hindsight. The more famous he gets the less quality time he’ll be able to spend with you. You know this sounds really selfish but it always crosses your mind. The fear of losing him was something you just couldn’t fathom or grasp right now.

“Ugh, I’ve missed you so so much my pretty baby.” Heeseung didn’t waste a single minute to smother you in the car. His lips plastered all over your face, always doing the absolute most when showing his affection towards you.

“Missed— you too— babe!” You muffle in between kisses, your heart was overwhelmed with joy.

He looked exceptionally good today too, then again he always does. Bright orange strands hid the side of his face, the semi-oversized black t-shirt he wore clung to his body perfectly, and the snake bites and eyebrow piercing on him was to die for.

“Oh! You like my new piercing I got?” Heeseung announces after pulling away.

He proceeds to open his mouth and stick his tongue out, revealing a shiny silver ball smack dab in the middle. You weren’t shocked that he’d consider another piercing, you’re just surprised by the placement.

“Whoa, your tongue!” You gasp, pointing at it in amusement, “looks so cool, did that hurt?!”

“Not really, and thanks. Got it to please you better babe.” He knew he was causing to get all flustered by this.

“Y-you already please me enough Hee.” It was hard to even get a sentence out without tripping over words.

“I know that! But it can always be improved, right?”

There was nothing he really needed to improve but he found new ways to do it anyway. You really just loved him for who he is, all the extra stuff were added bonuses. He was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for in the whole universe.

“Do you want anything while we’re out? I can stop at the store and get that pink Monster drink you like.” He asks tentatively.

You think about it for a second but you just had a slushy from earlier, “I think I’m okay for now, hopefully Jake has some snacks at his crib!”

Heeseung nods, “Oh he def will, the guy smokes more than a damn chimney and gets a crazy case of the munchies.”

The whole ride there you listened to Heeseung’s music on a CD he burned. You were definitely his biggest fan, knowing all the lyrics to every single song because most were written about you. One of his most popular songs was an entire dedication to you, he never mentioned your name in it but every aspect of the song includes a small detail of your relationship. He liked the art of hidden subliminal messages in his music, knowing that only you two can fully understand.

Finally, you get to Jake’s house and are immediately met with gusts of clouds from all the smoke. You spot a blue-haired Jake and red-haired Sunoo who were sitting on the couch smoking a joint and giggling amongst themselves. You weren’t against smoking it just wasn’t your thing since you knew that you’d be in so much trouble if you showed up home high.

“Jakey! Sunny!” Your voice becomes more high-pitched when greeting your friends as you go up to hug them.

“Y/n! It’s always good to see you again.” Jake says, hugging you back.

“Hii y/n, come sit and watch the movie with us!” Sunoo scoots over to make room for you both.

Heeseung was just here so he didn’t feel the need to say hi to them again, instead just sitting down and having you on his lap.

“What’re we watching?” You ask, looking at the TV trying to make out what the movie is. “This doesn’t look like Bride of Chucky to me!”

“Jeepers Creepers 2!” Jake replies, “it’s not as scary as the first one to be honest but it’s still pretty decent. Oh, and I don’t have that one on DVD sorry.”

“Are you serious?! I could’ve went to Blockbuster and rented the damn movie out!” You were a little upset you wouldn’t be able to watch one of your favorites.

“It’s okay y/n, we’ll watch it next time. Also, I thought this movie was pretty scary Jake. I still get nightmares after watching it alone…” Sunoo admits.

“Of course you did, ‘cause you’re a big baby!” Heeseung teases, “and you’re baked off your ass? This is gonna be an interesting time.”

“You should’ve seen him earlier, he wouldn’t stop crying while watching Silent Hill!” Jake adds, pointing over in Sunoo’s direction.

“That never happened fuck off! You go try watching that shit in pitch black at 3 am and see what happens then!” Sunoo huffs, getting fed up with the both of them.

You couldn’t stop laughing at the whole debacle, playing with your boyfriend’s hands between your legs. The whole day went pretty well, you had a blast with Jake and Sunoo at the mall and now you’re reunited with them again and your boyfriend. The only real problem was your home life, but you had an escape so it wasn’t all too bad.

“Do you have any snacks Jake?” You ask, looking over at his kitchen to scan the area.

“Duh! I got chips, pretzels, ice cream, frozen pizzas, dino nuggets, really anything you could think of honestly. We kinda overdid it at Target..” He says, looking over at a guilty Sunoo.

“Hey, it’s better to be overstocked and than under!” Sunoo did make a great point.

You slowly get up from Heeseung’s lap and walk into the kitchen to get some ice cream. Luckily, Sunoo remembered to get your favorite flavor while they were out. You got a giant bowl and scooped piles of ice cream on top, putting chocolate syrup and rainbow sprinkles to finish it off.

“For me? Thanks!” Heeseung reaches his hand out in attempt to snatch the bowl from your hand but you weren’t letting off that easy.

“Not so fast- get your own loser!” Swiping the bowl away and flashing him an evil glare. You did not mess around when it comes to your favorite ice cream.

Sitting back down on the couch again, you finish watching the movie with them.

“Should I get raccoon highlights in my hair y/n? I been thinking about it for a while but I dunno if it’ll suit me,” Sunoo asks next to you.

You nod your head in agreement, “Hell yeah, do it! But you could rock any hairstyle Sunny.”

“Awe, thanks my dear!” He chirps, making a heart with his hands.

“I look good too, right y/n?” Jake chimes in, he’s always wanting to be the center of attention.

“Don’t answer him.” Heeseung butts in the conversation, giving Jake the side eye.

“Oh but it’s okay for her to compliment Sunoo and not me?!” He raises an eyebrow of confusion.

Heeseung shrugs, “That’s because Sunoo is gay, he poses no threat to me.”

“Yeah but he does for me, do you see the way he looks at you sometimes?!” You jokingly reply.

“I’m not gonna steal your girl bro. Besides she’s literally conjoined to you by the hip, I wouldn’t be surprised if both your hearts beat in unison!” You couldn’t stop laughing at Jake’s comments, he could sound so bitter at times.

“They do. We’re the same person actually,” Heeseung leans in to give you a kiss on the cheek. “You’re my little twin, isn’t that right babe?”

“Only if I get to be the evil one!” You combat, giggling at him tickling your tummy.

“Deal.”

“Ugh, I hate ya’ll. Making me feel like a third wheel in my own damn house..” Jake expresses with disgust over the way you’re both all over each other.

“Then get your own fucking girlfriend and stop looking at mine,” Heeseung was now nibbling on your neck, holding you tightly in his embrace.

You were a giggly mess, you made you feel so high when you were with him.

“Or you can get your own room and go fuck there instead of making us suffer watching you both act like sluts!”

Heeseung pauses to think about it for a bit. “Huh, that actually doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea. C’mon babe, let’s go!” He lightly taps your thigh, signaling for you to get up.

“And the only slut in this house is your mom for not swallowing you,” Heeseung claps back one last time before you both dip.

Sunoo burst out laughing hearing that, almost snorting. Jake was pissed but Heeseung ran out the door before he could even get to him.

“You’re a dead man when I see you again!” Jake yells through the door.

“Yeah sure, you’ll forget in 2 seconds from all the weed frying your brain!”

Getting in the car now, he starts driving but you have no idea where he’s even going.

“I hope you were only joking with him because that was a bit much, don’t you think?” Asking him in a way that wouldn’t come off too blunt.

“Are you serious? I’ve known Jake forever, we just joke like that. Besides, he was taking it a bit too far when he was fishing for compliments from my girl.”

You chuckle, of course he would still be stuck on that. He was pretty possessive over you, he would only be okay with you talking that way with Sunoo but all his other friends were off limits. “Ooh, I think someone’s feeling a little jelly!” You tease, poking his face with your index finger.

“Yeah and so what if I am? You gonna sue me? Come and arrest me? Honestly speaking, you’d look really hot in a sexy cop outfit.” He gushes, sneaking glances over at you while driving.

“Is that some weird fantasy of yours? I come in your room one day and handcuff you to the bed?” You couldn’t even say that with a straight face.

“Now that you mention it, I might actually do.. Can we try that one day?”

“Sure, whatever your little heart desires.”

++

Heeseung parks into an empty lot and stops the car. You can see an old abandoned train station in front of you, the windows were shattered, graffiti plastered all over with overgrown moss on the exterior. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie which seemed to fit the theme of the night.

“How come I’ve never seen this place before?” You ask, stunned by it’s ominous beauty.

“I just discovered it recently while driving aimlessly around town, I figured out a way to get onto the roof, the view’s fucking insane!” He grabs your hand and leads the way inside.

Thankfully he had a flashlight on him so it was easier to navigate through the dark halls. The barren walls were covered in more graffiti, as was the ceiling which kind of freaked you out. There was a creepy porcelain doll sitting in the corner of one area, half of it’s face was broken which was giving you nightmare fuel. You tensely clung onto your boyfriend’s arm for support, closing your eyes so you don’t have to look at anymore creepy things in this place.

“Are we almost there Hee?” You whine, trying to gain your composure but you just want to get the hell out of here.

“Chillax babe, you’ll be fine. No one’s gonna get you, they’ll have to get through me first!” He reassures, squeezing your hand to comfort you.

Heeseung finds his way through the maze and you walk up a few flights of stairs to eventually reach the top of the roof.

“Mission complete!” Heeseung announces loudly, “you can open your eyes now love.”

Your eyes flutter open and adjust to what you’re seeing. You could see almost the entire city from the top, you didn’t realize how high up you were. Your fear of heights were now starting to kick in so you cling back onto his arm like a magnet. Heeseung starts walking towards a certain spot on the roof, “Come with me, I wanna show you something.”

You follow him while holding hands, he walks over to an area and points at one of the brick tiles. You end up spotting both you and Heeseung’s initials + forever carved into the brick with a heart around it, a Polaroid photo of you two kissing was also attached next to it. You couldn’t help but tear up at the sight, it was such a simple yet cute gesture.

“Soo, what do you think?” He was starting to get a bit nervous, hoping you’d appreciate it as much as he enjoyed doing it.

“I-I think it’s adorable. I love it so much, you’re the cutest ever!” You jump into his arms and he wraps you into a tight hug.

“I’m glad you like it. I thought it was kinda corny at first but when you think about it.. it’s only corny if you make it out it to be.”

You loved the thought he put into just about anything. It amazed you how you found such a great guy in your life, but having to sneak around and date him was the worst.

“I love you so much Hee.”

“I love you too sweetheart,” He pauses as if to stop himself but continues, “too bad your parents hated my guts before I could even get the chance to speak.”

“Fuck my parents, I don’t care about their opinions. The only one that matters is mine and yours.”

He shakes his head, “Actually no, don’t fuck your parents, fuck me instead!”

“Oh, eww you know what I meant!” You frown, playfully hitting his arm.

You look up to see a sky full of stars, the distant twinkling mesmerizing you from faraway.

“So, I got asked to perform at this festival coming up.” Heeseung protrudes your thoughts.

Your face lit up at that exciting news, “Oh really? That’s exciting, I’m so happy for you! Where is it?”

He goes quiet for a minute, “10 hours away from here and they want me to perform on both days…”

“I mean, I understand that you’ll be away from me but isn’t this your dream?” You want to be happy for him but deep down you’re feeling depressed.

“It is… but I don’t like not having you with me. It’s like my brain can’t function without you. I wish you could come along..”

“I know, I wish I could too but there’s no way in hell that’s possible.” Your head hung low as you expressed your apprehensions. You’d give anything to travel with your boyfriend to his shows, but you know your parents would never let that happen.

“Why not? I’m tired of doing this shit with you, we’re grown adults but I still have to go sneaking around just to see my damn girlfriend, do you know how exhausting that is? How much of a toll it’s been taking on me? I don’t wanna keep living like this anymore y/n.” Heeseung let’s it all out, this is what he’s been bottling up inside.

“Are you seriously trying to pit all the blame on me? You know I never wanted this to happen! I would give absolutely anything to make my parents like you, that’s just the way they are I can’t change it! I wish you’d stop guilt tripping me into thinking I’m always in the wrong!” You attempt to walk away from him but he pulls you in again. He saw you tearing up now, feeling responsible for his actions he wipes them away and does his best to undo the damage he’s already caused.

“No no, don’t cry please. Y/n stop crying, I didn’t mean to say it harshly like that. Please— I just don’t like seeing you like this.” His consoling words only do so much to mitigate the situation.

It wasn’t working enough for you, you continued sobbing loudly in his shoulder. He tried getting you to calm down but nothing was seeming to suffice. He couldn’t help but tear up too, he really felt like the world’s worst boyfriend right now. He keeps telling you he didn’t mean it and that he was sorry, apologizing over and over sounding like a broken record.

“All I want is to make you happy. Please, baby just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything! I’ll jump off this goddamn building if you told me, if that’s what I need to prove how much I love you, I’ll do it.”

He was dead serious when he meant that. He was so lovestruck by you that anything was reasonable in his eyes. As long as it meant that you were happy in the end he saw no wrong with the outcome.

“Don’t say things like that, I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for me. I just wish you could see how difficult this situation is for me too.” You finally spoke.

“I know, I never doubted your struggles babe, I’m sorry if it seemed like I was dismissing them. I just really want you to do this one thing for me, I’m not asking much… please. I won’t take it if I can’t have my #1 fan there to cheer me on.”

You crack a tiny smile as you sniffle and wipe your tear stained face. He was always going to pick you first over anything, even his own career.

“You better be so fucking lucky my eyeliner is waterproof, you would’ve been dead meat if it got smudged!” You joke, letting him pull you back into his chest once again.

“It’s not like I’ve never made it smudge in other ways.” He replies, kissing the rest of your fallen tears away.

The mood shifts back to normal. He holds you close to him, hearing the rapid sounds of his heart pacing. It was soothing to you, giving you a sense of tranquility.

“The moon looks so beautiful today.” You quietly say, looking in awe while tracing the shapes of his tattoos on his arm.

“Yeah the moonlight looks nice, we should have sex under it.”

You spring your head up to face him with a questionable look, “Oh my god, you’re such a horndog. Only thinking with your dick!”

“When am I ever not horny?” He lightly chuckles, “but come on, let’s do it! I’m so boreddd.”

His attention span never lasted for too long, always needing to keep himself busy. Partially one of the reasons why you had sex a lot.

You gave in to his desires quickly, letting his hands explore your upper body. He slowly marks trails of kisses down your chin and neck, feeling his lip ring graze over the sensitive skin. His mouth parts open to reveal his flashy tongue piercing again, gliding it over you as you sharply inhale. The sensation was making your brain short-circuit, feeling a second pulse between your thighs.

“Mmh… feels so good Hee.” You whimper, shutting your eyes completely.

Those sneaky hands of his wander lower, coming in contact with your love handles to gently caress them. You gasp once you feel a light squeeze against your ass, grabbing as much as he can fit in his hands. It felt too ticklish when he slid his tongue up, making you squirm a bit. He works his way up to your chin again and plants a soft kiss to your lips. Standing on your tippy toes to slightly lean more into him, he latches onto you tighter.

Your foreheads were glued to each others but that still wasn’t enough, if you could get any closer you would. You had your arms locked around his neck, moving your lips with the motion of his. The kiss grew more desperate with time, playing with the metal bar once he slipped his tongue inside. You rake your hands through his fluffy hair, getting a handful of it, tugging it just slightly enough to solicit a moan from him. He goes bonkers whenever you pull his hair, it was a huge turn on for him.

“Do you want me to take the lead or you?” He asks politely, pulling away slowly before continuing any further.

You both liked to alternate between who’s in control during sex, it was fun having a boyfriend that didn’t mind being submissive at times.

“Why don’t we both take turns?” You reply, your eyes lustfully scanning him.

Something must’ve came over you because once he bit down on his lip you went feral, pushing him up against the door entrance and pinning his body with your weight. He swallows a massive lump in his throat, staring at you with the utmost adoration.

“So hot…” your boyfriend mumbles. Ready for whatever you had in store for him.

Thank God it was the dead of night and no one was around to be seeing or hearing what was about to go down. You’ve fucked in some strange places before, the movie theater, playground, a cemetery, and now on a roof of an abandoned train station. They may not have been the most romantic places of choice but all of them held a sentimental memory in their own ways.

Your lips crash with his again, kissing roughly while running your fingers along the lines of his shoulders. He cups your face in his palms, deepening the kiss to embrace every part of you. You explored a little lower, finding yourself playing with the hem of his shirt, lightly tugging on it to signal him to take it off. He obeys your wordless command, pulling it up over his head and tossing it to the ground next to him. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times but you still never get used to how sexy he is. Trailing your fingers across his chest, tracing the contour of his toned abs and pecs. The more you touch him the wetter you got.

“Need you so bad baby…” He mutters under his breath, looking at you with glossy eyes.

“Don’t worry Hee, I’ll please you soon.”

You place small pecks to his chest, kissing each every spot. You go down a bit lower to his v-line, admiring how beautiful it is; placing another delicate kiss. You glide your tongue on his skin, tracing the deep lines as you go. Now coming face to face with his crotch, you undo the studded belt he was wearing. He quickly unzips his pants, not wanting to waste anymore time to reveal the massive boner he’s been hiding. His cock was ginormous, way above average. You were rightfully terrified of it at first but as you got more used to it you adjust to his size perfectly now after being together for so long.

Your lashes flutter as you drag your lips to his tip, giving a few kitten licks to start off. Heeseung feels his breath hitch as he creates a makeshift ponytail with your hair, making sure to get a clear view of your face. You form more saliva in your mouth and spit directly onto him, coating it with your hand.

“Mmm… love when you make it all messy for me.” He groans while licking his lips.

You smile softly as you look up at him, giving a few pumps to his cock before wrapping your mouth around him. You couldn’t fit most his length in your tiny mouth so you had to improvise. Taking half of him while your other hand strokes the rest. You slowly bob your head, rotating sideways while collecting more saliva to create an even bigger mess.

“C’monnn, you can fit more than that I’ve seen what you can do before babe.” He begs, grabbing onto your hair tighter.

You can’t stand when he bosses you around when you’re supposed to be the one in charge. You detach yourself from his cock and look up to see his whiny reaction.

“What the fuck baby, why’d you stop? Keep going… pleaseee.” He pleads, bucking his hips into the air.

“Not until you shut the fuck up and let me do what I wanna do!”

He gets his act together quickly and stops whining. “Okay.. I’ll be quiet from now on, promise.”

Going back to what you were previously doing, you bring his cock to your face once again. Pressing his tip against your bottom lip, you flick your wet tongue over the slit. Taking slow, deep breathes Heeseung swallows an inconvenient lump in his throat the more you prolong it. You know he wants you to just suck him off already but that’s not what you’re going to do just yet.

You wrap your hand around his shaft, giving it a couple light strokes. You feel his veiny cock pulsating and throbbing in your small hand, making it twitch with each tug you give. You accumulate more saliva from your mouth to spit on his cock some more, rubbing it in to make it wet as possible. It was so slippery your hands kept loosing it out of your grasp, you gripped onto it tighter and accidentally squeezed his shaft bit.

The action makes Heeseung jump up a little and he rocked his hips forward, you look up to gauge his reaction.

“Sorry about that.”

He looks at you with confusion. “What’re you being sorry for? That felt kinda nice actually…”

You were surprised to hear that but you decide to do it again since he seemed to enjoy it. He winces from the light pressure but it doesn’t bother him. Guess you just found out another weird sex kink he has. You continue stroking his cock and he pants heavily for you to do more but you just act like you can’t hear him. Instead you keep stroking him and play with his scrotum in your free hand. He mumbles some gibberish under his breath and you build a steady rhythm, making him whine for more.

“I-if you’re not going to— ahh!” Heeseung could barely get a word out from you making his cock overly sensitive. “If you aren’t gonna suck my cock then let me fuck you already.”

You look up to see a flustered Heeseung, he looked so cute you just wanted to eat him. You let his torture finally come to an end as you get up from being on the ground, coming face to face with your lover once again.

“Hi pretty girl.” He says, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Hey cutie pie.” You grin, meeting your lips with his again for a quick kiss.

“Take your pants off, pretty please!” Heeseung asks nicely while giving the most precious pout.

You can never say no to that face so you fumble with your ripped jeans to pull them off. He presses your back up against the door this time, having your legs wrapped around his waist for support.

“Gonna fuck you ‘til I have you screaming on this roof begging me not to stop.” He whispers against your ear. His dominance swings back into full force, making you want him even more.

He licks his lips at you, giving a sinful smile. His hands slide under your shirt to toy with your nipples. You let out a sigh as he rubs in gentle circles, hardening them within seconds. He pinches the sensitive bud to make you moan louder for him.

“Want you to make as much noise as you can, okay?” He asks.

Simply nodding your head, you swing your head to the side in pleasure.

He drags his finger along your inner thigh, playing with the fabric of your underwear. You relax into him, letting him take a peek inside to see feel how wet you are. You inhale carefully, watching down as you see him sink two of his digits into your aching core. Your muscles tense up and you feel eyes roll to the back of your head now. All that can be heard are faint slews of moans and the sounds of your wetness while he pumps into you. He kisses you again while pressing his fingers in your cunt faster, making you moan directly into his mouth.

He brings his thumb to your clit and rubs harsh circles, making your bud more puffy and swollen. You mess up his hair and grab onto him tighter. Once he pulls his fingers out, he brings them up to your lips making you suck the juices clean off. You look him in the eyes while doing it, sending a primal spirit within him.

“Can’t wait to fill up that pretty little cunt of yours.” He mutters against your neck, hands aligning with yours to bring you closer while he slides himself in between your sticky folds.

You cry out for him, wanting nothing more than to let him fill you up. You feel so empty as you clench around nothing, begging for him to fuck you already.

“Yes, please baby! Want you to fill me up, need your cock so bad please!” Whining to gain sympathy from him.

He’s not playing your little game though, not after how you tortured him earlier. “How bad you want it?” He groans, his cock still rubbing along your slit.

“So bad! I want you so bad please, I’ll do anything!”

“Anything you say?” He questions while raising his eyebrow.

You nod profusely, “Yes, anything I mean it!”

“Then promise you’ll stay with me forever. You can never break up with me, you’re stuck with me until we die, got it?”

“I promise I’ll never leave you Heeseung, I wouldn’t even dream of doing something like that.”

He smiles and kisses your cheek, “Good” was all he had to simply say.

Repositioning himself to enter you now, he wraps his hands firmly around your waist, sliding into you with ease. He stays with his cock inside you for a bit, relishing the feeling of you around him. Nothing but sweet ecstasy fills your senses when he thrusts into you, feeling so full all you can do is scream. The immense waves of pleasure emitting chills up your spine as he fucks senselessly into you.

“Fuck, you look so good beneath me.” He growls, digging his nails into the depths of your hips.

“Yes! Yes! Right there baby, just like that. Keep going..” You moan out, feeling close to your orgasm already the more he hits your erogenous spots.

His pierced tongue travels down your neck again, sucking and biting on the flesh harshly. You know those will definitely be leaving visible bruises once he’s done with you. You hold onto him tightly, crying out while drooling all over yourself as he quickens his pace.

“Need you to do as I say,” he pants against your neck, slamming his cock into your walls hungrily. “Want you to cum on my cock when I tell you to.”

It was impossible for you to even respond. Anything you said didn’t even sound remotely coherent. His mind was going blank too, the way your tight cunt won’t stop cinching around him was making it harder for him to move.

“Love how I can fuck this pussy as many times as I want and you’re still always so tight for me.” His cock was going into you mercilessly, fucking you so good you feel like you’re going to faint.

Your limbs grew weak and that deep pit in your stomach builds up, feeling your climax approaching by the minute.

“Fuck- fuck- fuck, please don’t stop!” You wail, begging for more as you let him do all work.

Your arousal was everywhere at this point, your shaky legs were dripping with your juices and the sounds of him pounding into you was harmonic to his ears. All Heeseung could focus on was making the both of you cum together. He loved it when you both came at the same time, it makes the moment more special to him.

“Cum with me baby, please.” He groans, sounding drunk off the way you feel, “just wanna fill this pussy up over and over…”

You brace yourself against him, “I’ll cum with you, promise. Just fill me up— need your cum so badly Hee, please!” You can’t stop whining, digging your nails into his back harshly.

The feeling was all so intense, seeing stars from being so cockstuffed. You didn’t even have a single moment to blink before your vision fades entirely to black. You let your orgasm erupt through you as you throw your head back. His thrusts become more erratic as he reaches his high, moaning out a bunch of curses along with your name.

“Y/n, please never leave me..” he says while in the middle of cumming inside you, “I love you so much, my angel forever.”

Even during something this intimate, he still never shies away from telling you how much you mean to him.

“I will never leave you, that’s a promise. I love you more.” Both your hands intertwine with one another, the love you have for each other is unbreakable.

You felt so warm inside, having Heeseung empty all his seed in you. Looking up at him to give him another passionate kiss before he pulls out.

You were struggling to put your clothes back on as you could barely stand up properly. Your wobbly legs would go into a different direction than you wanted. Heeseung helped stabilize you by wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in a half hug.

“How ‘bout we finally get out of here?” He asks, reaching for the door handle to head back downstairs.

“I kind of forgot we were still here actually.”

“Yeah, me too. C’mon let’s hurry and get to the car, I still haven’t tried this tongue piercing on you yet!” Heeseung says excitedly.

Giggling at his enthusiasm you walk back with him into the train station. You wanted to check the time on your phone but of course it was dead. It was way past a decent time for you to try sneaking back in so you don’t even bother going back home that night. Instead, you opt to stay over at Heeseung’s place, not really caring if you’re parents will be pissed tomorrow. This is your life after all, why let others stop you from enjoying it to the fullest?

[charyou-tree]

Buckle up, I have a whole rant locked and loaded about this one:

For people born before that demographic, computers weren't around when they were growing up, so its understandable that they're playing catch-up.

People in that demographic grew up with desktop/laptop computers that worked pretty much the same as you would expect from a general office PC or school computer, so the skills they learned playing/modding games or messaging their friends through a web browser directly translated to useful office skills later. Even basic things like using Word, installing programs, navigating folders, using a keyboard, were all taught implicitly by self-motivated kids messing around with the family computer, and often teaching their friends to play together. I remember the assumption being that kids would always be better at tech than their parents because they were "digital natives" who learned how best to use it young. This may have caused a kind of complacency about teaching kids how to use technology, which I'll come back to later.

For people born after that demographic, we enter the era of smart-devices being most people's primary computing appliance, and the era of "the app". It doesn't make sense for many families to buy a multiple-hundred-dollar minimum PC/laptop when they're probably already paying that much for everybody to have a phone that does "nearly as much".

Through a deliberate effort by major software enterprises, consumers were deliberately kept in the dark about how the software they used actually worked. App stores are walled gardens of proprietary software that can't be modified or even verified that it does what it says. Sure, any toddler can semi-use an ipad, but the trade off is that even skilled users are inherently limited in what they're able to accomplish on such a system. And none of the skills of navigating between game/social media apps on a touchscreen really translate to practical skills that will help in any sort of academic or professional environment.

When I was a TA for undergraduate physics courses, getting the adult students to download and install a piece of free software was like pulling teeth, but it was hardly the student's fault. Half of them were using locked-down chromebooks that defaulted to saving everything somewhere in the cloud, so even getting a file downloaded, much less installed and executable, was made deliberately near-impossible.

Meanwhile, in the ~30, arguably 40 years since Personal Computers have revolutionized home life and office tasks, hardly anywhere have those skills been added to school curricula! We're still operating as though the internet is a neat fad that might pass any day now. Although really, its because schools are barely able to offer what they presently do being chronically starved of funding by a society that doesn't value educating their children.

So, the net result of this is there's a narrow window of people who grew up after computers were affordable but before they became enshittified and deliberately less-capable app-based devices became the default that actually learned non-trivial PC skills en masse.

That's not to say nobody outside that demographic knows anything about computers! My maternal grandfather is 85 and he built his own last 3 PCs! And there are still plenty of kids cooking up their own Minecraft mods with their friends, but the younger-millennial older-gen-z demographic had some unique advantages when it came to learning about technology.

Technological literacy only exists in a very slim age demographic of people born from roughly 1980 to roughly 2007

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTALKERㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Dick Grayson x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How it's like having him as your stalker?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You never noticed him at first.

Which was strange, really. Because Dick was a presence—magnetic, charming, always the kind of guy who could steal attention in any room, even when he wasn’t trying.

But with you? He liked to stay hidden. Lurking in the shadows. Watching.

At first, it was innocent (or so he told himself). He noticed you at a coffee shop one day, lost in a book, chewing on the end of your pen as you scribbled something in a notebook. He found himself drawn to the little things—the way you furrowed your brows when concentrating, the way you smiled at something on your phone, the soft way you carried yourself. It was just curiosity at first. That’s all.

Then he saw you again. And again. And suddenly, he was seeing you everywhere.

It became a habit, a compulsion. He memorized your routine like it was a mission. When you got coffee. What time you left work. What stores you liked to browse in. He told himself he was just making sure you were safe—because Gotham was dangerous, right? A girl like you, alone? Vulnerable? It only made sense that he’d keep an eye on you.

Then he got closer.

It started small. Brushing past you on the subway, close enough to inhale the scent of your shampoo. Sitting near you in a cafe, pretending to be busy on his phone while he listened to the way you spoke. Learning your favorite drink, so he could leave it waiting for you at the counter when you arrived—anonymously, of course. You’d glance around, confused, but never knew it was him.

You weren’t even aware that he was already in your apartment.

Not when you were there, of course—he’d never scare you like that. But while you were out? He’d slip inside with an ease that almost disappointed him (you really needed better locks). He never took anything—he just… looked. Examined the little pieces of your life. The books stacked beside your bed. The jewelry you left on the dresser. The clothes draped over the chair, still carrying the ghost of your body’s warmth.

He touched them sometimes. Ran his fingers over the fabric. Just to feel close to you.

The obsession grew.

He started taking things—small things, things you wouldn’t notice were gone. A hair tie. A receipt you left on the counter. A half-used tube of lip balm. They were trophies, proof that he was part of your world even if you didn’t know it yet.

And the pictures. Oh, the pictures.

They covered his walls. You smiling. You asleep on the bus, head tucked against the window. You looking at a menu, deep in thought. Hundreds of them, from every angle, every moment of your life he could capture without you noticing.

And the best part?

You liked him.

You had no idea, of course, but Dick could see it. The way you glanced at him when he finally started talking to you, when he finally made himself known in your life. It was easy—he was charming, he was sweet, he was everything you’d want in a guy.

So he inserted himself into your life, seamlessly.

“Oh, hey, fancy seeing you here!” A bright smile. A friendly laugh. “What a coincidence, huh?”

It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was orchestrated, down to the second. Every “random” encounter, every meeting—it was all planned, deliberate. But you didn’t question it. Why would you? He was Dick Grayson. A gentleman. A hero.

You never realized the full weight of his devotion.

Never realized how deep it ran.

Never realized how much worse it could get.

Because the thought of losing you? The thought of someone else having you?

It made him sick.

It made him furious.

It made him violent.

You noticed the change after a while. The possessiveness in his touch, the way his grip lingered on your wrist, the way his blue eyes darkened when you so much as smiled at another man.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he’d say, voice honey-sweet. “You’re too trusting, sweetheart. Not everyone has good intentions.”

Not like him.

So when your ex went missing, you didn’t think much of it.

When that guy at work—the one who flirted with you—got mugged and beaten within an inch of his life, you chalked it up to Gotham’s crime rate.

And when you started feeling like you were being watched, even in the safety of your own home—well.

Dick was always there to reassure you.

“It’s okay, babe,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And he meant it.

Even if that meant keeping you all to himself.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[princesssmars]

i wanna be your bitch!

a vi x reader.

vi has always been a girl who can appreciate a woman's behind. you just didnt know how much she appreciated yours.

wc : 1.531

contains : some fluff. nsfw. fem!reader. f x f sex. needy whiny top vi. oral and anal sex (reader receiving).

a/n : can probably be read as a sequel to this. i need help.

for the past few years, youd noticed a constant pattern in your failed romantic relationship that could only be described as incompatible boundaries.

some girls were too distant, some not distant enough. to be fair you’d started to get a bit peculiar at the end of your romantic exploration, gently letting down an admittedly sweet girl after she had ordered a rather large portion of oysters while on a romantic dinner date.

but when you met vi, and it's like everything just clocked. every quirk and flaw you both had seemed to bounce off of each other, an equal balance between the highs and lows that led to a magnetic give-and-take between the two of you.

it was a constant push and pull between the two of you, and you really liked it when she pushed you.

the first time you slept together was also the first time you knew that what you and vi had was different. after quite a few years of let downs you'd become a bit jaded when it came to your heart and in the act of slightly stupid self-preservation you initially just wrote off your and vi's instant attraction as a short-lived burst of sexual tension that’d lead to a night of hot sex before parting ways.

but then she’d laid you down on her bed, slowly spread you open with tender hands and attentive eyes, and took you apart in ways you'd only dreamed of. she saw how your gaze frequently drifted to her hands so she stuffed you full of her fingers, felt how you drifted your hands across her body, and urged you above her so she could watch you ride her abs until you came over her with a cry.

each time she brought you to a fiery orgasm you felt an unfamiliar pull in your chest, not uncomfortable but warm and bright, a near suffocating type of bliss. she felt it too, if the smile on her face when you pulled up from between her legs gave any indication.

(because as much as she loved to brag about knowing you like the back of her hands, you were the same for her, and it was hard to ignore how her gaze softened and drifted to your lips while you spoke while biting her own.)

and that habit became a key part of your relationship, words unneeded when a simple look at the other could tell either of you how you were feeling. a tick in vi's jaw alerted you of her annoyance, a bounce in your step alerting her of you’re restlessness.

it’s why it’s so easy to see what makes vi desperate for you, and what makes you desperate for her.

vi was an ass girl, anybody with eyes could tell you that. any chance she got to stare at, fondle, or smack your ass, she’d take it with a scheming look on her face and nearly rub her palms together. during sex you’d notice it, (well, when you could notice things, she had the aggravating ability to make every thought leave your mind with the first use of her fingers, tongue, etcetera,) how she would gaze up at you with stars in her eyes while you rode her strap before landing a harsh slap to the fat of your behind, a lovestruck expression on her features before she thrusts into you even harder, more determined than before.

that was all normal and expected of course, and you made sure to properly indulge her, frequently wearing way too short shorts around the house and bending over surfaces when it wasn't at all necessary.

but it went a bit…deeper than you expected. quite literally.

it was an exciting friday night, the two of you heading out to a nightclub with a group of mutual friends where the laughing and the drinking came in quick succession. neither of you were too inebriated, but just tipsy enough to where the pressure of keeping your desired inside was thrown out of the window. you don't have to share words to know you want each other, quickly stumbling into the bedroom before you’re being pushed down onto your stomach and she’s yanking your dress up and past your waist, ineloquently spreading the cheeks of your ass before diving it like she was starving.

and god, maybe she was. your face was flushed and your breathing stuttered at the lewd actions your girlfriend was doing behind you. every attempt to run or raise your body met with a grumble and a slight pinch to your clit, only resulting in you giving in to the pleasure and cursing her when her laughs vibrated throughout your cunt.

just when you’re about to slip off into that blissful state of thoughtlessness you feel it. the familiarity of her tongue, wide and wet, licking up and over your cunt in the way she knows drives you crazy, but you swear she’s getting…higher. when it happens again your leg involuntarily juts out.

“vi, ngh, vi. what’re you-”

she doesn’t answer, likely too entrenched in her actions to realize you’re even talking to her. you can tell she pent up, not just from the way she’s absolutely ravishing you but how her rough hands grip your skin, how her face barely pulls back to take a breath and her body rustles against the sheets as she tries to find a position that lets her get even more access to you.

but you cant hide your shock when it happens, a slight pressure on a place you arent used to, sending a blazing heat straight up through your body. a rather embarrassing mix of a growl and a sob rips through your body, one of your hands coming down to dig into her hair and yank her upwards.

if you weren’t so shellshocked you might've found the sight of her both amusing yet erotic, pale face flushed from exertion and arousal with big eyes lidded and plush lips parted as she pants. you’re stuck wondering just how her face is slick almost all the way up to her eyes, your mind wondering just what the hell she was doing down there when her wrecked voice rings out into the quiet of the bedroom.

“please, just let me - just let me try it, yeah? need it so bad, pretty, promise i’ll make it feel so good-”

her voice is nothing short of desperate, shaky, and heaving as her eyes dart from your eyes to your lips back down towards your cunt. you feel your face burn when her gaze becomes almost entranced, biting her swollen lips while not at all subtly grinding her hips against the edge of the bed, anguished as she waits for you to give her permission.

you don't even get to finish nodding, vi dropping her head back down and licking a fat stripe starting from your clit and going higher and higher and higher-

“oh f-fuck, violet!”

your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body goes boneless when her tongue presses into the tight skin of your ass, pressing gently but insistently to get as much access as she can without hurting you. as much as she relishes the feeling if given by her squirming body and broken moaning into your hole, the shared sounds of your heightened arousal ringing in the air.

she becomes consumed by it, licking up and over your asshole, until her jaw starts to ache and her thoughts become foggy. every so often she’ll begrudgingly pull back to watch the mixture of her spit and your cum surround and drip down from your ass, your body clenching and releasing as you try to hold off the inevitable orgasm that will wreck your body.

“it’s alright baby, relax,” she whispers, a gentle hand smoothing over one of your ass cheeks to hopefully release some of the tension in your body, “just let it happen, yeah?”

she gets back to work and keeps eating at you with a hunger that both concerns but arouses you until you inevitably cum with a drawn-out shout, rather early for you but you can't find it in you to be embarrassed as your body falls limp into the sheets. your legs continue to twitch as she continues to lave at your juices and entrances lazily, close to bringing you over that peak again until you start to use all that's left of your willpower to wriggle your hips away from her.

you’re both panting heavily, heads similarly slumped into your covers from physical exertion., you’re halfway into falling into a serene sleep when vi’s hands wrap around your hips and flips your body onto your back, your shocked gasp being silenced at the sight of her flushed body standing between your legs, face seeming almost drunk as she bashfully blinks at you.

“if you can take it…can i do that again?”

[anastasiayeh]

“Lost & Found”

When Task Force 141 needs a place to hide, you reluctantly let them in—only because they have a dog. What you don’t realize? The masked soldier, Ghost, is your long-lost high school sweetheart. As old feelings resurface, a long-awaited kiss is interrupted by a knock that could change everything.

A 141 x Reader Flirty & Fluffy Fic

The Knock That Changed Everything

The knock at your door nearly made you spill your tea.

It was late. Too late for visitors.

You crept toward the door, peeking through the peephole.

Four men. Big. Armed. Intimidating.

And a dog.

A massive, scruffy shepherd mix sat at their feet, wagging his tail.

Your common sense said nope, absolutely not.

Your dog-loving heart said open the door immediately.

Slowly, you cracked the door open, eyes darting between them. “…Hi?”

The tallest one, wearing a skull-patterned mask, nodded. “We need a place to stay.”

Your fingers clenched around the doorframe. “I… I don’t usually let strange men into my house.”

The mohawked one smirked. “We’re not strange, lass. We’re charming.”

You blinked at him. “You literally have a gun.”

Gaz grinned. “Think of it as an accessory.”

The dog whined.

Your resolve crumbled instantly.

“…Come in,” you muttered, stepping back.

Ghost let out a quiet sigh. Of course.

The Team vs. Your Shyness

You regretted it immediately.

They towered over you, their sheer presence making your little living room feel microscopic.

Soap stretched out on your couch like he owned it. “Cozy place, hen.”

“T-Thanks…” you mumbled, tugging at your sleeves.

Gaz shot you a charming smile. “Sorry for barging in. We won’t stay long.”

“I-It’s okay,” you stammered. “I mean, um—not okay, but—not bad either, I just—”

Price chuckled. “Breathe, love.”

You shut your mouth immediately, face heating up.

Ghost, still watching from the corner, muttered, “She’s always been like this.”

You blinked. “H-Have we met?”

Silence.

Ghost stiffened. Soap and Gaz both turned to him so fast.

“…No,” Ghost said, too quickly.

You frowned but got distracted by the dog pressing his cold nose into your palm.

Your whole demeanor shifted in an instant.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, crouching down. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The dog thumped his tail.

Soap smirked. “She’s smitten.”

Ghost crossed his arms. “Figures.”

You gasped dramatically, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “I love him.”

Ghost muttered, “You only let us in because of the dog, didn’t you?”

You grinned. “Yup.”

Ghost sighed.

The Team vs. Your Hyper Side

At first, you were shy. Soft-spoken. Avoiding eye contact.

Then?

Gremlin mode activated.

Soap learned the hard way.

You poked his bicep, eyes narrowing. “Are these real?”

He choked on his drink. “What?”

“You heard me.” You poked again. “No way these are real.”

Soap grinned. “You wanna feel—”

Ghost smacked him before you could answer.

Gaz was dying. “Oh, I like her.”

You beamed. “Of course you do. I’m adorable.”

Ghost muttered, “That’s debatable.”

You gasped. “Rude.”

Before Ghost could reply, you flopped onto the floor beside Riley, hugging him dramatically. “You’re my favorite.”

Soap whistled. “That’s gotta sting, Lt.”

Ghost glared. “The dog doesn’t count.”

You pouted. “You sure?”

Ghost exhaled deeply.

Meanwhile, you cooed at Riley, whispering, “You’re my new boyfriend now.”

Ghost groaned. “For fuck’s sake—”

Soap wheezed. “Ghost, mate, she left you for the dog.”

Gaz smirked. “Tough luck.”

Ghost’s eye twitched.

Later that night, when the others were asleep, you found Ghost by the window, arms crossed.

You tilted your head. “Broody.”

He exhaled. “What?”

“You. Being all dark and mysterious.” You leaned against the wall. “You do this a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

You hummed. Then, before you could stop yourself—“Okay, real talk. I know you.”

Ghost tensed.

Your eyes flicked to his mask.

Before he could stop you, you reached up and pulled it off.

Your breath caught.

Brown eyes. Scarred brow. Familiar. Older. Sharper.

Memories crashed into you—secret kisses behind the school, whispered confessions, promises that had been left behind.

Your lips parted.

“…Simon?”

His throat bobbed. “Yeah, love.”

Silence.

Then—

You smirked. Slowly.

“So, let me get this straight.” You stepped closer, voice dropping. “You disappear for years. Show up unannounced. Invade my home. And you don’t expect me to flirt with you?”

Ghost exhaled sharply. “Christ…”

You grinned. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

Ghost hesitated.

Then—soft, low—“Yeah.”

Your heart flipped.

You bit your lip. “You always had a thing for me, huh?”

Ghost’s gaze dropped to your lips. “Still do.”

Your breath hitched.

Then—warm, rough—his fingers brushed against your jaw. Testing. Teasing.

You leaned in.

The kiss was slow at first—tentative, searching. Then?

Heat.

Years of unspoken words. Tension. Want.

His hands curled around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You tangled your fingers in his hoodie, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You were gone—completely lost in him.

Until—

A sharp knock on the door.

Ghost tensed.

You blinked. “…Are you expecting someone?”

The knock came again. *Hard

[aaplecore]

Falling For You (Literally)

(Agatha Harkness x fem!reader)

Summary : Wanda Maximoff hires you to do a landscaping job for her, and her neighbor is absolutely not subtle.

Warnings / tags : smut (18+ !!): oral (a!receiving), pet names (hon, dear, dollface, darling), public(ish) sex / almost getting caught

Notes : first of all: this entire post is inspired almost entirely by @evgar ‘s art !! I hope this is okay that i’m posting this, and everyone should absolutely check out their art it is so amazing <33

Second : should I write a part 2 for this w/ another day on the job? idk yet :)

side note: THE TITLE IS SO CHEESY IM SORRY

Recently, Wanda Maximoff had hired you to help out with some landscaping around her house. Vision thought it was about time they had a change up in the fliers now that they weren’t trying to prevent Sparky from eating whatever they planted.

It was a pretty short job, only a few days of re-doing their front lawn to keep it pristine and perfect. It would be a super easy job. That is if they didn’t have the most distracting neighbor possible.

Constantly, you saw this gorgeous older woman passing through her kitchen, always sipping what seemed like tea from a different mug each time. And god damn, was she beautiful.

The first time you saw her, she was wearing nothing but a black, silk robe with purple flowers and long green stems. The lowest v-neckline you could imagine revealed just a little bit of her cleavage and before you knew it, you were tripping over a bag of fertilizer, landing with a face plant in the dirt. As soon as you were up, you looked back to see her briefly snickering as she turned away. You noticed that her long, wavy hair seemed to sway a bit with her hips as she walked. It was embarrassing… but it seemed like she paid a little bit more attention to you after that day.

A few days after that little incident, you were working out front, hauling around a wheel barrow of fertilizer to finish up a row of Azaelas while you sipped an iced coffee. As per usual, you were glancing over to the woman’s window every now and then, although she hadn’t shown up yet. You were silently hoping that was just because it was still pretty early.

And… you were right. Only a matter of minutes later, she was walking into the my tv hen. This time, she was in a long purple robe, with no tie in the middle… revealing her only wearing a matching set of lacey purple underwear. The bra was pretty damn close to see through, too. Your jaw literally dropped, along with almost dropping your cup of coffee.

And of course… she had to choose that exact moment to look over at you.

Immediately, you looked forward to see you were already stepping into a hole. Before you could really gauge what was happening, you were—again—falling face first into the dirt, now landing in your wheelbarrow, knocking you over with it. The coffee flies out of your hand, splashing all over Wanda’s lawn.

“Ow, fuck…”

You mutter, pulling yourself up and out of the wheelbarrow and brushing dirt out of your hair. As you’re running a hand through the tangles, you hear a voice coming from behind you. Of course, you turn around to see the woman standing there.

Her long hair falls over her face just so… and she’s still not tied her robe. She was standing over you. Half naked. Glaring.

“Are you stalking me?”

She asks bluntly, her hands on her hips. That makes you stop in your tracks. She thought you were a stalker. Shit.

“I’ll have you know, I’m a very powerful woman and you don’t want to fuck with me.”

Her glare is intense as she watches you stand up, looking you up and down—and not subtly at all.

“What? No! Why would I be stalking you?”

You try to explain quickly, reaching over to pick up your coffee cup from the ground.

“I’m doing landscaping for Wanda!”

It seems at your attempt at explaining yourself, the woman’s face softens.

“Oh… I see.”

She mumbles, now crossing her arms. You couldn’t help but glance down at the way it made her cleavage more visible.

“You were staring at me. Why?”

“You’re standing half-naked in front of the entire neighborhood.”

You explain, tilting yo head to the side. Was this behavior just normal for her?

“Yes. It’s my house. I don’t see why that’s an issue.”

The woman shrugs, looking at you like that was the most obvious thing in the world. You open your mouth to argue that it’s not exactly normal when she’s standing in front of a massive window facing her neighbor’s house but she just interrupts you.

“Well, come inside.”

She sighs, turning to head back to her house before you can even question why the hell she’s inviting you inside.

“What? Why- i’m on the job. And I don’t even know you.

You try to argue, looking between the fallen wheelbarrow and her. She turns back to you, looking at you again like you’re some kind of idiot.

“I’m Agatha Harkness. Now you know me. Plus, you spilled your coffee.”

She points out, motioning to the empty cup in your hand.

“I’m not coming out here to make you a fresh cup.”

She shrugs, cocking her head to motion for you to follow.

“Come on, hon, I don’t bite.”

Her sarcastic tones gives away the fact that she’s smiling a little… despite having called you a stalker minutes ago. For some reason though… you follow her to her house.

“Don’t mind the mess.”

She mutters, picking up a singular out of place mug from her coffee table as you enter. The vibe of the house isn’t exactly what you expected. It’s messy… but in a somehow organized way. Like everything is exactly where it’s meant to be.

“Come on, i’ll fix you a new cup. D’you take sweetener, dear?”

She asks, calling from the kitchen where she’s already disappeared.

“Uh… yeah. Sweetener would be nice.”

You mumble, following after her. Her kitchen is just as nice, with a big window facing Wanda’s house. There are very obviously curtains, but she could clearly care less.

“I- uh, I wanted to apologize. For staring earlier.”

Your tone has turned a little big softer, your nerves getting the best of you. Just watching her move around the kitchen in nothing but her bra and panties with a dressing gown is making you a stuttering mess.

“Nonsense. Don’t apologize.”

Agatha shakes her head, facing away from you, getting the coffee maker all set up casually.

“I can’t blame you, dollface.”

She smirks back at you, pressing start on the coffee maker and turning back to face you. Her arms are crossed and, again, she’s very obviously looking you up and down.

For a moment, there’s just quiet between you. You’re leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen, while she’s leaning on the counter in front of you. It’s a struggle not to look down at her body. All the noise in the kitchen is the sound of the coffee maker slowly brewing your cup.

After a few more seconds of silence, Agatha finally speaks up.

“Why don’t you come over here, hon?”

She asks, something in her tone… sultry. Lower than it was before. Without even questioning her, you push off the counter to stand in front of her, your bodies mere inches apart.

“Why?”

You ask quietly, looking at her. Her smile is damn near predatory. It looks like she’s almost taunting you.

“I think you know why.”

She replies quietly, reaching out and pulling you in by the waist. Her hand is not even grabbing you, but somehow, her grip is firm and her hands are steady. For a moment, you wonder what they would feel like on you. Or in you. Either way.

“You’re just so… cute, hon.”

She murmurs, bringing her free hand up to cup your cheek, turning your face as if she’s examining you. For a second, you very obviously see her look down at your lips. And your faces are only centimeters apart. You swallow hard, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. And… she’s just smiling. Like nothing is wrong.

She pulls your face in just a slight bit, slowly moving… until you just give in and kiss her. With you having taken the initiative, she’s shocked for a moment. But, after a second, her grip on your hip tightens and she’s pulling you flush against her. The way she’s kissing you back is almost messy, and your body is already heating up. Quickly, her hand moves to tangle in your hair, pressing your face against hers desperately, getting somehow more pressed up against you.

Already, you’re reaching your hand down to her underwear, tracing your fingers gently along the hem of the purple lace. The little noise she makes is absolutely hypnotic and you just want to hear more of it. Slowly, you start peppering kisses down her jawline and neck, gently sucking marks into the curve connecting her shoulder to her neck.

“Wow, you’re quick, hon…”

She mumbles, smiling down at you proudly. She’s gotten exactly what she wanted. You bite the side of her neck as a response to her teasing, trailing your free hand up her side. A quiet gasp comes from her when you bite down, she’s honestly astonished that you’re willing to be so bold with her.

“You’re already gasping.”

You mutter against her neck, moving your hand up to cup her bra, causing her to let out a strained moan.

“And moaning.”

You point out, moving your lips further down, kissing down her collarbones and chest. At this point, you have to bend your knees to kiss her, needy to taste any bit of skin you can. You’re nearly kneeling in front of her already. And Agatha’s living for the sight of you under her.

“You say that like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

She scoffs, her hand still tangled in your hair, humming softly when you kiss around the curve of her breast. Slowly, you’re moving further down, leaving marks as you go, only fueled by the little moans and hums coming from Agatha when you kiss a particularly sensitive spot.

Before you know it, you’re kneeling in the ground in front of her. Agatha is still leaning up against the counter, while you’re hidden behind the island underneath her. You pepper gentle kisses all around her thighs and stomach, up until you’re kissing the fabric of her underwear right over her clit. Even the slight pressure causes Agatha to moan again.

If you had the resistance, you’d tease her more but, after hearing that noise, you hook your fingers under her panties and pull them down until they drop to the ground. Now it’s just Agatha, standing in her bra and dressing robe, her pussy naked in front of your face. The smirk on her face is still proud but you can tell she’s a little bit weakened—there’s a slight furrow in her brows.

“Come on, darling, I don’t have all day.”

She murmurs, her voice strained. Of course, you don’t hesitate to finally start kissing her. Her core is already practically dripping wet. When you press your tongue up against her, licking a line up to her clit, she lets out a loud moan. Even the slightest touch has her writhing. To keep her still, you firmly plant your hands on her thighs. Again, you lick her, just to watch her head roll back, her hand in your hair tightening.

“Fuck, doll, just like that. Faster, baby.”

She commands. Again, you listen without hesitation, dipping your tongue into her folds, applying more pressure when your tongue circles her clit. Her knuckles are turning white as she holds the counter, her eyes practically rolling back into her head. And damn she’s vocal. It seems like she’s already close just from you circling her clit with your tongue.

Speeding up your pace a little, you feel her hips bucking into your mouth a little, until she suddenly stops her movements, clearly tensing up.

“Fuck… Wanda.”

She groans. When you look up—still licking her, your hands planted firmly on her thighs—you see that she’s smiling and waving, trying to look as normal as possible. But of course, you see your opportunity. You bring your tongue up to her clit and start flicking it quickly, making her moan even louder, unable to hold it back.

Meanwhile, while Wanda waves to Agatha through her kitchen window—her lower half hidden by the island—her face turns to confusion. She’s not used to seeing Agatha looking nervous. Yet now, it looks like she’s sweating. Agatha curses internally, praying for Wanda to just leave already so she can stop smiling like a lunatic.

Eventually, Wanda walks away and Agatha groans, looking down at you with a glare—although you can tell she’s not exactly angry—as her hand tightens its hold on your hair.

“Brat.”

She mutters, rolling her head back with a strained ‘fuck’ when you press up against her clit. You know just how to shut her up. And you know she’s close because her hips are bucking up into your face again.

“Just a bit faster, doll.”

Agatha moans, the sound strained between moans. You put some pressure over her slit, sucking on it to get her over the edge… until she’s practically screaming, her hips bucking into your face as her thighs shake.

Slowly, you help her ride through it, licking up the slick from between her thighs, although she’s still damp even when you come back up to stand in front of her. There’s a little sheen from her come on your lips.

“Who knew landscapers would be such a good fuck…”

Agatha mutters, grabbing her panties from the ground with a smirk.

“I do my best.”

You reply confidently, shrugging. She snorts a laugh at your response, shaking her head.

“I can tell… how about you come back tomorrow? I can brew you some tea.”

She offers, her voice still sultry as she hands you the cup of coffee you’d evidently forgotten. You almost forgot about work. Almost.

“I can’t stay for a bit?”

You ask, pouting as if it’ll be any help.

She scoffs in response, slipping back into her panties.

“I’ve got a meeting in twenty, doll. I’ve gotta get ready. This was nice, though.”

Already, her hands are on your shoulders, guiding you to the door. She’s so… casual about this.

“I’d better see you tomorrow… Now go tell Wanda you had to grab some supplies form your car.”

It’s like she’s doing a business transaction now, waving with her fingers to you as she opens the door.

“I- right. Yes.”

You stutter, realizing now that this was just casual for her… but still, she invited you back. And a win is a win.

She mouths ‘bye-bye’ at you as you walk down her front lawn, watching you from a large brick in the door. You can’t help but keep glancing back at her.

“Oh, and, hon!”

She calls out, snapping as if she just remembered something when you’re nearly halfway back to Wanda’s house.

“Wear something that’s easy to take off tomorrow, okay?”

Even just that little comment causes you to blush again. Seeing the flush in her cheeks makes her smile again, like she knows she’s got you wrapped around her finger. And that’s the last thing you see before she shuts her front door.

[seat-safety-switch]

Real off-roaders will tell you that the only secret to reliability is to eschew all forms of luxury. Any comfortable or convenient feature will simply leave you stranded. Only owning a Jeep from the early postwar era will be safe, and that's only if you didn't check the box for "electric starter." You think you're too good for a crank now?

Of course, an old Jeep is "reliable" primarily because you can fix it with anything when it breaks. No need to take an Uber to some nearby overpriced parts store and wait four weeks for delivery: they couldn't afford to do that while fighting the Germans. No, things are easy to fix on a classic Jeep using only your brains and a significant degree of disinterest in your personal safety. Let me describe some scenarios now.

Front driveshaft broke? Hit it with a rock until the broken part is out of the way, then continue on your drive. Transmission broke? It has four pieces, with tolerances so loose that any asshole at a machine shop can make a new one by squinting at a blurry JPEG of it. Rear axle broke? Fabricate a new one out of a fallen tree and pull it home using one of your other nine Jeeps.

This promise of rugged self-reliance is what keeps flat-fender Jeep loyalists buying six hundred dollar pieces of reproduction trim out of foreign catalogues, because the original part is old enough to develop dementia. "I was in the war," moans the windshield wiper motor as it catches fire and ejects most of its windings into the corn field where you are currently attending a show-and-shine with other Jeep owners. Certainly it was no war you've ever heard of, because the previous owner slapped that thing on from a parts store where he bought it in 2009. Serves him right for not wiping his own windows, by hand, like a patriot. I've never seen an old t-shirt break down!

[artdcnaldson]

We can run back please expand on that beautiful thought

like…. Walk with me….

You’re just out at the record store or something browsing when he approaches you and says that you have the perfect look for a project he’s working on, that he’d love to have you come to his studio and do a bit of modeling. He’d pay you, of course, he’s not some creep or anything.

And he seems so approachable and sweet, and he says you’re so beautiful, that he really thinks you’d be perfect… how can you say no?

His studio ends up just being a spare bedroom his apartment, the windows are covered so he can adjust the lighting how he wants. It’s all pretty simple— the lighting, the plain white fabric as a backdrop. It doesn’t feel very special or different than any other photo— like your awkward prom photos, headshots.

“C’mon, open up a little more,” he instructs, but you don’t know what he means. He has to physically adjust your pose and posture— guiding your hips into the correct angle, tilting your chin up with his thumb. “Perfect, you’re doing great.”

He smells like cigs and a musky cologne. It floods your senses as he stands in your space, as he presses his fingers into the small of your back so it dips in and your body curves tantalizingly. He steps back, snaps a few pictures.

“Can you take the jacket off?” He asks, peering up at you from over his camera. “It’s bulky, it’s swallowing you up.”

You take off the jacket, shrugging it off and to the side. He smiles and takes a few more pictures. You enjoy the soft pressure of his big hands on your body as he adjusts you into new poses for him— like a pretty doll for him to play with.

After a while, the room is thick with cigarette smoke. He has one dangling from between his lips that he puffs on between instructions. “Can you go topless?” He asks suddenly. When he registers your surprise he tacks on a quick explanation— that it’ll be tasteful. That it’s all for art. That you’re beautiful, that someone who looks like you should be immortalized like that.

And it works on you, as corny as it is. It feels different once you take your top off, when you’re exposed to him like that. You can’t help but cover yourself, laughing shyly, nervously. He stands up and uncrosses your arms, exposing your breasts to him while he holds your wrists at your side. “Don’t cover up,” he says, and a trail of smoke follows the words. You swallow and nod.

He snaps a few more pictures, and now his hands feel different. Like he’s not posing you as much as he’s taking the opportunity to touch you. His hands running over your ribs as he turns you slightly to the left, his thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts. Your breath goes shaky, and the thick cling of smoke in the air is making your brain all fuzzy.

His fingers trail just at the waistband of your hips, touching at the hip huggers you wear. “What about these?” He murmurs. “Can you take these off for me?”

Rational thought is at the window. You’re not even sure that you’ve heard a camera snap in the past ten minutes. His fingers pop the buttons there and they slide down your legs. “Very pretty,” he hums, big hands exploring the newly exposed flesh. “You should be a model.” He grins like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Because Isn’t that what you’re doing? Even if his camera is forgotten around his neck, and you’re stripping down in a guest bedroom for a man you met on the street an hour ago. His fingers ease the soft cotton of your panties down your legs and you don’t try to stop it. You part your thighs to let them pool at your ankles. His breath is hot at the apex of your thighs as he looks up at you. “So beautiful.” His lips are brushing your skin and your knees feel weak. “Can I take some more pictures?” Isn’t that what you were there for?