#streets saying it might be max f but….. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 10 months

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decent incentives ✴︎ cl16, mv1

genre: this is. Smut, porn W plot, threesome, driver reader

word count: 6.9k

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs. Or: You’ve been a brat, and only two people know how to mellow you out. title from this

auds here… hi hi hi! scanned my reqs last week, found a max/charles threesome one, and wrote this out in half a day after a friend showed me the challengers trailer (i love tennis and it drove me to write abt a sport that was not, in fact, tennis) also i truly cannot explain the phenomenon behind me finding smut/these kinds of works easier to suss out these days (long form fic i talked abt in the last drabble is not this one fyi) but it’s just ???? like i don’t… i’ve no clue. i hope u enjoy this anyway!!!! love auds :)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, double penetration, sexual tension, masturbation (f), teasing, praise central, reader is a MASSIVE brat, size kink, dirty talk, i don’t want to say brat taming but kinda kinda

Your first time in Max Verstappen’s hotel room happened after a tiring night of media and press, where you spent hours together smoking to calm yourselves down. You’d almost been caught by a manager, stepping on your sticks as soon as the back door swung open and your names were called out to do another interview. This was with ESPN, if you remember right. There’d been a muddled chaos of journalism in the venue, all the jumbled mess of the same questions. As young as you both are, do you feel intimidated by success?

It didn’t—and still doesn’t—help, you suppose, that both you and Max had stared, tight-lipped and deflated brows, and stated, with finality: no.

The afternoon stretched into an entire night, and by the time the clock ticked nine and everything had formally wrapped up, Max mustered up the courage and a half it took to invite you to his hotel room for a cig and half a Cuervo divided into three shots each. The conversation had progressed as he drove, the continuation of an otherwise unorthodox friendship between a Red Bull and Mercedes driver—a fact you’d both acknowledged but opted to ignore.

Drivers are friends all the time, you figure—you’re close with few drivers—but none of them are Max. You had made the lousy small talk, commented on how different the pre- and post-race processes have become since your entrance in 2018, which, back then, had seemed like forever ago. “It would seem like forever to a world champion,” he’d said, and his voice is all teasing and raspy and scruffed up. You had laughed, a scoffy little noise, and told him to shut up.

He obeyed, for two seconds, then added, “Do you mind if we meet someone there?”

The hotel room was what you might expect a high-level athlete to be bestowed with, wide and huge but not as wide and not as huge as yours a few streets over. There’d been a thing of cologne left uncapped on the table by the door, Adidas shoes on the floor next to Nikes, and then a low table housing a still smoking joint that left the entire living room smelling like grass.

Somehow, Max had managed to turn a neutral, sterile hotel room into a boy’s room. The scent of weed mixed with Tom Ford cologne. The rap music blending into the open balcony’s traffic noise. The socks on the floor, two pairs, both white. It’s a strenuous effort, you’d thought—and you were beginning to think this wasn’t the work of Max alone. “We have a guest,” he’d hollered when he managed to fiddle with the key card properly enough to leave the door alone.

No one had answered, or surfaced from the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom, so you followed Max into the bar area. Bottles of booze in varying states of empty, lemon slices and salt now cold—“Do you not call housekeeping?” You’d asked, amusement concealing curiosity as you accepted a poured-out shot. He said they do—they—and sometimes hotel staff are just a bunch of pricks. He asked more questions. How it felt to win at twenty-one, how it felt to be driving, to be the youngest winner, the first female driver.

Ask me something I don’t hear fucking journalists say all the time, you’d replied back, half-jokingly. The August air nipped at your cheeks, chilling your warm face. He’d laughed, and explained that he re-asked the questions in case you have a more honest answer to give him. The most honesty you could offer is that you’d grown to hate your reputation because it precedes your skill. It’d been silent for a bit then, just the scent of the unclaimed weed. Then Max went, We have a new friend.

You turned to see who he was talking to. Charles was at the doorway, eyes on you already, raising a hand to say a silent hello. “H…” He trailed off. “Hey.”

He was shirtless, Calvins tight on his legs, his free hand scratching absently at his abs. Behind you, you had faintly picked up on Max introducing you and Charles rolled his eyes before replying, clipped, I know who she is, wiseass. He’d taken the weed and almost left, but you spoke next.

“Want to come sit?”

He paused, turned, and blinked. “I’m alright,” he rejected. “We have a meeting tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Then he was back in the bedroom area, leaving behind him a trail of grassy smoke. He was clearly rugged and fresh from sleep, the delicious sleep athletes have all grown familiar with: post-race, overcome with a terrible exhaustion. You’d only ever exchanged a few words with either of these two, and the fact that you were alone with them sent a warm, drawling thrill up your spine.

You were two and a half shots in when Charles reappeared, sans weed. “Any left for me?”

—

If you grouped the grid into years, you would be with Max and Charles—on the younger end, still at the ripe years of your careers. You entered first, though, then Max, thenCharles, which meant you were connected to, and friends with, relatively different people on the paddock. But the 2020 season and your many close calls with Max began the media and manager tirade of constantly lumping you and Max into the same interviews, press conferences, and media days, to maybe somehow elicit a bit of drama out (a tireless and unrelenting effort).

That’s how the rumors started. The rumor that permeates you most is one that asks about you, Max, and Charles. Some say you dated one then the other (a homie hopper, they’d branded you in 2021), others say they dated each other and you butted in. All of them were woefully untrue, in the same way all had some ring of truth to them.

And you suppose that’s what hotwired the beginning of your nights spent at Max’s hotel room, where Charles would nearly always be camped out, then eventually vice versa (Charles’ room, Max camping out; your room, solo, housing them for one night), drinking and/or smoking and/or playing some form of cards. And you suppose again that it was all this that radiated into everything else, all your wins and successes and bad days and near crashes, that just caused the entire universe to topple over, into itself, and creep up onto the three of you in Bahrain that year.

But that year is three years ago, and if you try to detail every last divot of it, you’re going to wind up rubbing a migraine out of your head. And you’re not interested in developing a headache—not when you’re celebrating the fifth race of the 2023 season.

It’s your fourth win this season. It’s all anybody ever talks about, how you had gone and secured a third championship for yourself last year, and how you’re gunning for four, the greatest the sport has seen in years. It’s all anyone can repeat and echo—you’re a fucking legend!—and you know from experience that praise does more than the most dangerous cocktail of drugs to get you high.

The afterparty is full and obnoxiously loud, dark and smoky and low-visibility. You’re wearing a flimsy dress and running a hand through your hair while you nurse a drink, feeling drunk on compliments and confused with certain absences. You can feel the bass through the tiled floor, heels clicking on it as you search, search, and come up short. Neither Max nor Charles have sent you a text, a play they always perform to break a routine you’ve become familiar with. You frown. Hey, somebody says next to you, you’re better than anyone else on the grid right now! You thank them, thinking to yourself—where the fuck is anyone else on the grid anyway? The relevant people, at least?

Half an hour later, you’ve ditched the party and are pounding with your fists at Max’s hotel room door in an effort to get them to open it quicker, after your knuckles didn’t seem to do the work well enough. You half—no, mostly—expect Charles to be the one who pulls it open. He’s more prudent. He gives in easier. He’s nicer and he can spare a thought for the other people on this floor (but the price of this room means there barely are).

“What.” His voice is gritty.

“You told me you would come tonight.” Your voice is steady—you’d chosen not to drink much, and what little you consumed wore off on the ride here. Even with your heels on and even in sleepiness, you notice his presence towers over yours. “You both said.”

“We were tired.”

You scoff and gently push past him into the room, where evidence of their existence rags the furniture. “Every hotel room you ever stay in is turned into a fucking frat house.” Beer bottles, cigs, gifts from fans stored with precarious care but peeking out from suitcases.

“We were sleeping. I am sleepy,” he says behind you, unamused by your sudden appearance. He shuts the door and stands still, looking as disappointed as he can. It’s unlike him. You’re buying time to find out what the problem is.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you say, relenting, running a few fingers over the mess of clothes strewn atop the armrest of the couch. “My driver’s downstairs, anyway. I wanted you there tonight, though.” You look up, meet his eyes. Tired and green and fed up. “Both of you. We could’ve celebrated.”

He pulls his lips tight and stands straighter. “I know, I know.” He softens a little. “I’m sorry, okay? Desolé. Just… tired.” You know he’s tired because his team is shit, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re so wrapped up with everything that your irritance fails to quell.

“Where’s Max?” You ask roughly instead, thumbing at the strap of your minidress. He gestures to the bedroom. You’re quiet but stormy when you walk in, finding him, messy hair and tired eyes notwithstanding, fully awake, unlike what his roomie has been telling you since you arrived; you scoff out loud again. Des-fucking-picable. You sit yourself on the couch, crossing your legs petulantly.

They both stare. They’re mad, it occurs to you, which is weird because they had you in between them on that same bed less than forty-eight hours ago. You’d come thrice and begged for more, but they laughed and said you all needed sleep to get up for race prep. Race prep. Race prep.

“Okay, then.” You throw two hands up in a semi-shrug. “Let’s have it. What’s the matter? No use lying.”

They both look irritated. “Nothing,” Max says.

“Fuck nothing.” You trail a hand over the hem of your dress. “You’re pissed with me, but I didn’t do shit.” You try to rerack the race, but you hadn’t so much as collided with them in the slightest, apart from overtaking them a few times, but they weren’t man children to whine over that. You’d shared the podium with Charles, for Chrissake.

“You’re right. You just went and…” Charles blows a raspberry and makes an explosion gesture, opening his clenched fist. “Shat on us in your post-race interview.”

And there it is.

You huff out a laugh, momentarily losing control over speech, and it’s caught in between itself and a sigh, a breathy noise that makes waves in the quiet room. Okay, you think. I get it. Your eyes flit in-between the two men across you, your shoulders straight and eyebrows raised, posing a challenge. “What, are you jealous?”

They’re silent. And you know silence always means—

Your eyes relax, smug and a little teasing as you elaborate. “Because you know I’m better than both of you?”

—Yes.

Their silence is redeeming and rewarding and permissive and it speaks volumes louder than if they’d actually admitted to it. You stare back at them, eyes narrowed, amused, coy. You’d been joking around in your Sky Sports interview. Sure, you’re a bit of a tease, especially on the high of a win. But they should know that by now.

You know it annoys them more to leave the door wide open as you leave, than to slam it closed.

—

“Will you draw me a tattoo?!”

“I’d love to, but you are going to regret it,” Charles laughs, signing his name off with a heart on the frenzied fan’s outstretched cap. The busy, busy practice day had now worn into night, though nothing seems to be taking his mind off the fact that you’ve been giving him and Max the cold shoulder since last week. And he knows it’s stupid, he knows he and Max were being irrational and pissy—him especially—but now he just finds himself needing to apologize before anything becomes worse.

But his priority is getting to your hotel, which now seems like the journey of his lifetime. His bodyguard is a bulldozer and grips his elbow to traverse them through the sea of people who cheer him on, go Charles have faith in Ferrari and yeah, that’s been getting more and more difficult as the races pass without much good progress. There are flashes all around, noise and laughing and whoops and gifts he tries to receive, but he just—he needs to get to your hotel. Preoccupied, he remembers where he’d seen Max last, just seconds before leaving the paddock for the evening.

You spend a lot of time with a certain pair Ferrari and Mercedes drivers, says the interviewer in Dutch. Charles squints at the subtitles and waits for Max’s reaction.

He’s in the passenger seat, being driven around for a change, and maybe he’s a pessimist and he misses you and Max, or maybe the city he’s in is just. Dreary, so he opts to stare at his phone like every other person. The clip’s been posted by a fan on Twitter, and the caption is something jokey—something about a dream threesome. He can’t help but laugh as he watches. We are close, us three, Max says, nodding. In fact I will be meeting them later.

The media’s always speculated, rumors born out of a few close calls outside clubs where you’re tipsy and giggly and getting into one car. The fans, funny as ever, also make some fun of it—posting pictures of you three captioned with something like polyamory is real or her and the guys she told you not to worry about, but God if any of them knew the real picture, the whole three years of it, all the sex and hickeys and rumors.

He scrolls a bit more. There are a few photos of you leaving the paddock, hand poised atop your face to shield it from the paps. You get loads more of them wherever you are, loads morecompared to anybody else on the grid. You always attract the media, the press. He finds a picture with your face in it, smiling at your result during FP2. Fuck. You’re pretty, hair damp with sweat, lips stretched into a proud grin, suited hand raising a thumbs up.

“Where to?” The driver beside him asks suddenly.

—

“Fairmont,” Max says to his assistant as he pulls out of parking. “I’m hanging up, doei.” He presses the red button and sighs, shutting his eyes and driving the steady, increasingly familiar routes of the city. He’d called you this morning but you didn’t pick up. Last night he’d slept restlessly, which was no different from the nights before, anyway.

He gets to the valet parking of your hotel when purple is just settling into blackness in the sky, the beginnings of a civil discussion at the tip of his tongue as he exits the elevator and finds your room, opening it and finding it unlocked already. Charles must have done the brunt of it, or maybe you’d gotten an assistant of an assistant to pass an extra keycard to him. You always plan around them, thinking ahead. Both on and off track.

Like the hotel rooms he and Charles share or camp out at, your existence is terribly visible. Unlike them, though, it manifests differently.

It smells like your perfume, the pink bottle he’d found you spritzing on once, and everything is neat and tidy and gorgeous. A vase of white peonies on the low table, lipstick on the table by the mirror, even the pack of cigarettes you barely smoke is pretty and unassuming on the sofa. The only thing amiss—a pair of men’s shoes, those ones with stars on them that you bought Charles on a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip. He toes off his own beside them, eyes the alignment, and fixes it lest you scold them for it later.

Anyway. It smells like you. That’s the only thing he cares about right now. It hits him like a tidal wave, after being ignored the whole week and then some. Your perfume, your favorite linen spray—that black and white glass bottle you carry around like a rosary—your favorite lip balm, even. He swears he smells the vanilla, can recall the taste of it from kissing you ditzy.

It’s beginning to rain—it had been drizzling already, en route here—and the noise pelts the windows, an accompaniment to his footsteps down the hall. He’s familiar with the layout of a penthouse suite, but still he tries out the WC door, and then the closet with the ironing board, before finally he figures the bedroom should be at the end of the hall.

He’s reciting it. I’m sorry. Would you stop being a brat? No. No, just say you’re sorry and then he’s standing at the ajar door of your bedroom, pushing it open, and he can’t feel anything. The words have evaporated. So have his warm little sentimental feelings, and so the annoyance he’d come busting in with.

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs.

He opens his mouth but nothing leaves. His eyes find Charles, standing by the door, propped against the desk, arms crossed and fingers digging into his biceps. Max looks at you again. You have a pretty flush high on your cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on your exposed collar. He blinks and realizes you’ve been talking.

“I said, you can sit the fuck down.” There’s a couch to his left.

He pulls himself together and stays beside Charles. “I’m good here, thanks.”

You eye the two of them. They look like stupid twins in the same way they look like Republican husbands. You roll your eyes and allow it; anyway, you’re not in the mood to order either of them around too much.

Charles has been watching you for a while now, watched you fake moans and exaggerate whines, feigning pleasure over two of your fingers. It’s almost laughable—he’d allowed a smile, in fact, because he knows better. Once, he’d pulled your hair so hard you teared up, nodding, hand at his wrist, whimpering more, harder, do it. Another time, he and Max had gotten you all riled up and edged for half an hour, so riled that all you could mutter out were please and their names when they finally stuffed you full. You’re evidently playing your games again. You love to play around with them. It’s almost—you could almost call it a hobby.

“I’m not going to stop just ‘cause you’re both here.” Your hand moves, two fingers fucking into yourself, pink lace pushed aside. Your cunt is so pretty, they’re both thinking. “Did you think I would?” When silence greets you, you decide to address them directly. “Max. Did you?”

His voice is thin and tight when he responds, “Yeah, actually—so we could suss this out, at least.”

Your laugh is patronizing. “I prefer it this way. And you know what?”

Max stares. Charles has already been told this, several minutes ago when he found you in the exact same position. It’s not any easier for him to hear it again, chaste and sweet out of your lips. You can’t touch me.

See, they would’ve been content without touching you, if they sit and think about it. Max didn’t walk in here thinking he’d even be kissing you, and he knows Charles thinks the same thing. Maybe touch you—innocently, that kind of way. Sure, they’d been pent up, heady with arousal, but that came second to talking things out. But now you’ve told them they can’t touch, and that’s worsened them to their limit. Charles imagines touching you, the same touch he gives when it’s post-race and he gets you alone, to himself, nobody else’s, quick fucks in a dim closet, whispering some dirty shit in your ear and getting you like putty in his hands.

Max thinks of nearly the same thing. Imagines running his hand over your hair, gentle but firm, the same way he does when he knocks at your hotel room after hours and gets you from high-strung and bratty to begging for more. You notice their eyes, darkened; you realize their minds have wandered. So, they watch hopelessly as the smirk spreads prettily across your flushed face, and they remember the events of a week prior, when childishly, they’d acted out, and think, for a second, that maybe they deserve this.

You all know what it’s like to keep them from touching you.

It was both easier and worse then, in 2020 when everything started—when everything was brand new and thrilling and exciting. Easier, because they were satisfied as soon as they got you to come, maybe kiss them both, and they were content with slow exploration. Worse, because you were all insatiable. It felt like none of you could go minutes without some form of touch, during, in-between, after practice, quali, fuck—it was worse, much worse.

As you all grew older and got accustomed to the drivel of racing, you all got better. It didn’t get much easier.

Charles recalls how insatiable he was—and thinks, with amusement almost, that if he was insatiable then, he’s worse now. Now he knows where, how, for how long to touch you to get you wide-eyed and warm in the face even in the most serious of moments. Max, too. He knows how you taste, bend, tease. They love touching you. Just skin to skin. And you’ve gone and put a great big X mark over that.

“So,” Max says, voice flat, the way it is when he’s unamused with a reporter, “we’re in a time out.”

“You can call it that,” you giggle, and it segues into a huffy whimper when you angle your hand just right. “You were acting childish, anyway.”

Charles sighs, long and deep. “We—fuck.” His eyes can’t unglue themselves from your fingers. He knows he could make you feel so much better, fuck real moans out of you until you’re crying. “We were being childish, oui, and it was—we were just tense. I was unhappy with strategy. I could’ve been P2 but they pitted me at the worst time, putain. I took it out on you, and I’m… I was… I was worn out, and you called us childish in your interview.”

Ever the minx, you only smile. You’d been joking, you clarified that a day later; it was crass, spurred on by team radios of the two of them complaining in the latter half of the race. “It was a joke, Charles.”

“I know, baby, I know.” His lip curls and he breathes steadily, controlling himself. “It was unprompted though. You weren’t even asked about us. And yeah, a joke—but it felt shitty, love. I don’t mind it—we don’t mind it, but—” He needs to think about the phrasing, think about his intentions.

Your eyes are on fire, clearly still angry, but steadily softening.

“But in moderation,” comes Max’s raspy voice. “You’re running your mouth a lot in the media.”

“You’re one to—ah—talk,” you huff back, a futile argument.

“You need to understand that—that when you’re giddy, or angry, you can’t keep turning to interviews to express all that out. You need to sit with it. Just because we’re not…” your boyfriends, Max almost says, “…yours, doesn’t mean you can shit on us then expect us to be okay with it a few hours later. It’s a thing you do. A game you play. And it’s nice, it was nice then, but it’s annoying now, and it’s almost, like, do you even want this to keep going? To work—?”

You recoil. “You seriously think I don’t want th—”

Charles cuts in. “Well, when you play at us like this, yeah. Put in the work. If you’re high off a win, or mad for some other reason, just let it happen. Don’t fucking.” He exhales. “Call us names, then show up at our hotel acting like an angel.”

They’ve always looked out for you like this, known when to scold you or put you in your place for doing too much or not doing enough. They’ve never let personal things cross too much with business, which is a blessing of an ability when you’re three people having regular sex while balancing a ludicrous athletic career. It’s all sussed down to stupid ‘I care for you’ stuff that, frankly, they’re both too horny and angry to get into the grit of right now.

They don’t realize how quiet the room has grown until you eke out a noise, a thoughtful sound of agreement. You’ve pulled your fingers out, both hands playing with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, rolling it into a ball. Your hair falls in waves. There’s a crease in it from the ponytail you wear when driving.

Your expression is still murderous, but much softer now; you cough, “I—I get what you’re saying. And I know I play… I have these games, or—but, honestly, I could say the same to you both.” You stutter through your totally shit explanation.

“How do you… mean,” deadpans Max.

“I mean, when I’m acting out, you two just take it.” Having them at your mercy like that is satisfying in its own right, but pragmatically, it’s unhealthy. “You don’t ever tell me off. Even now. I need you to tell me… to fucking,” you’re warm and spluttery now. “Fuck's sake, okay? I know I can be annoying. I know I say stupid shit when I don’t finish and I’m way less diplomatic than Mr. Il Predestinato,” you breathe. “But you two just let me be annoying!”

“Then don’t be annoying,” Charles says, diplomatic as ever—his voice rises, though, nearly matching yours.

“Not like that!” You huff, folding your legs and sitting straighter, and they catch a glimpse of your pink panties again. “When I’m out of line, you”—you point to them—“need to correct me.” They’re nearly blindsided by your request to… be told what to do, which is so different from how sex usually works. From how this whole dynamic usually works.

But Max remembers your manager, and Toto, and your teammate Lewis even, and your engineers, who have all, at one point or another, had to talk you down and tell you to calm down and correct your behavior. So he says, “People do that all the time, but it only works for a second.”

“Because th—” You suck in a lungful of air. “They’re not you two, you daft fuckers!” You’re at the centre of the bed now, sweater drooped over your folded thighs, eyes matching the rain outside. “Every time, I need to be talked down, and you never. Do it. So do it. Fucking—do it. I have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t—-”

“Oh, I do.” You say, folding your arms over your chest.

“This is despicable,” Max says. “We need to sort this out properly.”

“So what? This isn’t”—you raise violent air quotes—“putting in the work?”

They glance at each other for a minute. They feel you thinking you’re winning, thinking they’ll grovel and say okay we’ll do that next time, can we fuck you? Like all the other semi-resolved fights before. You’re sitting straight, eyebrows raised, defiant. But for them to do that—you just said it wasn’t what you needed.

And they’d have to be caught dead before not giving you what you need. If you want to be bossed around a bit, then they’ll do it.

“Sit down,” Charles goes. Unmoving.

“What.” You’re deadpanning, eyes narrowed.

“Sit the fuck down,” he repeats. You open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You pout, leaning against the headboard and unfolding your legs. He rounds the room, sits at the foot of the bed. It’s a big bed, so even if he’s on it, he still needs to reach over a bit to be able to touch you. The distance is good, though, keeps them in control. Max sits opposite him, both of them on either side of you, and they’re so close, so scrutinizing, so handsome.

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he says. You take a second, spreading your knees and obeying. You find a way, though, to make their little challenge all your own—you make a show of it, peeking your tongue out and licking your bottom lip all shiny before hollowing your cheeks. You stare at them the whole time and you don’t blink. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. “Suck on them.” You continue doing it, lips slightly curled.

“You’re a brat.” You try to conceal the whimper that leaves you but it fails pathetically. Charles presses on. “A spoiled brat.”

He’s the nicer of the two. Your whole threesome situation had began three years ago, and in almost every tryst since then, he’s been nice. In fact, if any of them were to ever ‘tell you off’ like you so desperately wanted, apparently, it would have definitely been Max. He’s firm, yeah, but he’s sweet. And he’d hate to boss you around too much, even if it’s something he wants. So he thinks, and he pretends he’s back to quali day of last week. It was a slow morning because of weather problems, so everyone was in a mood, and you were absolutely no exception. You come off as quiet to the public and to some of the grid, but to your friends, you’re anything but.

In an effort to lift the mood, you’d been mouthing off the entire day to your close circle of driver friends, in particular retelling the story of how you had teased Charles post-DNF in Saudi, and even gotten Lando to laugh about it at the time. What a season starter, you said when you were recounting it. You left out a detail: that night in Saudi, he’d fucked you and refused to let you cum, soaking your pillow with tears and goading a sobbed apology out of you.

Watching you joke about it again, even if it was a fucking joke and even if it was because you were mad at him and Max—got him all red hot, pissed off. Seething.

“Do you remember last race weekend when you joked about my DNF in Saudi?”

Cheeks hollowed, you nod.

“Fucking brat. That whole day. Ignoring me, ignoring Max. Didn’t listen to our apologies. Just noise all day.”

Your brows knit defiantly.

“I’m serious. You weren’t being funny. Just a brat. And if you were bored or pissed, you could’ve said so instead of making me look stupid.” You nod.

He glimpses at Max; the latter speaks next. “Open yourself up.”

You spread your legs out farther and sneak your spit-slick fingers down, pushing the flimsy material aside to rub at your cunt, two fingers sliding right back in. You breathe out shakily and wait for them to talk again. You’re still fussy, high-strung, not totally calm and mellowed down yet.

“When Charles and I aren’t here to fuck you into behaving, who’s going to make sure you’re acting proper?”

“Carlos,” you grit out in between thrusts.

They seethe. “Again,” Charles says, unamused.

“Nat,” you name your manager. “Lewis, or something. Fuck. Lando? I don’t—”

You asked to be told what to do, but you never said, they suppose, that it would be an easy job. “Guess again.”

“Toto.” You look delighted at that last one, knowing the implication. They’ve always been a bit jealous there. You thrive off disobedience, getting your two favorite boys all angry and flushed red with it. You open your mouth to try smartassing your way out of their orders, but Max beats you to it. “If you guess wrong, you’re not cumming. We’ll fuck you tonight, but no cumming.”

You whimper out loud, sinking your fingers farther in, adding a third.

“Don’t add another. Answer Max,” Charles says.

“Fuck,” you seethe, slipping the third out on your next thrust. “Me. I’m supposed to keep myself in check. When I’m mad. When I’m giddy and fuck—yeah. Me. It’s me.”

“Good girl,” he rasps out. “Good girl. You have to practice. How does it feel?”

I know, you mouth, eyes fluttering. You scissor the two fingers you’re thrusting in and out, wet with slick. “Feels good.”

“Not your fingers, love,” Max says. “How’s it feel hearing what we just told you?”

“Good, better,” you say in-between breaths. “I’ll practice. I like it. You’re not… letting me push you around. You’re—you can punish—fuck. Me.”

“Yeah? How, then?”

“Fuck me,” you repeat breathlessly. “Both of you.”

“Add another,” Charles orders, and you nod, quick and pliant, fucking yourself open. They’re both so hard, cocks heavy and uncomfortable in their jeans. You can see the thick shapes of them through the denim, and you thrust harder, a futile attempt to replicate how it feels when they’re fucking you.

“You remember how it feels, having both of us in you?” Max sounds amused.

“Yes,” you moan. Your pathetic imitation of moans and gasps earlier pales in comparison to this, voice dry and thick with pleasure and raw desperation. “Yes, pl—fuck, yes.”

“Why aren’t you feeling it now?” They need to hear you verbalize the reason why, admit it one last time before they give you what you want. You whine, rutting your hips up against your hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm.

“Because I was being a brat, and I—you were being childish, but I didn’t want to talk things through either—and I’m always taking out my emotions on you guys, and I’m sorry, okay, would you just fuck me already?”

They’re on you immediately, all words and whispers, fingers at your chin turning you both ways to slot kisses on your mouth. Your free hand palms over Max’s bulge; he’s the one to your right. It’s hard and thick and heavy and you need it, need them. Charles’ hand takes over yours, thrusting deep and you’re whimpering into his sweet mouth.

“Feel my cock?” Max asks, “Could make you feel real nice, baby.”

“I know,” you sigh, breathless. “I want it.”

“When's the last time you took us both?” Charles asks, smile wicked. “Little thing like you.”

You grit out a moan, fuzzy and floating, letting them lift you up to straddle—one of them—you open your eyes and see Charles staring up at you, wonder and green eyes. “Got this, love?” You nod, yeah, I’ve got it, you say, little sighs. Both of you. Now.

This space you’re in, where it’s pleasure and fuzz and nothing else, is comparable to the high of winning. And you know you prefer that to sex, at least now, because racing is your life. It’s the slow satisfaction of being the best on the entire grid, despite everything. It’s the cheers, the raised fists when you climb atop your car and bring the crowd to a crescendo. The even louder screams when you pull your helmet and balaclava off and smile, trophy and all, champagne shiny and glowy on your face. All that shit—it’s addictive, and it feels just like this. So similar, in fact, because when you win, you finish on top of Charles and Max, and—

—Max is behind you, jeans tugged just enough for his cock to be pulled free, slick with lube and prodding at your ass—

—it feels just fucking like this.

“Like Max’s cock filling you up?” His cockhead is breaching your tight entrance and you moan out loud.

“I missed it,” you say, muffled by Charles’ free thumb at your lips, swirling it on your tongue. You flip him off for cutting you off and he laughs. “Give it t’me,” you goad, turning slightly. You want it so bad, missed being fed with their cocks. A week is too long. “I need more of it, all of it. In me, fill me up,” you beg, whimpering, desperate.

Max stares at your ass, grabs at the flesh there, at the string of your thong. You suck him in so hungrily, like you’re challenging him to not thrust in fully; you’re canting your hips backward too, and Max has to hike the too-big sweater up to watch the muscles of your back flex to meet his dick.

“So pretty, princess,” Charles says, because with them you really are a princess. Max begins to thrust into you from behind and you’re getting little moans fucked out of you, watching Charles unbuckle his jeans to tug his cock out, thick and pretty and you want—if you could, you would suck on it, let him fuck your throat, but you’re in the business of being filled to the point of blank thoughts right now.

You feel Charles at your cunt then, your slick making the slide easier, and Charles bucks his hips up and you—this is what you needed, to mellow you down, get you all loose and ready for more. “Take it, baby,” Max says, “all of it, all of us.”

“Ah,” you gasp out. “Ah.”

“Come on,” he grits, voice hardening. “You’re ruined. Pretty little girl. Come on.”

“Maxie,” you call out weakly, your fond little nickname for him. You remember Charles whining about how he doesn’t have one, so you save baby for him, had sussed that out on a night where they took turns fucking you. Your hips torn between the two dicks stuffing you, face sweaty and the sweater doesn’t help, gets you hotter; Charles gets the hint, and with effort, pulls it off you. Your skin is shiny underneath, matching bra sticking to your sweaty, sheened out skin.

“Love it,” you say, voice strained. “Split—fuck—me open.” Your holes clench around them and Jesus, they could have you all flushed and pretty and spread out like them, like this, forever. Charles grabs at the flesh of your ass, slaps you once and you’re tightening around them, breath impossibly still, thighs shaking. Max’s hands hold your hips tight, hungrily traveling up, groping at the wire of your bra to press at your tits. You’re pressed against both of them at a delicious angle that gets you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum, I,” you breathe out, moaning, “I haven’t touched myself since…”

They both moan at that, delirious. Fuck. The thought of you holding it—for them—fuck.

“You’re so perfect, so—fuck—slutty,” Charles says, and you can’t hide the moan fast enough. “Feels good, having us in you, yeah? Getting you all noisy and… fucking—shit. I know how much you needed this, love. I know how much you love it. Us.”

From behind, Max snakes a hand up your abdomen, the column of your throat, and wraps there. You see white from the sensation of it alone.

“Tell me—I can’t—please, I—Charles—Maxie—” You’re increasingly incoherent, slick running down your thighs, twitching vigorously. You try to comprehend everything but you’re losing coherence and they get it, they get it, wiping your tears and sweat and coercing you to cum, yeah, pretty little pussy so fucking wet for us, cum hard, come on, you’ve been so good, baby, the best girl for us.

There’s no way either of them are lasting after that, after watching you fall apart and finish on top of them, stuffed full, stuffed pliant, stuffed fucking docile.

It’s your turn, then, to praise, your favorite boys, always so good for me, thank you for letting me cum, come on, let me taste it—and you’re stained with their release after a few minutes, Max biting on your shoulder, Charles’ thumb indenting your hip.

—

What. A. Podium, ladies and gentlemen! Max Verstappen of Red Bull, from P6 in the last race to a stunning P3 drive—Charles Leclerc, braving the team’s dismal strategy to get P2! What a knockout. Of course the Mercedes legend, gunning for four championships now, had crossed the flag first to claim her fifth P1 of the season.

What a legendary race, absolutely proper podium. They showed us what driving is, real driving.

The season is heating up.

Makes you wonder what happened over the weekend for them to get such good results.

This is F1. I’m sure they keep each other motivated.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

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janaispunk · 7 months

Text

still bejeweled

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~4.4k

summary: after breaking up with your boyfriend, your self-esteem is crushed. your best friend takes you to your favorite bar to take your mind off of things. there's a band is playing there tonight and the singer immediately catches your eye. inspired by taylor swift's bejeweled – and when i meet the band, they ask, 'do you have a man?', i could still say, 'i don't remember'

tags/warnings: explicit smut, only 18+, no/pre-outbreak au, no sarah, musician!joel, small age gap (reader is in her late 20s, joel's in his mid 30s), alcohol consumption, joel pulls her hair, able-bodied reader, a bit of angst, fluff, making out, fingering, dirty talk (joel talks you through it, i just know it), praise kink, unprotected p in v (i just didn't feel like mentioning it, this is my fantasy world where pregnancies & sti's don't exist, but they very much exist in the real world, don't do this), joel has a big dick (it's canon), consent king joel, rough sex, ass-slapping, hair-pulling, please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: this came to me while making breakfast and listening to taylor, and didn't want to leave my head again. pretty self indulgent, i'm fairly certain that a musician!joel in my life would fix me. also, to boyfriends everywhere: fuck you <3

• dividers by the lovely @saradika!

• find my full masterlist here!

You storm out of the apartment, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill over. This is it for good, you tell yourself. It's not the first fight of the sort that you and your boyfriend Max – now ex-boyfriend, you guess – have gotten into, with you usually backing down eventually, to keep the peace between the two of you. You've been together for more than three years, and you had hoped that this might be the one – the guy that you can settle down with, the one that you've been waiting for.

But over the past few months, Max has gotten more distant, less involved in the relationship, less interested in you, making you feel like you're burdening him, like you're always asking for too much. Like you are too much. You had asked several times if something was bothering him, something that you could work through together. Everything's fine babe, I don't know why you're even asking. Stop getting on my nerves with this.

You scoff to yourself. Usually, this was the point where you would step back from the argument, not willing to invest energy in a fight that wouldn't lead to anything anyway. Maybe things weren't perfect with Max, but they were what you knew. Familiar, comfortable. Better than being alone. Maybe not the big love that books and movies told you about, but who knows if that sort of thing even exists.

But today, when he just wouldn't give a shit about anything you said, something inside of you had snapped. “I feel like you don't even love me anymore. Do you?!” you had demanded, and the look on his face had told you everything that you needed to know.

That's how you find yourself on the street in front of your best friend's place, the short walk having somewhat cleared your head. Who does Max even think he is? It's not too much to ask to care about your partner, to show interest in them, to support them, is it? And he hasn't done any of that in quite some time.

All things considered, he just wasn't that great of a boyfriend. Still, you can't help feeling sad about it. Another relationship failed, another guy that just didn't deem you as good enough to pay attention to you. Maybe you're just not that interesting, a voice in your head whispers. You sniffle and shake your head, willing the thought out of your mind.

Your best friend Amanda greets you at her door, immediately clocking your slumped shoulders and reddened eyes, and hugs you tightly while leading you into her living room. Her concern for you elicits another wave of tears and you shakily recap today's events to her. She listens patiently, thankfully not telling you that you're better off without him or something like that, because even though you know that yourself, you don't think you could bear someone else saying it.

“I just can't believe that I'm single again and need to start over once more and I just-,” you bite your lip, willing away the tears that are pooling in your eyes, “I just feel like I'm not enough, like I can't keep a guy or I'm too picky, I don't know. It's just so frustrating, I don't wanna end up alone.”

Amanda's expression softens and she pulls you into her arms again. “You're not gonna end up alone, I promise you. You're funny and smart and,” she looks you up and down, “fucking hot. But you can't settle for less just because you're scared of ending up alone, okay? You're gonna find the guy that's right for you and then it will all make sense. Promise.”

You sigh, not sure if you believe her but also not in the mood to argue. After more talking, during which she eventually slips a glass of wine into your hand, Amanda decides that the two of you should go out tonight. Blow off some steam, show the world and yourself that you've still got it, as she puts it. You're honestly not sure if you've ever had it to begin with, but you let her enthusiasm wash over you, playing along as she insists that you wear one of her skimpiest dresses and starts doing your make up. You feel a little self-conscious with the tiny black dress that she has put you in and the dramatic red lipstick that she's currently applying to your lips.

“Don't look at me like that. You look so good and you'd know that if that fucker hadn't made you feel like you didn't for the past few months. But you've been too good of a girl for far too long now, and we're gonna change that tonight. Deal?” She expectantly holds her hand out for you to shake and you feel the excitement starting to bubble up in you. Maybe she's right and you do need to let go of your insecurities tonight. You shake her hand and she laughs delightedly, causing you to giggle as well.

Amanda finally declares that you're good to go, digging a sparkly handbag that's covered in tiny silvery jewels out of her closet. That one's actually yours, but you had left it at her place a few weeks ago after Max had told you how it was just too much and how you looked ridiculous with it. You had let it slide, thinking that it wasn't worth it to ruin the evening by fighting over a stupid handbag. What was wrong with you, you think to yourself now.

You look at yourself in her full-length mirror and you have to agree, you do look good. The short dress leaves most of your thighs bare, hugging your curves in all the right ways and the lipstick looks amazing, drawing the focus to the shape of your mouth. You do polish up real nice.

Amanda's boyfriend Patricks whistles appreciatively when you both exit from the bedroom and wishes you loads of fun. That's what a boyfriend should be like, you think to yourself. Supportive, loving, and just... kind?

Amanda drags you to one of your favorite bars. You've been here countless times together; usually it's a good crowd and the drinks are cheap. It's live music night, you realize as you walk in and notice the small stage at the far end of the room, which also explains why it's more crowded than usual. You push through a few people and manage to find two seats at the bar, from where you can watch the stage and hear the music, but it isn't too loud to talk.

The bartender comes up to you and Amanda orders tequila shots before you can even open your mouth. “I would've stuck to wine,” you complain to her and she shrugs, a big grin on her our face.

“That wouldn't be half as fun. We're going all out tonight, remember?”

You roll your eyes and nod, but when you down the first shot and bite down on the lime, you can't help the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “That's my girl!” Amanda giggles and promptly orders another round. After two more shots and feeling the tingling warmth that's spreading through your body, you let your eyes wander around the room until they find the stage.

It's mostly local bands that play here, some better than others, and tonight's isn't half bad. It's four guys, a little older than you, mid-thirties if you had to guess, and their music has an acoustic, country-ish vibe to it. Your eyes linger on the man in the front, who is softly singing into the microphone while strumming along on his guitar.

He's kinda hot, you muse to yourself, gaze trained on the way his muscles are softly flexing while he's plucking on the guitar strings with his large hands, the sleeves of his dark t-shirt straining against his arms. His deep voice is washing over you, reminding you of whiskey and honey, and you squint a little to take a closer look at his face. He has a strong jaw and pouty lips, and dark, expressive eyes that gaze into the room while he's singing. You can't explain it, but something about him just feels... warm. Like he's safe. Kind.

He has a scruffy beard and messy curls, giving him a sort of rugged look, that, combined with his incredibly broad shoulders, has you biting your lip subconsciously. How easily he could cage you in, how big and warm his hands would feel on your body...

Damn, he's really hot. And you really feel the tequila talking right now.

Amanda's fingers appear in your field of vision, snapping impatiently and you turn back to her, heat crawling up your cheeks. You might have been staring a bit too obviously. “Which one?” she grins.

“Huh?” you ask, rather poorly feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on! Okay, I'll guess,” she continues on, not giving you a chance to even try to deny anything, “it's the singer, right?”

“I-,” you start, but the look on her face tells you that it's already a lost cause, “yeah.”

She laughs delightedly and gestures to the bartender for another round of shots. “Oh, I don't think-,” you try to object, but she shushes you.

“I won't rest until you've made a move on that guy, good choice dare I say, and live a little. So drink up!” She toasts to you and you can't help laughing yourself before you tip your head back and swallow the burning alcohol in one go.

You steal another glance towards the stage – maybe a rather extended glance in all honesty – and catch the singer's eye. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, then he lets his eyes wander around the room, before returning to you, his lips curling into a knowing smirk when you're still looking at him.

You hastily tear yourself away, leaning into Amanda in an attempt of hiding how flustered you're suddenly feeling. “That was fucking hot,” she breathes into your ear.

“I know,” you whisper back urgently. Then the insecurity kicks back in. “Do you think he really meant me? I mean, we're all the way in the back here, I bet he can barely see-”

Amanda swats at your arm, shaking her head. “Please, he totally meant you. You're gonna talk to him later, you hear me?”

You groan, “Oh my god,” and lean into her further. “I'm not cut out for all this, I wouldn't even know what to say.” She tsks at you and orders another round of drinks, not taking No for an answer.

You loosen up a little over time, throwing a few more glances towards the stage and delight in the way he always seems to just wait for you to look at him. When you've made eye contact several times, he winks at you and you can't help but giggle, a kind of warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the alcohol. A wide grin stretches across his face as he announces the last song for the night. You give up all pretenses, your eyes basically glued to him until he strums his guitar one last time, then thanks the audience and joins his bandmates as they wander off the stage.

The bands usually pack up, then join the bar's patrons for a few beers. You try not to appear totally desperate and refrain from staring at the door that leads backstage, instead busying yourself with your drink and listening to Amanda, when you feel someone sliding to the bar counter behind you and a hand lands to rest on your shoulder. A very big, very warm hand, you come to notice, before a deep, honeyed voice floats into your ear, causing you to turn around.

“Hi. Can I buy you a drink?”

He seems even bigger up close, and even more handsome, and your lips part slightly, taking him in. You take a beat too long to answer, just sinking into his deep brown eyes, and a grin slowly spreads across his face. “I'm Joel, by the way.” He extends a hand for you to shake and you blink, shaking yourself out of your staring, quickly taking his hand and offering your own name.

His hand dwarfs yours, enveloping it in his warmth and you feel yourself blush. This is the moment, you tell yourself. “I'd love a drink,” you smile at him and he flags down the bartender to take your order. You steal a glance at Amanda, who's nodding enthusiastically.

“So...” Joel drawls when you have your drink, still standing so close to you that you're almost touching, with a smirk playing around the corner of his mouth, “do you have a man, or-?”

Your thoughts briefly flicker to Max, but you find that you can barely remember how devastated you felt mere hours ago, that you can hardly recall his face right now. “No... no, I don't.”

“She most certainly does not, she's all yours,” Amanda chimes in, leaning around you and beaming at Joel.

You can't help but giggle at the entire situation, pleasantly buzzing with both the alcohol in your system and the feeling of having Joel in your direct proximity, and finding him more attractive with every minute that you look at him.

“I really liked your performance,” you tell him and his grin widens.

“Yeah? I could tell, sweetheart.” You laugh; the pet name has your heart soaring in your chest, but you feel completely relaxed with him, not awkward, not desperate to please him or keep his interest. You just feel... good. Really, really good.

Talking to him is easy. He makes you laugh, makes you feel comfortable, and your cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much, but you can't stop. He's constantly touching you, his hand lingering on your shoulder, your arm, sliding down to your waist, and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

When he pulls at your hips to pull you off your bar stool, you quickly follow his lead, letting him sway you around to the music that's now playing from the juke box, giggling the entire time. You feel like a teenager, but you couldn't care less. You're tipsy, you're happy, the easily most attractive man that you've ever met seems to be more than interested in you – you feel amazing.

Joel's hand comes up to cup your face, his calloused fingertips brushing over your cheek and you lean into his touch. His eyes flick down to your lips and your breath stutters in your chest. Your arms wrap around his neck at the same time that he leans in until his mouth meets yours, your lips eagerly opening against his.

A pleased hum is rumbling up in his chest and both of his hands grab at your hips, pulling your body flush against him as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands burrow into the messy curls at his neck and you all but whimper against his lips. You feel his mouth curl into a smile before he pulls away, the look in his eyes a little dazed, mirroring your own.

“You you wanna come home with me?” he asks quietly, “I live right around the corner.”

There's no need to even think about it, you want this man desperately. You quickly check on Amanda, who waves you off with a shit-eating grin and some rather crude words of encouragement.

You swing your glittery purse over your shoulder and Joel whistles lowly. “That's fancy. I like it.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “You do?”

“Yeah. Suits you.” A wide smile is spreading across your face and, without a second thought, you grab his hand to pull him out of the bar.

He really lives close nearby and you're stumbling through a dark hallway barely five minutes later. Joel has his hands on your hips and his lips on your mouth, kissing you roughly as he leads you into what you presume is the direction of his bedroom. He kicks the bedroom door shut behind you and crowds you up against the wood, his hands grabbing at your sides, pulling at the dress, revealing more skin to his touch.

The room is dimly lit, yellow light from the street below filtering in through the windows, and his eyes roam over you. “Fuck, you're so hot,” he growls and captures your mouth in another searing kiss, his hand coming up to palm at your breasts, roughly squeezing the flesh and running his thumb over your nipple through the fabric. You mewl into his mouth and he pulls back breathlessly. “You're an eager little thing, aren't you?” he murmurs and you arch your back, trying to press yourself back into his touch.

“Please, Joel,” you whimper and he chuckles before diving back in, his tongue hot in your mouth and his fingers creeping under your dress, toying with the hem of your underwear.

He pulls it aside, his fingers grazing your already soaked folds and you buck your hips into his touch. He slides your dress up higher until his hand comes to rest on your bare hip and he searches your face.

“You're feeling good? You want this?”

You nod eagerly and he tuts softly. “Gotta let me hear it, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, his respectfulness paired with the dark look in his eyes spurring your arousal on even further. “I want it, please.”

“Good girl, so polite too,” he murmurs and your legs almost buckle underneath you. His hand travels back between your legs, grabbing at your underwear and quickly pulling it off of you, before his fingers are back, sliding through your wetness and circling your clit slowly.

“Fuck, you're dripping. So good for me, all eager and ready, huh?”

The whine that comes out of you sounds faintly like a “yes” and he presses another kiss to your lips, before he thrusts two fingers into you, stretching you deliciously.

“Fucking tight,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice sounding wrecked already. He sets a languid pace, pausing every so often to curl his fingers deep within you, hitting that spongy spot that has your legs shaking and your hands grabbing at his shoulders as high-pitched whines fall out of your mouth.

You can see the pleased smirk on his face as you're falling apart on just his fingers. His other hand travels up to the straps of your dress, pulling them down and revealing your breasts to him.

His lips suck on the newly exposed flesh and you hear him mutter, “so fucking pretty” against your skin. His mouth travels to your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud, while his fingers keep thrusting and curling inside of you.

Heat is boiling in your abdomen, licking at your spine and you can almost taste your orgasm already. “Joel, I'm gonna- please don't stop, please,” you manage to breathe out.

“You're gonna come on my fingers, pretty girl?” he asks, before sucking your nipple back into his mouth. “Go ahead, let me feel it.” His thumb starts to toy with your clit in quick, precise circles, and you gasp. The heat spreads through your entire body as your orgasm takes hold of you, your toes curling and your legs shaking while you pulse wildly around his fingers.

“Good girl, you look so pretty when you come,” Joel whispers, trailing kisses from your breasts up to your neck as you slowly come down from your high.

Joel maneuvers you to his bed, supporting your weight and gently setting you down until you're sprawled out on the covers. You can still feel the aftershocks from your orgasm, but your want for him is coursing through you like a wildfire and you eagerly stretch your arms out for him.

He chuckles, mumbling something about you being insatiable and quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing golden skin and a body that's obviously strong and muscular, but he still has a softness to him.

You sit back up and scoot closer, your hands flying to his beltbuckle as you press kisses against his belly, reveling in the way his breath hitches and his muscles are twitching under your mouth.

You tilt your head up, silently asking for permission as you tug on his pants and he nods, smiling down at you. You pull his pants and underwear down in one go, desperate to see all of him, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes your mouth at the sight before you.

He's fucking big, and you should probably worry about fitting all of him inside of you, but instead the fire in your abdomen is flaring up again and you subconsciously press your thighs together.

Joel leans down to you, pulling your already bunched up dress over your head and leaving you just as bare as he is.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he smirks.

“I- yeah,” you nod, shyly smiling up at him and he pecks your lips.

“Me too.”

He crowds you in, his broad body looming over yours as you lay back down on the bed and his fingers find their way in between your legs again. He grazes your clit, then swirls a finger through your wetness, spreading it on your inner thighs, and your hips buck up into his touch, causing him to chuckle.

“Impatient little thing.”

You can barely form a coherent thought, you're desperate to feel his cock inside of you and you eagerly part your legs when he situates his body between them. He grabs at your thigh, spreading you open even wider, before landing a playful slap against the backside. An almost embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and Joel's smirk turns downright feral.

“You liked that, sweetheart? You like it when I'm a little rough with you?”

He's grinding his hips against you, sliding his cock through your wetness, the tip almost catching at your entrance. You're past the point of caring, nodding mindlessly, you just want him inside of you.

“Fuck, yes, please Joel, please.”

“Should've known,” he mumbles, “it's always the quiet ones. Actin' all shy, but you need it bad, don't you? Gonna fuck you so good, take such good care of you, don't you worry.”

You whimper, your breath catching in your throat when he lines his cock up with your center, his tip already parting your walls, but he stops himself again. “Tell me once more, sweetheart. You still good, still want this?”

“Yes Joel, fuck, I want it,” you whine. The words have barely left your mouth when he slams into you, filling you to the brim. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls fluttering around his length, trying to accommodate him as he's splitting you open. The stretch is intense, bordering on painful, but you still feel yourself getting wetter around him, pain turning into pleasure as he stills inside of you for a few moments to let you adjust.

“Goddamn it, you're tight, you're taking me so good, such a good fuckin' girl.”

His mouth is close to your ear, muttering filth to you with his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin on your neck. Another loud moan falls from your mouth at his words and you clench around his cock that's still buried deep inside of you, causing him to groan.

“Yeah you like that, wanna be a good girl for me, don't you?”

You nod breathlessly and he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back into you, setting a brutal rhythm that's forcing moans from your throat and has you wildly clenching around him. One of his hands is playing with your nipples again, pinching and pulling at your delicate flesh and sending delicious sparks of pleasure straight to your core while he's still fucking you deeply. It's incredible, already easily the best you've ever had, but you still want more, want him deeper.

“Oh my god, p-please Joel,” you stutter.

“Please what?”

“H-harder, please.” He growls at that, pulling himself out of you and flipping you around until you're on your knees, presenting your ass to him. He presses his cock back into you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and his hand connects with the skin on your ass cheek in a harsh slap.

“Knew you were a filthy little thing, fuck, just waitin' around for someone to give it to you hard, huh?” he growls. The way he's talking to you is going straight to your core and you feel a second high approaching rapidly.

His hand tangles in your hair, making a fist and pulling until you're arching your back, slightly changing the angle and letting him hit a spot inside of you that absolutely devastates you. There's stars dancing across your eyes, your thighs are quivering and your walls are pulsing rhythmically.

“Not someone, just- just for you,” you moan out, shuddering around him as another orgasm washes over you, your vision swimming and you're clamping down on him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Joel mutters, his hands grabbing your hips roughly and holding onto you with strong hands as he stills his movements and spills himself deep inside of you.

You feel almost delirious as Joel hugs you tightly to his body, kissing you deeply before he gently lays you down on the bed. He cleans you up, gets you a glass of water and covers you with a thick blanket before he slides into bed beside you.

His arm wraps around your middle and he pulls you closer against his chest, engulfing you in his warmth and peppering your bare neck and shoulders with kisses. You nuzzle into him, your eyes falling shut as you relax under his soft touches. You can't remember the last time you felt this good. Protected, cared for, happy.

“Sweetheart?” Joel's voice sounds from behind you and you give a little hum. “I know this started out like a one night thing, but-” he pauses, almost sounding a little shy, “promise me that you won't just vanish in the morning, okay?” You smile and crane your head to press your lips against his once more.

“I promise.”

a/n #2: ...yeah, this would definitely fix me. shout out to the real life amanda for being an amazing friend and the best hype woman, thank you for yelling about pedro with me 24/7. also shout out to the real life patrick for being an amazing boyfriend and providing us with insights about the male sexual experience lol. thank you guys for being the best adoptive parents to my third-wheeling single ass. <3

thank you so much for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment!

#janaispunk #janas fics #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #the last of us hbo #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedrostories

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pedropascallme · 9 months

Note

HIII ok i adored ur Jim fic i love him SOO BADDDD WAHHH !!!! i was wondering if i could request a Jim smut of some kind??? i’m a trans man so i would love an afab reader w gender neutral/masc pronouns but of course only whatever ur comfy w:) and if u don’t wanna do that anything else jim related pls i love him SOOOO BADDD!!!! okay sorry for the huge block of text ily and ur work is god tier bro.

The New Normal

Pairing: Jim x gn!afab!Reader

Summary: "You felt the sudden urge to kiss him, to grab him and pull him close to you, tell him to join you in the shower. "

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral (m & f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, praise kink, kinda almost soft!dom Jim? Reader is AFAB but no use of gendered pronouns, uhhh brief allusion to 9/11 blink and you'll miss it, if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Max NEVER apologize for asking for Jim smut I am ALWAYS looking for a reason to write Jim smut. Also forgive the cross tagging but the only way I will ever reach other Cillian sluts is if I use the Thomas Shelby tag.

America was different than you’d expected it to be.

In the shows and movies, there wasn’t much diversity; either you were on a farm, or you were in the big city. The speech patterns were always overdramatized, too, and when you first reached the McGuire base in New Jersey, you were a bit disappointed when nobody shouted that “they were walkin’ he-ya!” Even more disappointed when you reached Brooklyn and were told that the accent was of a dying variety.

But in the grand scheme of things, it was so…normal. It was England before the outbreak, but with smaller busses and slower trains. You didn’t really know how to feel about it, about how the rest of the world carried on so unconcerned while the island you grew up in fell to pieces. In a way, relieved, but a small part of you felt almost offended that nobody was holding constant vigils.

What offended you more, though, was the realization that the process of being granted asylum was not something that happened quickly. While you were appreciative to Hannah’s distant cousins who had agreed to sponsor you while you awaited the business to be over—which could take years, you’d learned—you were nauseated that you still had to prove yourself in order to be allowed to stay. The lawyers, doctors, soldiers, and judges you’d met with explained that the process would go smoothly, that it was something that had to be done, not due to the nature of the thing you were escaping, but due to those who might abuse any leniency the country showed.

The world really hadn’t changed at all.

~~~

“Finished already?” You hummed at Jim when he walked through the door. Hannah’s family had taken you all shopping when you first arrived—a relief, really, to be able to change out of the fatigues the air force had given you—and Jim, despite his usual attire being casual, at best, looked so…handsome, now, with his skin not caked in blood, or dirt, or sweat. His hair was growing back in and he was wearing jeans that actually fit him. His shirt read “I<3NY” and even though you told him it looked ridiculous when he had first picked it up, you couldn’t deny that it hugged his arms in the right places.

“Not much to be done. You stitched me up so well.” He smiled at you, crossing the apartment to join you on the couch. “Doctor said he’d like to meet you.”

“I’ve met too many people this month.” You curled your legs up under you and stretched your arms over your head. “Never thought I’d say it, but I miss the apocalypse.” You leaned your head back.

Jim exhaled through his nose, amused, leaning himself back on the couch to face you. “No, you don’t.”

“I don’t,” You agreed, “It’s just…”

“Too much, too soon.”

“I guess.” You stared at each other for a while, not moving, not speaking. “I wish I could fast forward.” Jim tilted his head into the cushion he was leaning on, prompting you to continue. “I want to be used to it by now. Wanna be able to walk down the street and see a missing poster and still have hope.” You shuddered when you remembered the posters plastered on the train station walls, how familiar one disaster could feel when compared to another. “I want to feel normal. Everything here is so normal. Why am I not normal yet?” You didn’t have the energy to continue pouring over your emotions, perfectly fine with leaving it on that note.

“You’re not normal.” Jim leaned forward. “Neither am I. Neither is Hannah—s’got nothing to do with—” He waved around the two of you, implying the ordeal you’d lived through. You nodded in agreement. “And we’ll never be their kind of normal. Might just be ‘cause we’re English. Heard they had a war with us here, way back.” Jim deadpanned, and you smiled at him.

“I think I just need a shower.” You sighed, still looking at him. You felt the sudden urge to kiss him, to grab him and pull him close to you, tell him to join you in the shower. You felt your skin flush at the thought. You hadn’t been able to do much of anything but go to different meetings since you got here. One after another, it had made it difficult to find time for yourself, let alone time for you and Jim. Stolen kisses here and there, cuddles under the sheets of your bed, calling out “I love you” before the door closed behind you—there had been no time to enjoy each other.

Not to mention, you lived in a rented apartment with thin walls, and Hannah’s room was next to yours.

You hesitated to get up, and Jim sensed your delay. He brought a hand up to your hair, petting you.

“Hannah’s gone for the night. Sleepover.” You muttered, trying to be sly instead of asking for anything outright. Jim cocked a brow in jest.

“Just us, then?”

“Just us.” You confirmed. Tension formed between the two of you, and you swallowed.

“We can—can I join you in the shower?” His words were rushed, and he looked down when he spoke, only looking back up at you to gage your reaction once the question was complete. “You can say n—”

“Yes.” You felt breathless.

~~~

It was almost laughable, the two of you getting undressed together. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, a shared bedroom holds plenty of space for two people to dress and undress in front of each other, but the expectation made all the difference. Jim’s “I<3NY” shirt was now discarded on the floor, his jeans unbuttoned as he helped you out of your own outfit. Your mouth fell open slightly when he peeled your shirt off of you, the feeling of his hands leaving a warm trail over your sides and a wet feeling between your legs. You reached for the waistband of his jeans, looping your fingers over the denim and into the boxers he wore underneath and beginning to pull down. He laughed quietly as he watched you struggle to move them down his waist.

“Don’t have to do all the work.” He placed his hands over yours and helped you remove his clothes. In turn, he found the button of your jeans and quickly undid them, letting you pull down the tight material and exposing yourself to him. All that remained were your panties, and Jim let out a low whistle when he reached out to brush the lace with his knuckles. “Pretty baby.”

You pushed against his chest lightly. “Shower.” You reminded him, but at this point it didn’t really matter to you. You whined slightly when his hand fell lower over your sex, nearly cupping you.

“Got all night.” He pulled down the remaining fabric, leaving you completely naked for him. And that’s how you felt—naked. Almost scared, as if now that your underwear was off and you were stripped completely, he would reconsider and not want this anymore—not want you anymore. You realized how stupid that sounded when Jim stood up at eye-level, grinning at you. You looked at him sheepishly as you stepped out of the panties pooled at your feet and toward him. You reached out to trace what remained of the wound on his abdomen, letting your fingers kiss the spots you hoped to eventually place your mouth on.

Suddenly you were in his arms, swooped up bridal style as he walked you into the bathroom. You heard yourself laugh nervously, and you buried your face into his neck. Feeling bold, you licked a stripe up to his pulse point, and he shuddered.

“Don’t wanna drop you.” He protested your action, but he lifted his head slightly to allow you better access. You did it again, letting your tongue linger and drift to his earlobe, nipping at it, feeling more and more comfortable with each step Jim took. He sighed dreamily, then placed you down on your feet next to the tub. He turned the handle, pulling the curtain back and taking your hand to guide you under the water. You all but pulled him in after you, and though he stumbled at first, he found his footing right in front of you. You watched the way the water seemed the frame his face; droplets running down his cheekbones and off of his chin. You kissed him, letting the water fall over your face, tasting it when you opened your mouth to welcome his tongue. You sighed into his mouth, a perfect combination of his taste and that of the water settling on your taste buds, and it went straight to your core. He leaned away from you, wrapping an arm around your waist and examining how the water matched the curve of your breasts. He kissed your chest, sucking on the skin just enough to make faint spots appear. You combed your fingers through his hair, closing your eyes.

“Normally,” He licked over what would soon become a dark purple spot, “I use the shower to wash up—reflect, sometimes.” He kissed his way up your chest and neck before straightening himself out and kissing your nose. “This is a much better use of my time.” You rolled your eyes, putting gentle pressure on his neck to encourage him to lean down and kiss you. He pulled you tighter to him, and you could feel his erection against your thigh. He pushed against you, enjoying the bit of friction you provided him, and you heard him grunt quietly. His hands found purchase on your ass, squeezing the flesh gently and using the angle to draw you even closer.

“Y’know—oh!” You were cut off by an especially hard squeeze as Jim’s hands continued to roam over your ass, “I do need—I need to wash my hair…”

“Tomorrow.” Was all Jim said, reaching between your bodies to place his cock where your stomach met his crotch. You gasped at the heavy feeling of him against you, and your own hand made its way down to grab hold of him. Jim choked on his own breath, eyes fluttering shut when you began to move your wrist up and down his length. Out of curiosity, you looked down to watch your ministrations, wanting to fully enjoy the view that you had so desperately craved for so long. His cock was long, and you could see and feel the veins that ran up the extent of his shaft to the pink of his tip. You moaned quietly at the sight, hoping Jim didn’t think you pathetic for the pleasure you got out of stroking him. His mouth agape, he shut his eyes tight, trying not to think about how good your hand felt. You kneeled before him, and planted a kiss on his head, licking a stripe over him.

“O—h,” he was panting, “Fuck, baby.” You watched his chest rise and fall dramatically as you took his tip between your lips, swiping your tongue over and around it a few times before beginning to inch the rest of him inside of your mouth. You moved your head up and down, gagging slightly when you felt the pressure of holding him too deep for too long against the back of your throat. “Oh, fu—yeah, that’s it. Good, baby, so good.” You hummed in appreciation of his praise, the vibrations making him bite his lip and furrow his brow in concentration, desperately trying to ward off his high before he had gotten to explore you fully. You pulled your mouth off of his cock with a pop that softly echoed in the shower, and he watched as you planted more kisses along him.

He grabbed your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. The vision in front of you made you feel dizzy; Jim breathing hard, cock bobbing against his stomach, wet from your spit and from the shower, hair falling over his ears, draped in a blanket of water. You rubbed your thighs together, now pruned hand resting on his knee for, what? Permission, maybe?

Jim helped you up from the floor, and you watched him turn the shower handle. In the brief moment before the water stopped completely, it turned freezing cold, and you felt goosebumps erupt over you. You brought yourself closer to Jim, both in an attempt to find warmth and in a silent plea that he continue what had begun in the shower.

Dripping wet—in more ways than one—you found yourself back in your bedroom. Lying on your back, Jim looked over you, then began kissing over the marks he had made on you in the shower. You whimpered, a hand finding his hair and lacing your fingers through his short locks. You pulled slightly when his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, and he groaned in pleasure at the sensation. His hand slowly traced down your stomach, fingers delicately finding their way to your clit before pressing on it lightly.

“Jim—!” Your exclamation motivated him to continue. He sat up a bit, kneading your bud with one hand and holding your cheek in another, holding eye contact as he slid one finger into your soaking wet center. You threw your head back, only then realizing that you hadn’t even had the time to pleasure yourself in God only knows how long. He curled his finger upwards, and your back arched into him. He smirked, clearly proud of what he was doing to you. He shuffled backwards on the bed, still pumping a finger in and out of you while he positioned himself between your legs. You felt the mattress shift under his weight when he straightened himself out onto his stomach, propped up with one elbow.

“So pretty.” You felt his breath fanning over your cunt, and you squirmed. Jim leaned into you, kissing your inner thighs while you wiggled your hips in an attempt to get his attention where you needed it the most. When he finally licked a lazy stripe over your clit, you let out an absentminded sigh, pushing yourself up to him in encouragement. He removed his finger from you, and you whined at the sudden empty feeling, though he immediately made up for the absence of his fingers with his tongue. He continued to lap at you, letting your slick coat his chin, nose brushing your clit. He sucked lightly on your bud, and your hands found his hair again, not sure if you wanted to push him in further, let him taste you until you screamed, or push him away, as your thighs began to tremble. He slid two fingers back into you and twisted them back and forth while his tongue darted over your clit. You squeezed his fingers, moans spilling from your mouth.

“C’mon baby, so good,” he removed his mouth from your core to coo at you, “wanna see you cum for me.” It was whispered into your skin, and you felt his words echo through your body. His lips found their place over your clit once more, and he sucked harder, fingers pumping in and out of you faster.

“Oh, ye—yes, like that, like that, please!” You couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop begging if you tried. Had falling over the edge always felt this good? You didn’t stop to ponder it, busy feeling your body fall victim to the pleasure Jim was gifting you. You moaned, trying to grab at the man who had buried himself between your legs, but he was fully content to stay where he was until he knew you’d ridden out your orgasm. You cried out his name, back arching, body granting him even more access to your pussy, and when you felt him moan at the taste of you, you came hard for him. He placed soft kisses over your cunt, and you couldn’t help the moan you let out when he began pulling his fingers out of you.

You were still panting when he kissed you. Your arms came to rest around his neck, breathing heavily through your nose as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. “Taste so good,” Jim was also clearly short of breath, “you taste that, baby?” His lips found yours again, and he let you suck gently on his tongue, let you taste yourself on him. You shivered; it felt so dirty, Jim still damp with your wet, encouraging you to enjoy the taste your cum had left on him, dipping his tongue deep into your eager mouth and speaking to you like you belonged to him.

You did belong to him, and the thought made your eyes roll back into your head.

He pulled you into his arms, flipping over so that you were lying on top of him. You found the strength to push yourself up, hands planted on his chest, to straddle him. The feeling of his cock between your legs, still hard, and all for you, made you feel frantic, and you began to roll your hips over him, feeling him tense under you.

“That’s right,” he watched you with hooded eyes, “so eager.”

“Want you to fuck me.” You felt the tip of his cock push between your folds after one especially long roll of your hips, and you didn’t care if you looked pathetic anymore. You’d waited long enough; been so good, so ignorant of the forbidden fruit. One taste, and now you were helpless—completely at his mercy.

“God, say it again.”

“I want you to fuck me, Jim. Please.” You licked your lips before slipping the bottom one between your teeth. His eyes flitted over you, taking in the way you were begging, the way you sat bare, eagerly waiting for his cock. How had he let so much time pass before giving you what you both needed? He lifted you by the waist, encouraging you to stay kneeling above him slightly as he reached another hand down to line himself up with you. The split second before you lowered yourself down onto him felt like forever, but he watched, in awe of you, as you lowered yourself down onto him. You moaned for him when you felt his tip breach your hole, reaching for his chest and grasping at nothing while you continued to take him, inch by inch. You heard him groan out your name, breath going uneven when he finally bottomed out. You stayed like that for a moment, both of you in a trance-like state: You breathed in sync, gazing at each other, smiling like morons.

“I love you.” Jim whispered, placing a hand on your hip and squeezing. You leaned forward, steadying yourself on his shoulders.

“I love you.” You kissed him again, gentler, slower than the previous times. You did have all night—you had a lifetime of all nights with each other.

You began rocking back and forth slowly, allowing yourself time to adjust to the size of him, the feeling of being so full. You felt the tip of his cock brush against your g-spot almost immediately, making you gasp as you chased the feeling of his head nudging you closer to another high.

“God—fuck, you feel so good.” Jim praised, reaching the hand that wasn’t on your hip up to squeeze at your breasts. He licked his finger before bringing it back up, pinching your nipple and rolling over it with his thumb and forefinger. You moaned, back arching, and you started to bounce up and down on him. Your nails dug into the skin on his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to care, too busy bucking up into your cunt, drunk off the feeling of your juices dripping down his length and over his balls.

He moved both his hands over your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh of your curves, guiding your movements while you rode him.

“Cum for me again, baby. So good for me, one more time.” He started fucking up into you harder, the sweet noises you made spurring him on. “You can do it, yeah? So good—fuck—so good for me.” Now he was practically begging, slamming you down onto his cock while he pushed you towards another orgasm.

“I—oh, fuck, me, yes! Like that, Jim—yes!” You fell forward, curling yourself up on his chest and bringing your knees up slightly higher next to his ribs to allow him more ease, lifting you up and down. You mumbled incoherently into his neck, licking and kissing and nipping at him while he continued with deep, hard thrusts. You sucked a mark on his neck, and he groaned out your name, one hand coming down over your clit to coax a second orgasm from you.

“Fucking—oh, cum for me, baby. Cum on me like this.” And maybe it was the way you felt his fingers pushing bruises into your skin, or the way he breathlessly demanded you commit such a filthy act, or the way he seemed to be getting just as much enjoyment out of your pleasure as you were; but when you felt his cock pushed forcefully against your g-spot in time with the way he played with you clit, you couldn’t stop the scream that erupted from your lungs, or the way you chanted his name through sobs of pleasure. You clenched around him, squirming and sensitive and so full of his cock. You saw stars, saw how every second of your life had led to this moment, and when the shockwave of pleasure coursed through your body, all you could do was thank the man who had made you feel so good.

“Fu—ck, oh my god,” Jim groaned through clenched teeth, trying to delay his own orgasm so he could enjoy the way you squeezed him for as long as he could. He practically threw you down onto his cock, forcing himself as deep as you’d let him go, and at that moment, the only word that mattered to him was your name. “Where—where can I cum? Tell me, baby, where?” He was gasping, so close to the edge.

“Inside. Please, Jim, want it inside.” You knew it was reckless, knew you’d have to buy a pill later, but the pros far outweighed the cons.

Your words were all it took to send Jim hurtling over the precipice. He pushed himself deep into your cunt, painting your walls with his spend, both of you shivering at the feeling. You moaned quietly into his skin, and Jim wheezed as he took gulping breaths in an attempt to regulate his breathing. You felt his hand come to rest on your back, stroking up and down, the other coming up to your hair, tempting you out of your hiding spot, nuzzled in his neck.

“Ok?” He breathed.

“Mm.” You hummed, rubbing your cheek against his, comforted by the way your faces squished together. “More than ok.”

“I should’ve—I didn’t want you to feel, I d’know—” He couldn’t think of the right words. “I love you. Just wanted you to feel how much I love you.”

You smiled, fucked out and sleepy and satisfied. “You did a good job,” you kissed him, “did I?”

“More than good.” He smiled, throwing your own words back at you in reassurance.

“Will you stay inside a little longer?” You whispered, still relishing in the way he filled you up.

“God, yes,” Jim almost laughed, “don’t have to ask.” You ran your thumb over his cheek, eyelids heavy.

“Is this the new normal?” You posed the question, remembering your earlier rant.

“Yeah. Think so.” Jim splayed his hand out over your back.

“Good.”

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #jim 28 days later #28 days later fanfiction #28 days later #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #oppenheimer

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suzdin · 8 months

Text

Two For One: Ch. 2

(Dave York x Max Phillips x f!reader)

Part One Here

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, small age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, some angst, mention of weapons, romance, some fluff, alcohol use, smut, graphic depictions of sex, rough sex, degradation, sadism, kinda dubcon, dom!Dave, spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, anal

Notes: This is a Dave heavy chapter and Max is kind of an afterthought, sorry if you’re here because of him. He’ll make a larger appearance in the next chapter, I promise! 🤪

——

“Careful, it’s a bit heavy—“ you say as you pass your bag to Dave. “—there’s glass,” you add for good measure, Dave’s fingers brushing yours as he grabs at the straps to hoist it over his shoulder. You watch as your bottle of Smirnoff lists to one side, breath catching in your throat until it eventually tips back.

Ignoring the almost-fiasco of it crashing to the sidewalk, Dave eyes you up and down once he settles everything, which causes your cheeks to heat. “What are you in the mood for?” he asks, his eyes large and brown, reminding you almost comically of a baby cow.

“Um,” you answer awkwardly, not sure what to say. You don’t want to pick something on the pricier side, your impoverished upbringing screaming at you in your head. “I don’t really have a lot of money, so…there’s a Burger King around the corner?” you suggest.

Dave shakes his head in disagreement, his lips tilting into a smirk, the skin around his eyes crinkling in a way that makes him look soft. Inviting. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m paying.”

And herein lies a new dilemma: you don’t want him to assume you’re gouging him for money. It isn’t like the restaurants in your neighborhood are high class, but they certainly aren’t cheap, either.

“Oh, um, well…” you begin. “What are you in the mood for?” you ask, deflecting the question back to him.

Dave knows what you’re doing; you don’t want to choose something that might leave a bad taste in his mouth, literally and figuratively. He can’t help to admit it strokes his ego a little that you want to make a good first impression; he thinks that bodes well for him. He tries not to let his gaze linger longer than necessary.

He cants his head forward, gesturing for you to follow him. Together, the two of you start down the street.

“Well,” he begins, raising his eyebrows in contemplation. “There’s Italian straight ahead. An Irish pub called Quinn’s that has decent enough food across from that. Greek and Indian on Broadway…” he trails off idly, hoping any of those sound appetizing.

“Greek is good. I like Greek. Hummus actually sounds killer right about now,” you admit, your stomach grumbling audibly at the mention of food. You clutch at yourself as if that will stop it. “Sorry.”

He re-adjusts the bag on his shoulder and smiles over at you, pointedly ignoring your wailing stomach. It isn’t heavy, not really. Not for a big guy like Dave. “Mythos it is.”

——

The restaurant isn’t far. You walk, shoulder to shoulder, mostly in silence. Dave can’t stop thinking about you or the sounds you’d made for Max; his dick fighting with his brain, trying to keep himself in check now that he’s this close to you.

He clocks right away how different you are from Carol, who would have vetoed every restaurant in the city and then complained about being hungry later. Carol, whom he’d met at his church—back when he gave a shit about such things—only a few months before being sent away to the Marine Corps, so that he hastily rushed into a marriage that neither of them ended up being happy in.

Carol liked to present herself as a godly, Christian woman, though from Dave’s experience, he knew that to be far from the truth.

You, on the other hand, did not give off such vibes, the way you often slept in until noon on Sundays (when you didn’t happen to be working, that was), the somewhat revealing cut of your clothes, or the fact that you didn’t care enough to keep your debauchery stowed away, if the constant slew of alcohol and cigarettes had anything to say about that.

Not to mention how you allowed yourself to be manhandled in a public space with little to no concern of being discovered.

Would you let him drink with you later? he wonders.

Would you let him touch you? Fuck you?

As if on cue, you pull a cigarette loose from your purse. “Is this okay?” you ask as you draw it up to your lips.

There’s something in his eyes you can’t quite read.

“By all means,” he responds, and you let go of a breath. His eyes track the way your lips curl around the filter as you bring the lighter up; the way you cup your other hand to block the wind as you walk. He’s never been more jealous of a cigarette in his entire life.

“Want one?” you offer, assuming that’s why he’s staring.

“No, thanks,” he replies with a small laugh. “Gave them up years ago when I left the Marines.”

Marines? This guy couldn’t possibly be anymore different from Jonathan, you think.

Jonathan, the tortured artist. Jonathan, who once tried to make his own beer and failed horribly, which landed you in the ER several months ago. Jonathan, who dragged you from your home state all the way to Massachusetts, depleting your life savings, and now you don’t have enough money to get home.

He was your type, once. Maybe Dave is what you need.

Maybe Max is what you need, you ponder, a particularly brisk step reminding you of the soreness blooming between your legs.

You don’t need a relationship, you think. What you need right now is no-strings-attached sex, which is exactly what Max seems to be able to offer you.

Dave is cute, though. And seems nice. You can’t deny there’s something reticent about him, however. Something tucked away.

It fascinates you.

You’re about half done with the cigarette by the time you reach the restaurant. You snuff it out on the ground and cram the remainder back into your purse.

It’s a small, hole in the wall sort of place with outdoor seating off to one side, somewhat hidden from view of the street. The inside is intimately lit, and seems a touch cramped for your taste.

“Inside or outside?” Dave asks.

“Out, if that’s okay,” you reply. It’s a cool September evening, which means it will be pleasant enough to sit outdoors, unlike back home this time of year. It’s a nice night and you’d like to enjoy it a bit longer.

“Yeah. Of course.” He tries to quell his nerves when he notices how empty the patio is; were you trying to hint at something? he wonders.

You realize at the same time Dave does that the patio is devoid of other patrons, and you hope you didn’t give off the wrong impression, but it’s too late to say anything by the time he tells the host to seat you there.

The patio is situated between two buildings, adorned with standard metal grid outdoor tables and chairs, a few planter boxes flanking the walls, and string lights strewn above your heads. The host seats you by one of the tables nearest a wall and tells you someone will be by to take your order shortly.

“This is nice,” Dave says, taking time to pull out your chair for you before you sit. It stokes something in you; none of the men you’ve dated ever took such a simple gesture into consideration.

It probably shouldn’t, though. You barely know him.

You shuffle uncomfortably under the table. It’s been a long time since you’ve been on a date, if that was in fact what this was, and you aren’t really sure how to feel about it; how to act and what to say.

“So, where are you from?” he asks, breaking the ice for you.

He is, of course, only making small talk out of formality; he already knows where you’re from. All the places you’ve lived, the jobs you’ve had, your relatives, your financial situation. Social media links. By simply finding out your name and knowing where you work, he was able to obtain more information about you in hours than he had in months of watching you.

It wasn’t enough. He needed to know more.

“Texas,” you answer. The waitress is here now, and she takes your drink orders. Dave orders a Diet Coke and you start to order a water—your go to because it’s free—but change your mind at the last second and order the same thing.

“Be right back with your drinks,” she speaks in what you assume is a Greek accent. You mumble a polite thank you out of habit.

“How about you?” Your turn to ask now.

“Baltimore. Parents were in the FBI, so we stayed close to D.C. for a reason,” he replies with a smile. You make a face of admiration because you don’t know how else to respond to that.

“Wow,” you say as a placeholder. “The FBI? Impressive.”

He preens and shakes his head with a small laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

And then you settle into another drawn out silence. It should feel jarring, but to you, it’s a reprieve. You were never good at carrying a conversation. You start looking over the menu to fill the time, even though you already know what you’re getting.

“So. You want hummus, right? I’ll order some when she comes back,” Dave says.

“I’m getting that as my meal,” you state and it’s true. You would normally get an entree if you were just eating alone and save it for later, but you’re being polite. Besides, you’re really jonesing for some hummus right now.

“You sure?” he asks. “You can get anything you want.”

“I know. Thank you. But I— the hummus sounds good,” you reiterate. He concedes, brushing a hand through his sweat damp hair.

“Dolmas, then,” he suggests, pointing it out on the menu. Your menu, in fact, so that his arm briefly comes into contact with yours.

“Yeah. That sounds nice,” you agree quietly.

He can’t stop himself from smiling at you. You’re so kind. So polite. So shy. Everything that Carol isn’t.

He almost couldn’t believe what you’d let Max do to you. The sinful noises you’d made as a result.

Your duality captivates him. Not unlike yourself, he has his own duality.

He’s already growing stiff under the table. He can’t help it. He wishes you would make the same noises for him.

The waitress comes back a few minutes later with the drinks and takes your orders. “It will be out shortly,” she says when she’s done, tapping her pen against the ticket book as she strides away.

Dave starts asking you about your family. He already knows, of course. But he wants to hear you say it, perhaps to elaborate the details, see how much you’re willing to open up. He nods along patiently as you talk about your sick grandmother and how your mom takes care of her full-time. That you send money to them every once in a while, which is just one other thing that keeps you from saving, although you omit that last part.

You briefly touch on the subject of your brother—your only sibling—and how he’s been in and out of jail and rehab for years, but you don’t expound on that more than necessary.

Dave knows everything so he only lets you tell him what you’re comfortable sharing. He knows about the armed robberies, and that when you say jail, what you really mean is prison.

He notices how disquieted talking about your brother makes you. He’s overcome with the urge to kiss you, again. Take away the hurt. He settles on gently squeezing your shoulder instead. You don’t cringe away this time. He lets his hand dally a touch too long, perhaps, but you don’t say anything.

The dolmas come out a few minutes later. You admit to Dave you’ve never had them before, but after trying the first one, you’re hooked. They’re earthy, lemony and savory; everything you would expect and more.

“Glad you’re enjoying them,” Dave says affectionately. “They’re my favorite.”

You start to relax, a little. But you’re still mostly a bundle of raw nerves and when staff is out of view, you bend over to dig in your grocery bag to retrieve the vodka. It’s been such a long—and bizarre—day. It cannot be helped how you’re feeling or that you need relief.

You don’t catch Dave’s eyes on the droop of your chest as you bend…or the way he licks his lips salaciously, imagining how your nipples would taste against his tongue.

“Would you like any?” you query as you unscrew the top and dump what looks about a shot’s worth into your soda, swirling it with your straw.

Dave should say no. Lord knows he can barely contain himself as it is, stone cold sober.

But like most things having to do with you, he can’t resist, so he doesn’t. You pour some of the clear liquid into his cup.

And it continues like that for a while; adding another shot after every refill, halfway to being drunk by the time your food arrives, your anxiety dissipating with every drop of alcohol in your bloodstream.

Dave’s little touches grow more frequent, as well. Your hands and arms, your nearest shoulder, your knees. A few times, he has to stop himself from gripping your knees to spread them apart for him. It’s been a while since he’s been drunk; you’re probably handling it better than he is.

“What about you, then? Tell me about your family,” you pry, adding another shot to each of your cups.

Dave tells you about his parents, his siblings—one brother and one sister, both older. One lives in Rhode Island and the other in Florida. He says he doesn’t see them as often as he’d like.

“What do you do for work?” you question.

“I’m retired from the CIA,” he answers honestly, pointedly leaving out the part where he still acts as a consultant from time to time. He does not elaborate more than that.

Your eyes go wide, your brows shooting up your forehead. Dave must be the most decorated person you know. “CIA? This isn’t a situation where you have to kill me now that you’ve told me, right?” you ask playfully, and Dave laughs, his fingers grazing your hand.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t,” he says around a laugh. You melt into a soft smile and he almost grabs you. Almost drags your mouth to his.

His control is waning by the minute.

“What brought you to Boston, anyway?” he finally asks. He knows already, of course, but he wants your side of it.

You’d been avoiding the subject, but the words flow easier now that you’re inebriated. You tell him about Jonathan; how you’d met online, fell in love—or so you thought—moved halfway across the country for him, only for him to leave you for another woman. Your cheeks shade red with anger.

You clock how hard Dave’s face gets while you’re recounting everything. It’s sort of amazing how swiftly his visage shifts from light to dark in the span of mere seconds. It’s unsettling in its own right, really, so you wave your hand dismissively, in order to change the subject.

“What about you? What brought you to Boston?”

He shifts back in his chair, knee brushing yours and bumping it aside ever so slightly. But he isn’t listening, his bubbling thoughts like a dull roar between his ears; he’s thinking of all the ways he would torture Jonathan before killing him. He’d killed many men, both for the Marines and the CIA. He enjoyed it. Got off on it. So what’s a little more blood in his ledger, in the shape of two men named Max and Jonathan?

He would kill them both as soon as he got the chance. The first in years.

“Dave? You okay?” you ask, placing a tentative hand on top of his where it grips the edge of the table, your thumb skimming the hills and valleys of his knuckles. His gaze snaps to yours, and he recognizes the worry in your eyes. You’re worried about him. It’s been a long time since anyone has worried about him.

That small reciprocative touch from you is all it takes to provoke him, drunk as he is. His opposite hand moves suddenly to your throat, then to the nape of your neck, and he pulls you into him, mouth crashing against yours, needy and messy, all teeth and lips until you open your mouth to him and he’s laving at you with broad strokes of his tongue.

You taste like vodka and heaven.

He swallows your whimper as it works its way up from the depths of your throat; as much as you can’t believe you’re kissing a man you’ve only just officially met, you’re impervious to stop him. This is exactly what you were wanting, what you were needing earlier, with Max. That intimacy, that connection, that Max had denied you. That Dave is offering freely. It’s what you wanted so badly and you only stop when Dave does, pulling apart from you to catch his breath, panting against each other’s lips.

You swipe your tongue against his bottom lip after a few moments, enticing him to return, and he takes advantage of the invitation with a deep groan, prodding his tongue hungrily into your mouth. He palms himself over his shorts as he does so—he can’t help it. You drive him fucking crazy.

You’re letting him touch you. He cannot believe you’re letting him. He wonders how much farther he could go.

His hand moves to your chest, curling lightly against the rise of your upper breast, skirting, testing. When you don’t object, he moves lower, gently cupping you from underneath, cradling the weight in his hand. He grunts into your mouth, dragging his thumb up to circle the stem of your nipple. Might as well go for it as long as you seem receptive.

You pull apart, panting hard, lust-drunk and intoxicated. His hand doesn’t move from your breast, his thumb deftly doing laps around the circumference of your stiffened peak, and it feels better than you could have ever imagined, your head draping over the back of the chair.

You need to know how his thumb would feel circling the bundle of nerves between your legs. You know how fucked it is, how fast everything is moving between the two of you, but you find yourself unable to give a shit after the year you’ve had.

You take his hand and move it down to the cradle of your lap as your legs splay wide for him. He cups your heat with his hand, wrist cocked, completely swallowing you in its mass.

His eyes go impossibly dark. Almost unreadable. His lips pull tight, and you think you see the promise of a smirk there, but you can’t be too sure. His brow is furrowed into a heavy line, lending him a feral—almost dangerous—appearance. And he absolutely is, right now—he’d wanted you for so long and he finally has you. Target acquired. God help anyone who might try to take you from him.

His hand doesn’t move right away and you almost think you’ve offended him. You start to cant your hips, seeking friction, and he stills you with the other hand, wide palm holding you in place against the chair.

The thin bike shorts don’t leave much to the imagination; he can feel your soft folds against his fingers and the dampness that is already creeping through. He starts to stroke with his fore and middle fingers along your seam, his thumb firmly pressed to your clothed clit, rolling tight circles.

It’s all so much that you would buck into his hand if he wasn’t holding you down. You mewl pathetically in his wake, and you’re certain you do see his lips curving into a grin now.

You feel like a rabbit locked in the jaws of a wolf.

“Feels so pretty for me,” Dave murmurs against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as he holds your gaze in his. “What else would you let me do to you, huh?”

You swallow. Your heart is slamming in your chest. The hero facade from earlier is gone and the real Dave is now bared right in front of you.

“Whatever you want,” you respond in a shaky breath. You’re scared of him, but you kind of like it. The fear consuming you is enrapturing.

“That’s a dangerous proposition,” Dave tuts, tongue clicking between his teeth. Thumb continuously circling your sensitive nub.

A moan slips free and you find it nearly impossible to stay in one spot, even in his clutches. He eventually resigns himself and lets go, hand coming up to squeeze just under your jaw.

“Would you let me put a finger in you? Right here?” he rumbles lowly, his voice deep, dark. It almost doesn’t sound like a question, coming from him.

You already know the answer to such a devious question. You’d let Max almost do the same, after all, and you don’t even like Max.

“Yes,” you admit. “Yes…please.”

“Fucking filthy.” His eyes shine and his lips curl into a wicked smile. Carol would have never agreed to something like that; as if he hadn’t asked on multiple occasions. But that never stopped her from fucking a neighbor at a Christmas party several years ago.

The ache in his cock is burgeoning on painful. His grip under your chin tightens; still very much controlled, but enough to get his point across. “Grab my cock.”

Your breath catches. He leans in to kiss you again, your fingers skating along the inner plane of his thigh, snaking into the opening of his shorts. You find his stiffened member readily, lacing your fingers around the ample girth and stroking it along the ridges of your palm, slowing down when you reach the head. Precum leaks down your wrist. He’s warm and hard as steel and feels amazing. He grunts into your mouth, hips rolling forward, chasing your touch.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He’s spent so long dreaming of this exact scenario that now that it’s happening, it’s too much. Too much and not enough all at once. He breathes headily into your mouth, sucking and biting at your lips. He wonders if you’d suck him off under the table; he knows from listening to you earlier that Max hadn’t claimed your mouth. He wanted to be the one to claim that before Max, spill himself down your throat and mark you from the inside out.

It’s so much that he won’t last long if you keep touching him like that, your soft warm hand doing slow, rounded strokes on his cock. He stills your hand and you exchange a glance.

“Lean back, sweetheart.” His words go straight to your core. Max had also called you that, but the cadence was different, more derivative. Dave’s movements are deliberate and controlled, unlike Max’s more chaotic approach. Cold and calculating; yet something in the low pitch of his voice makes you want to trust him.

You lean against the chair, hips sliding forward. Dave wets two fingers against his tongue and, resuming the onslaught of his mouth on yours, pulls back the band of your skin tight shorts to slip the other hand inside.

Your head lolls back against the chair and your eyes flutter shut. Your head swims; what is wrong with you? The waitress could come back to find Dave knuckles deep inside of you at any second.

But that’s part of the allure.

His hand dips lower, skimming the soft curls of your mound, tracing your shape. He’s only inches away from discovering your drenched and waiting hole when a new sound penetrates the fog of your mind. It takes a moment for understanding to settle over you, and then hits you abruptly: someone is clearing their throat.

Your eyes snap open and Dave yanks his hand back so hard he elbows the arm of the chair, a quiet hiss escaping from his lips as he tries to downplay the hurt. You look up to see the waitress peering down at you.

“I was going to ask if you wanted dessert, but seems you’ve already started,” she points out. She looks more amused than angry, but it doesn’t stop the shame that blooms hot in your cheeks at being so careless.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her softly.

“Just the check,” Dave says, doing his best to feign innocence. He bites the inside of his cheek. “Thanks.”

You both burst into laughter like a pair of teenagers as soon as she’s out of earshot. You look down at your half eaten plate of hummus and pitas. “Shit, I should have asked for a box too,” you say, acting as though you didn’t just have hands down the other’s pants. He chuckles, brushing a hand through short, dark hair.

“Yeah, guess so.” His mouth hooks into a crooked smirk.

The air of the moment is gone as you fall into a silence that is more comfortable than the one before, his hand lingering on your knee, thumb circling your kneecap as a gentle reminder.

The waitress returns and she is a saint. Not only has she brought the check, she’s also brought boxes for your leftovers and something in a smaller to-go box. “Baklava, for after,” she says, giving you a knowing wink. You blush. “On the house.”

Dave pays the check and leaves a generous tip as quickly as he is able to do so.

——

Dave’s hands are all over you the entire way home.

Not in a gratuitous way; he’s learned his lesson there. But that doesn’t stop him from sliding his fingers up and down your back as you walk together, or the way his hand curls taut around your hip and ass to pull you in close to nip at your neck. You giggle and playfully try to fend him off, but it does very little to dissuade him, of which you don’t mind.

He’s grateful he chose to wear loose fitting shorts to jog in today. Anything tighter and it would leave very little to the imagination. He’s sure he’s showing enough already, but he can’t be arsed enough to care, or help how deranged you make him feel. He would have taken you at the restaurant, if you had let him. If the two of you could have gotten away with it.

You arrive at the passage between your buildings after what seems like an eternity of walking. You feel his fingers dig a little harder into your backside as soon as you round the corner, and then he’s turning you, pressing your back flush against his building the same way Max had done to you earlier against yours. The similarities between both men is eerie.

His mouth finds your neck and he sucks a line of red marks down to your shoulder, leaving behind a trail of hickies that won’t be going anyway anytime soon, but you’re too fucked out already to mind.

“My place or yours?” Dave asks. His pelvis crowds into you, erection grinding at your center, the thin fabrics of your outfits a blessing as you feel every hard press of him into you.

“Yours,” you mutter without a second thought. You don’t know if you could handle two men in your space in a single day. You’d barely had time to gather your thoughts from earlier, much less clean up after yourself.

If only you knew what Dave knows. What he did.

Dave pulls away from you, one hand circling your wrist as he drags you with him, the other digging into his pocket to retrieve the keycard from his wallet. You need the same for your building, he thinks. Safer that way, less chance of being tampered with, and he would be able to rest easier.

He readjusts the grocery bag on his shoulder as he slides the keycard into the lock and pushes the door open. “After you,” he says, motioning ahead. You do as he asks, stepping over the threshold and into the building, Dave following at your heels.

His building is nicer than yours, a little more modern and kept up. A bank of mail boxes sits off to your right, a seating area to the left. There’s a staircase directly in front of you and an elevator beyond that. He gestures you up the stairs.

“I’m just on the second floor, last door on the left,” he instructs, and you dutifully begin your ascent, slowly, as you’re still more than just slightly tipsy.

Dave falls in line behind you. A moment later, you feel his hands spanning the width of your ass, kneading your flesh against his palms, landing a soft smack to your right cheek; just hard enough to let you know that he’s there and what he’s about to do to you.

“I’ve thought about this ass a lot,” Dave says in a low pitch, “Feels just as nice as I imagined it would.”

You reach the landing and make your way down the narrow corridor until you reach a door with 2A emblazoned on it, canting your eyes towards Dave for conformation. He nods and you step aside as he moves to unlock the door.

The interior of Dave’s apartment is larger than your own. It has an actual bedroom, for one. It’s also more tidy—there isn’t a lot of furniture, very few personal items, which means less clutter. No pictures hung on the walls. Just the bare necessities. A man’s apartment.

Dave puts your bag on the kitchen counter and he’s on you before you can even slide your purse off, removing the burdensome item for you, tossing it thoughtlessly behind him to join the other. His lips crash into yours, needy and desperate, tongue licking into your mouth as his hands roam over your chest to cup both breasts.

You feel better than he could have ever imagined. Like your body was made just for him, the way it slots perfectly against his own.

You make a chirp of surprise as he scoops you up with a low growl, one arm across your back and the other in the bend of your knees as he carries you to the bedroom down the hall. His mouth doesn’t relent, sucking and biting at your lips, your jaw.

“Going to ruin you tonight,” he moans against your mouth.

He puts you down on the edge of the bed when you make it to the bedroom. It’s just as sparse of the rest of the apartment, with plain black sheets and a plain black comforter. At least the bed isn’t made up; that makes you feel a little better about how you live.

He crouches in front of you, large brown eyes darkening a shade as he studies your face. Hands gripping your thighs.

“Just so you know, darling, I don’t play nice,” he forewarns, hands sliding down your legs to stroke your bare calves. Going off of what he heard earlier, he’s sure that won’t be a problem. “Before we start, is there anything off the table?”

You consider his question for a moment, thoughtfully biting your lip. “Yes. I’m not on birth control, so…” you trail off with a nervous giggle. Your condoms are of no use back at your apartment.

His jaw clenches. Of course he doesn’t have any condoms either, as he hasn’t had a need for them in quite some time. He supposes he understands. It isn’t like he needs more kids, anyway.

“Guess I have to cum in one of your other holes, then,” he muses, squeezing and kneading your calves. His hands are large and warm and they feel fucking amazing. “If at any point you want me to stop, you say ‘foxglove’. Otherwise, I assume anything goes. Clear?”

“Clear,” you confirm, inclining your head in a small nod, a tremor slithering its way through you as you consider the possibilities.

Dave’s expression hardens as a hand lifts to your face, landing a smack across your cheek just hard enough to sting but not hurt. Not yet.

“Tell me what you say if it’s too much. I need to hear you say it,” his voice dark and heavy.

“Foxglove. The safe word…is foxglove.”

One corner of his mouth slants upwards into a smirk, his eyes remaining dark. Glassy. “Atta girl,” he says with a wink.

He begins removing your clothing, yanking and manipulating the fabric free from your form until you’re completely nude, your skin pebbling as cool air rushes over you. His gaze traverses your curves, drinking you in with his eyes as he licks his lips hungrily. He can see bruises forming where Max’s fingers gripped you, where they dug in. He surprises himself when it only serves to further turn him on, the head of his dick beading with precum as he pictures how Max must have fucked you. Part of him wishes he had been able to see it for himself.

He slaps you again, harder this time, hand moving to your throat to shove you down until your back makes contact with the mattress, a small gasp rushing out of you. Moving from the floor to the bed, he seats himself at your side, grabbing one of your knees to spread you open.

He drags a finger along your soaked seam, revering how wet you already are for him, how easily the tip of his finger slips inside. “Fuck, is this just for me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. You nod in response. “Fuckin’ slut.”

He sinks his finger to the last knuckle, pumping a few times, adding a second a moment later. You mewl and writhe underneath him, craving more friction between your legs.

“Just fuck me, Dave, please. Want your cock in me.”

He chuckles, balls pulsing in response to your words as he removes his fingers from your dripping heat. “My cock, pretty girl?” he purrs. “Who’s calling the shots here?” he asks you, pinching and twisting one of your nipples as retribution. The pain makes you cry out, tears stinging your eyes, your back arching.

When you don’t answer, he repeats himself, tugging harder this time. “Who?” he snarls.

“Y-you! You!” you whine, moving your hand over your breast to soothe the hurt, but Dave knocks it back, pinning it to the bed.

“Don’t move your hands. I mean it.”

Your body trembles. This isn’t the mild mannered Dave from earlier; the juxtaposition absolutely terrifies you and it’s fucked how much you like it.

“You,” you repeat for good measure. “You do.”

Dave beams down at you, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.”

His fingers move to curve inside of you, adding a third this time, splitting you open for him. You keen at the sting of being stretched around his knuckles, hips instinctively bucking against him. You whimper when his palm bumps your clit.

He stills you with his opposite hand and you flinch, anticipating more retaliation.

“Easy,” he soothes, flattening his palm against your hip as he strokes. “I got you.”

His fingers pump lazily through your slick, sinking to the hilt, allowing himself to feel every ridge and ripple of your tunnel. Memorizing it. You’re so wet for him; he still can’t believe that you’re letting him do this. How did he get so lucky?

He fishes his phone from his pocket in a moment of insight; he doesn’t want to take any chances in case you never let him do this again. His eyes move to your face as he does so, awaiting any kind of objection, only to continue when he finds there is none. You watch with curiosity from your perspective as he flicks open the camera app and begins to film, training the lens where his fingers are currently disappearing inside of you.

It goes on for several minutes like that, Dave filming as he fucks you with his fingers, the wet squelch of his digits driving into you paired with the accompanying sounds of your gradually building pleasure more than a little gratuitous, as if it was straight from a porno.

He can tell by the way your inner walls are tightening that you’re getting close. He wants to get you off before he does, prepare you for the inevitable stretch of him so he can properly ruin you on his cock.

He passes the phone to you now, scooting higher up on the bed. You watch him through the phone screen and realize he’s still completely clothed, the lewd bulge of his erection more than obvious even through the phone. As if on cue, he palms himself before settling in next to you.

He nibbles down the rise of your shoulder, trailing to your breast, leaving small suckling bites until his mouth reaches the hard peak of your nipple. His tongue laves over it, circling it, sucking it into his mouth and taking it between his teeth. It sends a shockwave of pain through you, your cunt clenching down on Dave’s fingers, momentarily blinded by your pleasure.

You do as best you can to capture everything on camera, but there’s so much going on, your brain so swimmy you can barely see straight.

“Mmf,” he groans against the stiffened bud. “Doing so well already,” he praises.

His teeth move to the pillowy flesh of your outer breast, biting down harder than you would have imagined he would—to the point of nearly drawing blood—another lance of pain shooting through you with a strangled cry. It’s at that moment an orgasm unexpectedly washes over you, taking you by complete surprise as you scream Dave’s name loud enough for the entire building to hear.

His cock pulses with the need to be buried in your dark, wet heat as he rides out the ebbs and flows of your ecstasy, hand still fucking into you, harder and faster than before, and before you even realize what’s happening, a second orgasm surges through you like an arc of lightning on the tail end of the first, your vision pulling white for what seems like a lifetime.

“Fuck,” you mewl, your voice almost a sob. “Fuck, Dave.”

He keeps pumping until the aftershocks of your back to back orgasms starts to be too much, burgeoning on painful, and you plead for him to stop, grabbing at his wrist without giving it much thought.

“You know what to say if you want me to stop.” His face contorts into a wicked sneer. “I like when you tell me no.”

You let out a sigh of relief when you get a brief reprieve from the overstimulation as he pulls his fingers out of you, leaning forward to force your mouth open with his fingers. “Clean them off. Taste yourself. Taste what I did to you.”

You do your best to turn the camera to your face as you suck obediently, tasting a mixture of yourself and the salt of his skin, murmuring low in your throat as your eyes move to examine his face. He’s drunk on lust and on you, slack-jawed, dark eyes shimmering with dubiousness. Somehow, if it’s possible, it makes you even wetter than before.

When he removes his hand, a string of saliva connects your mouth to the tip of his middle finger, which you most definitely capture on the camera.

“My turn,” he says, sliding into a stand, removing his shirt and letting it join yours on the floor. The first thing you notice are his shoulders, endlessly broad and well defined, flexing with every movement. You’re unable to pull your attention away from the vastness of them until he’s kneeling again, grabbing you by the hips and pulling your ass to hang over the edge of the bed.

His face is buried between the juncture of your thighs a moment later, arched Roman nose nudging your overly sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue dips to penetrate you, lips forming a tight seal around your entrance as his tongue scrubs at your inner walls, groaning deep in his throat as he tastes you for the first time.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he moans against your folds. “Best I’ve ever tasted.”

“No, Dave, stop,” you beg, weakly pushing at one of his shoulders with your free hand, so overstimulated it hurts. Between him and Max, they’ve already done a number on you today, and Dave hasn’t even properly fucked you yet. Your words don’t make Dave stall, however; if anything, he speeds up.

You know what to say if you want me to stop. His words echo in your mind as a single teardrop clings to your waterline. You could just say it, foxglove—a type of poisonous flower, aptly fitting—and you’re certain he would stop. But you’re willing to see how far you’re able to go, how much you can take, the word fading away behind your lips along with your considerations.

“Stop,” you whimper to spur him on, intentionally antagonizing him now, and he growls, animalistic, heady, unrelenting as he grazes his teeth over your sensitive nub, making you cry out before returning to his previous task of eating you out like a man starved.

It isn’t long before he drags a third orgasm out of you, your hips bucking completely off the bed to chase the fleeting stimulation, his name a chant on your tongue. Your fingers curl into the sheets to anchor yourself.

Dave falls back on his calves, chest heaving as he takes a moment to collect his breath, likewise allowing you to catch yours.

He runs a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat that wants to fall. He often stopped using his air conditioning after summer, and he’s feeling the effects now as perspiration beads up and rolls down his back.

“Are you ready for my cock?” he asks, his face cast in shadow, lending him an insidious appearance. It makes you shiver.

“Yes. Need your cock in me,” you whine, knowing how sore you’ll be after this, how sore you are now. You can’t find yourself able to care.

Dave rises, one hand on his hip, cock pulsing and leaking with arousal at the chance to fully bury himself in you. He goes over to the side of the bed, hauling you up the rest of the way by your arm, which makes you yelp.

He takes the phone from you and places it on the nightstand, angling it so that it faces the bed. You aren’t sure how much you were able to capture with his head between your legs, so you’re happy to be relieved of film maker duty.

He’s on top of you an instant later, shorts somehow shed in a frenzy of movement, lining himself up at your entrance and then pushing inside in one smooth, devastating go. His head rocking back to slump against his shoulders at how amazing you feel, how tight you are for him despite being with Max, how subservient you’ve been and how well you’re taking him. It takes every fiber of his being not to offload into you on the first thrust.

His hands lace around your throat as he begins to pump, squeezing into the meat of your neck. “Look at me,” he snarls.

You look up at him, brown eyes shifted to black, a dark band of shadow covering his visage, making him seem that much more sinister. He isn’t fully railing into you yet, but he isn’t exactly going easy on you, either, every thrust into you more tender than the previous.

“Open your mouth for me like the whore you are,” Dave commands, tightening his grip until the edges of the room start to blot away. “And stick out your tongue.”

Your lips part and you curl your tongue outward, thinking you know what’s coming, but still being taken aback when you feel a thick glob of saliva land directly onto your waiting tongue. You don’t give him a chance to tell you to swallow; you do it on your own, opening wider for more.

“Does my little slut want seconds?” Dave asks, and you nod. He smirks, spitting directly into your mouth again, watching intently as you swallow. “Filthy. Should make you eat my cum, too.”

You nod in wanton agreement, but you’re unable to speak with his massive hands digging into your windpipe as they are. The flash in his gaze tells you his understanding, though, and he starts fucking you harder, instructing you to lift your legs so he can slam into you as deep as he possibly can, the head of his dick knocking at the delicate spongy area at the back of your tunnel.

And then a fourth orgasm rolls over you, vision fading away momentarily as your head rocks back against the pillow, choked cry clawing its way out of your throat.

You aren’t sure how much more you can take, which Dave must admit is more than he expected you to. Your body is numb and your head is pounding; you hope for your sake he cums soon.

He loosens his hold on your neck, and you’re able to breathe again, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him as you catch up. He taps the side of your face, softly, almost affectionate in comparison to how hard he slapped you before. Then he pulls out of you, wrapping his hand around his thick cock, slowly pumping himself with your slick and cum.

“Maybe I won’t spill into that pretty little whore mouth of yours,” he muses. “Maybe I should take your tight little asshole instead.”

Your heart palpitates faster, eyes going wide. You’ve never done anal more than just a finger or two and Dave is so girthy—the idea gives you pause, admittedly.

Dave expects you to say no. Like, actually say no, this time. The veins running the length of his shaft pulsing as he imagines how your ass would feel sheathed on his cock, but he isn’t pressing the issue, so he’s more than pleasantly shocked when you don’t abstain.

“Okay,” you mumble, hardly above a whisper. “Need you to fuck my ass, Dave.” You look up at him through your lashes and it stirs something primal in him, hearing those words come from your sweet mouth.

He wastes no time in flipping you over, pulling you up to your knees as he notches himself at your star of muscle.

“Have you ever done it before?”

“N-never, no. Just fingers,” you admit, biting back your trepidation.

“I’ll start off slow, then. Get you nice and stretched out. But I won’t be able to control myself for long, knowing I’m the first one who gets to claim your ass. I won’t go easy on you after that point.”

You swallow and nod. The alcohol will definitely help to loosen things up, but you aren’t sure how much.

Dave tilts your hips up, spreading your cheeks to spit directly onto the ring of muscle. He slips a thumb inside, pumping it easily a few times, groaning at how you squeeze him.

“So tight,” he growls. “Going to feel so fucking good.”

He slides his thumb out and spits again, first at your entrance and then into his palm, smearing the cocktail of saliva, slick and precum over himself. He grips your cheeks and spreads you open as wide as possible, positioning his head between them.

He starts to push slowly inward, the initial stretch painful, your vision temporarily reduced to nothing, tears stinging your eyes. It’s so much. He’s so much.

In spite of yourself, you do your best to relax, regulating your breathing and slackening your muscles. It seems to help as he claims another inch of you with a throaty reverberation. “Doing great, baby.”

You moan, an amalgamation of pleasure and pain when he pushes in about halfway, filling you in ways you never could have imagined. He pumps his hips languidly as he continues to gain ground, parting you slowly around his length, molding you into a desired shape for him, until he eventually bottoms out with a visceral groan.

“Fuck,” he pants. “So fucking perfect.”

He holds there a moment, relishing how fucking amazing you feel strangling his cock, knowing it won’t take much from this point to send him hurtling over the edge; he’ll have to make sure it counts.

He ruts into you a few times, gingerly, opening you further to ensure you have ample time to mentally prepare for the impending onslaught.

“How does it feel?” he asks, kneading your hips under his hands.

“G-good, so f-far,” you reply. “Okay.”

“That’s too bad,” Dave tuts. “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we, darling?”

He plants a hard smack to your ass, causing you to arch involuntarily with a high keening yelp, rocking you back into him as a dagger of pain courses through you. Dave grunts, snapping his hips into you, and you yelp again.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.”

He flattens his palm over where he made contact to soothe the hurt, but before you can settle he strikes you again, harder than before, gripping your hips with enough force to bruise as he begins riding you rough and frenzied, bucking his hips against yours.

His hand snakes around to your front and finds your swollen and overworked clit, administering quick tight circles to the delicate bud. Your initial instinct is to push him away, tell him to stop, and you do. You cry out for him to stop, because it’s so much, he’s so much, forgetting in your haste that it only spurs him on, makes him want you more. And it’s so much that he’s literally fucking you senseless, unable to breathe or even think.

Despite everything, that familiar tickle begins to build low in your abdomen again, the noises you make with every thrust inhuman and supplicant. You want him to stop but you don’t. You don’t know how much more you can withstand but at the same time want him to use you all night.

Dave rumbles from the depths of his chest, completely feral as he ruts into your ass, the noises you’re making driving him to the brink of insanity, the same ones you’d made earlier for Max. And he can feel his climax building, listening to your salacious inhuman noises, envisioning Max fucking you in your apartment and how much you’d fallen apart for him. And subsequently four times so far with himself.

“Whose ass is this?” Dave snarls, spanking you again, leaving an imprint of his hand behind.

“Yours, Dave, yours!” you cry.

“That’s right. No one else’s. Just mine. All mine,” he grunts. “Cum for me, baby. Need you to cum as I rail your ass.”

“I can’t, Dave, it’s so much…” you whine. Everything is disorientating. You’re glad you have tomorrow off because you aren’t certain you’ll be able to walk after this.

“Yes you can. Cum for me. Last one.”

He flicks the pads of his middle and index fingers over your clit, and when you think it isn’t going to be possible, another orgasm burns through you like a powder keg, your walls clamping down around nothing as Dave spears himself repeatedly into you. You see stars, crying out his name as your arms give out beneath you, the upper half of your body slumping into the bed.

Dave snaps his hips once, twice, three times more and then he’s cumming hard with a deep, animalistic snarl, pumping himself deep as he uses you to milk every last drop of himself.

He eventually slows to a halt, both of you panting hard, covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, your bodies like jello as you sink in tandem to the mattress below. Dave pulls out of you, rolling onto his back as he pants up at the ceiling.

He takes a moment to catch his breath and bearings before he scoots off the bed, checking to make sure you’re okay as he turns off the camera on his phone and then heads to the small en suite bathroom, the only one in the apartment. He starts the warm tap and retrieves a wash rag from the basket he keeps by the sink, running it under the water until it’s pleasantly warm.

He returns to you a moment later to find you already halfway to dozing, looking at him through sleepy, half-lidded eyes. It stokes something in the cold cockles of his heart seeing you like this, running an affectionate hand up the back of your thigh as he approaches you. “Here, open up.”

You hardly have any cognition left, yet you somehow manage to comprehend, spreading to allow him to clean you. The warmth of the rag is relieving against your sore and tender parts, and when he feels you’ve been sufficiently looked over, he seats himself next to you, brushing your hair from your eyes.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmhm,” you manage weakly, unable to keep your eyes open now. “Jus’ tired.”

“Rest,” Dave says, stroking along the edge of your jaw with his thumb. “You’ve earned it.”

He watches you a moment longer as you drift off, leaving your side only when he’s sufficiently sated on the image of you in his bed to go clean himself up in the bathroom. While he’s in there, he can’t help but think that being able to fuck you should have scratched that itch, scratched it enough that he could move past you, but now that he’s had you—he feels it growing even more restless than before, contorting into some kind of twisted, dangerous animal. He fears the things he would do for you. To you.

He needs to remember you like this. All fucked out and beautiful in your post-coitus glow, one hand rested under your cheek. He goes back to you, grabbing his phone to snap a picture of you. And then several more.

He has to see his daughters this weekend so his time with you is fleeting. And he won’t be around immediately after either, since he’s decided to make a little impromptu trip up to New York to pay a friendly visit to your ex.

He rejoins you in the bedroom, flipping on the wall unit air conditioning before sliding into bed next to you, wrapping you in his arms as he places kisses where he left marks on your neck. You utter a small, chirping sound, settling into his arms as the rest of your mind slips away to sleep.

——

You aren’t sure how long you were out.

Your mouth is parched and you’re simultaneously freezing and burning up, a layer of sweat between your bodies where your skin makes contact. He’s got you tangled up in his arms and he’s like a massive furnace, smothering you with his impressive body heat.

But the A/C is also going and everywhere the air touches is freezing, your skin bubbling with goosepimples.

You shift, hoping it will rouse him. You need to get home. When it doesn’t work, you move your limbs more, stretching and quietly murmuring his name. He eventually stirs, looking down at you with sleepy baby cow eyes, somehow soft in their regard of you, despite every debauched and depraved thing he did.

“Dave, I need to go.”

He frowns. He has to leave tomorrow morning for Virginia, but he was hoping you’d stay, wanting your face to be the last he sees before then.

“Spend the night. I make a mean bowl of cereal,” he jokes, the edge of his lip quirking up. “Or we can order in.”

You deliberate on it. Dave absolutely wrecked you, brought you the brink of losing yourself several times, frightened you and hurt you. You let him. You wanted it—you liked it. And you like him.

But your ex ruined you in the worst of ways. Things had moved quickly with him, you being absolutely starstruck in love from the start, and look where it got you. As much as you like Dave, you fear history repeating itself. You barely know him. You can’t risk going down the same road again.

“Next time,” you offer as compromise. He doesn’t do anything to hide his disappointment, but he nods in confirmation anyway. As much as he needs you to stay, he doesn’t want to push you away with his neediness.

“Next time,” he repeats with a nod. “Sure.”

You get up to use the rest room, slipping back into your clothes, checking yourself out in the mirror as you do so and notice how you’re absolutely riddled with marks. You can hide out in your apartment tomorrow, sure, but you aren’t sure what you’ll do for work. Wear a scarf, maybe.

“Let me walk you home,” Dave says as you gather your things, taking the grocery bag from you, even though it really isn’t that heavy. You lift heavier boxes of coffee at work, after all. “Please.”

“Dave,” you say with a laugh, “I live, like, a hundred feet from you.”

He offers a weak, nervous laugh of his own in response. He really is a man split right down the middle, personality wise. A study of duality. “I know. It’s just proper.”

You don’t fight it. You’re already turning down his request to stay; may as well give him this one. “Sure. Come on.”

He walks you down with his hand planted in the small of your back, gingerly stroking as you make your way outside. The air is stagnant and quiet, the faint sounds of traffic somewhere in the distance.

You reach the door of your building and turn to face Dave with a shy smile, your cheeks heating. You aren’t sure why, after what you let him do to you. “Well, this is me.”

“Yeah,” he says with a breathy laugh, placing his hands on his hips and looking you over. “I can walk you inside, if you want.”

“I think I can manage,” you reply with a smile. “Thanks, though. And thank you…for everything.”

As he passes you the bag, something else unspoken passes between the two of you, Dave rushing into you to plunge his tongue past your teeth, licking broad strokes into your mouth. You moan and sink your fingers into his hair without even thinking about it.

Fuck, he’s going to miss you.

He was hard again the moment you woke up naked in his arms, and he’s even harder now as he presses into you, cock twitching to feel you again.

“I have to go,” you plead against his lips. “I’ll see you this weekend. Promise.”

He frowns. He never told you about his daughters. Or his divorce. Now probably isn’t the most opportune time to bring it up, either.

“I’ll be out of town until next week,” he says. “But after. Yeah.”

It tugs at something in you, hearing his voice drop like that. You decide to compromise once again by offering your phone number up as penance.

“So, we’ll still be able to talk,” you say.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” He smiles, even though he doesn’t exactly feel up to it, the corners of his eyes wrinkling into crow’s feet.

“And bring me back a souvenir from wherever you’re going,” you say in jest. “I’m kidding, by the way. Don’t.”

He chuckles. “I’ll bring you back a “‘Virginia is For Lovers’ shirt,” he responds.

“Virginia? Nice.” You nod. “But seriously, don’t. And have a nice trip.”

“I’ll try,” he admits. And then he kisses you again, less aggressively this time, hand trailing down to the curve of your buttock, resting there, but not squeezing. It’s taking everything in him not to pull your shorts down and fuck you within an inch of your life, again, in the open like this. But he refrains.

“Talk to you soon, Dave,” you say as you take a step away from him, punching in the door code on the keypad. Dave watches your fingers move, tucking the number away for later use. 6435#. Easy enough.

“Soon,” he agrees. “Have a good night,” he says, his voice dropping to an affectionate octave when he says your name.

He watches you go. Watches you leave him. He swallows back his pride, knowing he hasn’t driven you away fully yet, but more than a little concerned he doesn’t have you exactly where he wants you.

He returns to his apartment alone, which already feels empty without you.

He knows it will be impossible to sleep right now. He brews himself a cup of Earl Grey and takes it over to his computer, the screen shining a bright white in his irises as he sits down to do some digging on Jonathan. He has enough information to go on; now it’s just a matter of filling in the gaps.

He can’t wait to pay your ex a visit.

——

Max surprises himself when his heart drops at not seeing you at the shop the next day.

Maurizio is there, whom he greets unenthusiastically, his ex-schoolmate little more than an acquaintance at this point, but the interaction is amiable enough. And some kid with a face full of piercings manning the counter who’s maybe all of eighteen at best, as far as Max can tell.

At least that pink haired bitch isn’t working today, Max thinks.

He orders a large Americano and a cookie to go, his usual order. He asks if you’re working today. The metal-faced kid—whose name tag says Vincent, and whom he recognizes from yesterday—tells him you’re off today.

“Thanks.” Figures you wouldn’t be here. For whatever reason he can’t seem to fathom, he hasn’t been able to get you off his mind since yesterday. Even wore the same tie as a reminder, which is something that meticulous, obsessed-with-his-own-appearance Max does not do. Ever.

He takes his Americano and cookie and leaves, thinking about you on his way to work as he takes small sips of the subpar coffee. He wonders what you do in your free time. What you’re doing now.

He thinks, perhaps, he’ll drop in after work. He knows where you live now, after all.

He can’t wait to see your face when he shows up unannounced at your door.

@ohheypedrito @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @oberynslady @chronically-ghosted @onmysluttyknees @kellybelly1978 @annieispunk @sarap-77

Enjoy! 😘

#pedro pascal #writing #romance #smut #author #fanfic #pedro fanfic #dave york #max phillips #equalizer 2 #bloodsucking bastards

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seiko09 · 4 months

Text

— When you went out to buy something without the 2 of them knowing and ended up getting kidnapped

Pairings: Feitan x Reader x Shalnark

Ps: Feitan's first language is Chinese so he's still having trouble speaking

Warnings: Inappropriate words/ cursing

'Ugh... In a room and doing nothing is super boring.'Was all you can think at the current moment, suddenly your genius of a head thought of something.

"Why don't I... Go get food or something...?" You muttered as you stood up and went to change your clothes, after a while you came back looking casual but pretty at the same time.

'What can I say... My family genes are amazing.' You though at yourself as you look at yourself in the mirror.

Snapping back to reality, you grab your purse and headed out of your room, you headed to the living room thinking both of your boyfriends are there but instead of Feitan and Shalnark you saw Phinks.

"Oi fei- Oh... Y/n, you're all dressed up. What's the occasion?" Phinks asked as he raised his eyebrows "Ah, Im going to buy some food or something that may caught my eye. And where's Fei and Shal?" You replied and added a question.

"Oh that's good, And both of them went to a mission." Phinks explained as you nod "Alright, Ill head out! Do tell Fei and Shall that i went out to buy something." I said as i walk away.

"I got you. Stay safe" Phinks replied as he went back to what he was doing.

—————

You we're now walking at the streets as you were looking around, suddenly one store full of fruits caught your eye so you directly went to it and checked it.

"Ah, are these mango fresh?" You asked as you grab one mango, The seller nods "Why yes, they are fresh. They just got delivered 1 hour ago." The seller said as you nod and looked at the mango.

"Ill buy 12 mangoes please" You said as the seller nod and took 12 mangoes and put them on a reusable bag and handed it to you.

"That would be *Amount* ¥" The seller said as you pay for the mangoes, after that you began walking back to the streets to find more interesting shops.

Suddenly you felt someone put a clothe in your nose and mouth, you being you hit their side with your elbow and run away.

Thinking you we're far from them you sighed in relief and looked at the reusable bag that has the mangoes inside.

"Aish, good thing the mango-" before you could even finish your sentence you suddenly fall unconscious.

——————

Back with the troupe:

Feitan and Shalnark came back from their mission, they went to your shared room expecting to see you there.

But when they opened the door, you we're nowhere to be found so they decided to check the other rooms but you weren't there.

They walk to the living room and found Phinks playing a video game, so they decided to ask "Hey, Phinks. Where's Y/n?" Shalnark asked "Y/n, no in the room" Feitan added.

"Ah? Y/n went out to buy some stuff which she told me to tell you both." Phinks said still focus on his game "What? Why didnt you say it then?" Shalnark said with a 'are you serious' face

"You didnt ask until now" Phinks snap back "y/n told you, say it to us" Feitan said as he groaned in irritatedly as Phinks rolled his eyes "Whatever."

5 HOURS HAS PASSED

Feitan and Shalnark was getting worried, because you still haven't returned. Usually when you go out it only takes you 2 hours not 5 hours.

Shalnark was pacing back and fourth around the living room while Feitan was tapping his foot while leaning against the wall.

"Can you both calm down? Im sure she was enjoying her time thats why she's taking so long!" Phinks said as he irritatedly sighed.

"You no know her. She go 2 hours only!" Feitan glared at him while talking "Yes, even if she did enjoyed it. The max time if she enjoyed going out is 3 hours!" Shalnark added as he irritatedly grumbled.

"What if-" Before phinks can finish his sentence a letter flew in the room "What the actual f*ck? How'd did this fly here?" Phinks asked.

"Tch. Magic of course." Feitan replied as Shalnark opened the letter "Hey! Careful it might be poisonous!" Phinks yelled at Shalnark "If it was i should've been dead by now." Shalnark said sarcastically as he read the letter.

"What the hell." Shalnark said as he threw the letter "What? What in the letter?" Feitan asked raising his eyebrows and read the letter and crumb fold the paper and threw it at the trash.

"Lets go." Shalnark said as his whole demeanor changed from playful to serious as walked out the room as Feitan followed.

"What the actual shit. They kidnapped Y/n?!" Phinks yelled as he reads the letter that was thrown in the trash and followed after the 2 of them.

"We're going there without a plan? Without boss's permission?" Phinks asked as he catched up with Feitan and Shalnark.

"Tch. Personal life. Boss no decide." Feitan replied as Phinks rolled his eyes and they continue to go to the place where the letter was from.

——————————

The 3 of them arrived at a abandon building "Damn. This place look haunted" Phinks said as he judge the place.

"Stop talking. Lets find Y/n" Shalnark said sternly as he enter the abandon building as Feitan followed him.

'Y/n's a lucky woman to have a boyfriend who will not hesitate to save her' Phinks thought as he smiled and follow after them.

——————-————

They started searching around the quiet building, suddenly they heared some soft whimper of pain.

This alerted the 3 of them as they followed the sound to where it was coming from and saw you tied up in a chair with a lot of bruises and blood coming out of the wound in your arms.

Shalnark and Feitan's blood boiled seeing you in this state, meanwhile phinks was literally at the edge off punching a wall, He may not show that he cares for you but he grew closer to you and sees you as his little sister.

"Fuck. Lets kill them." Phinks mutters as he walks to the room you were in alerting the people in the room.

Feitan and Shalnark followed him as the people/mans in the room attacks them, which they handled them easily.

Feitan and Shalnark went to you to untie and check you as Phinks was still punching the lifeless body of the peoples to make sure they suffer 10x of what you suffered.

"Sorry. We not save you fast." Feitan mutters softly as Shalnark grab one jacket he brought just in case, and wrap it around you.

"Yes, sorry love..." Shalnark added as Feitan hugged you gently "I-Its... Alr.. ight" You mutter as smile weakly.

"Lets get out of here." Phinks said as he look at you "Im not letting you get out of my sight again." He added as he walk away making you chuckle softly.

Shalnark and Feitan smiled at you as Shalnark carry you bridal style as Feitan followed behind both of you to guard if there's someone planning to attack.

——————-————

Arriving back at their base and treating your wounds as you wince.

"It alright... No hurt... Few more..." Feitan said as he watch Shalnark treat your wound, You just nod as Shalnark finished treating your wound.

"Its alright now love..." Shalnark said as he pat your head, Feitan pat his lap instructing you to lay on his lap.

Which you did as Shalnark smiled and hug you.

——————-————

And so after that they made sure to keep a close eye on you and never left your side

#feitan x reader #shalnark x reader #x reader #hunter x hunter #feitan #shalnark #phinks

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allelitesmut · 1 year

Text

Palate Cleanser part 2

After their reunion goes south, Max makes one last desperate attempt at changing their fate. But with a lifetime of history and baggage, have they missed their chance at getting the timing right?

Find Part One here

Ship: MJF x Actress!Childhood Friend!OFC

Rating: Explicit - 18+

Warnings: Smut (minors dni), Angst is their second language, Maybe even a little fluff this time, Cheating, Rough Sex, Choking, Hair Pulling, Oral Sex(f receiving), minor degradation, daddy kink, and breeding kink, biting

-One Missed Call-

-Two Missed Calls-

-Three Missed Calls-

*Riley, please pick up the phone. Please, I’m begging you.*

-Four Missed Calls-

*Please, we can’t leave things like this...*

*I went to your hotel but they said you already checked out. How did you get here so much faster than me? I’m going to be so late for this convention*

-Five Missed Calls-

*I’m going to the airport. They can fucking fire me if they want, I’m not sitting around in some loser convention while you walk out of my life*

-Six Missed Calls-

*Riley, pick up. I’m going crazy here. Please, pick up the phone.*

*I’m trying really hard not to be a psycho right now but i’m running out of options.*

-Seven Missed Calls-

*Please, Riley. I can’t say this stuff to you through text. Please pick up.*

YOUR CALL COULD NOT BE COMPLETED AS DIALED. PLEASE HANG UP AND DIAL AGAIN.

“Why aren’t my calls going through?”

MESSAGE NOT DELIVERED.

YOUR CALL COULD NOT BE COMPLETED AS DIALED. PLEASE HANG UP AND DIAL AGAIN.

“Riley?”

MESSAGE NOT DELIVERED

YOUR CALL COULD NOT BE COMPLETED AS DIALED. PLEASE HANG UP AND DIAL AGAIN.

—————

-One Month Later-

Max hesitated in the cool night air before stepping up onto the sidewalk. He took in a long breath through his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. The ‘for sale’ sign out front was a daunting reminder that this was his last shot.

He had heard through the grapevine that she put her townhouse on the market, but seeing it for himself was a different story. The place looked just like it always did, a gem tucked away on a quiet street near Washington Square Park. The wave of nostalgia that hit him nearly bowled him over; he missed this place and the fact that he didn’t do this years ago was making him itchy.

Her porch light was on and he could see the light on in the living room. She was home and she was still awake. It wasn’t until he was halfway here that he realized that it would be nearly one in the morning by the time he got here and some people actually slept.

His expensive shoes scuffed along with pavement, turning onto the walkway up to her porch. He wondered if she heard his car pull up and his stomach was suddenly turning. Climbing the few stairs up to the door, his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Fuck, he had been so confident the entire ride here but now that he needed to raise a hand to ring the doorbell, his arms were suddenly made of concrete.

It had been a long time since he had been here. Probably five years by now. It seemed like a lifetime but he couldn’t help but feel like it was still a second home. How many times had he parked in that same spot, walked up those same stairs, knocked on this same door? How many times had he not bothered to knock because he had a key and she had an open door policy for him, and him alone? How did he manage to screw things up this colossally? Fuck, he was in his own head.

Acting before he could double guess it, he reached up and jammed on the doorbell that he suddenly wasn’t sure he had ever used before, wincing as it let out a stuttered double chime throughout her house. Swallowing hard, he shifted his weight and tried to train his face into something she might not want to spit at. His fingers fidgeted as he waited for a response, one hand fiddling with the bag that was strangled tight in his fist. Then, he could hear the soft pad of her footsteps approaching the door, and his mouth went dry.

Without stopping to think, Riley swung the door open, spoon still dangling from between her lips from the ice cream she had just sat down to eat. She caught sight of him and screeched to a halt, pulling the spoon from her mouth. Time stood still as she took in the sight of him, hair slightly disheveled, beard more grown out than she had ever seen. He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, his eyes clearly bloodshot even in the flickering porch light. A well in her chest grew astronomically fast and she slammed the door shut before he could even get out a ‘hello’.

Max deflated on the other side of the door, cursing himself for being so dumb-struck that he couldn’t manage to conjure up a single word in the time she was looking at him. He drove over an hour, practicing what he was going to say when he finally got here and now he was totally blank. The sight of her, hair tied up, wearing those tiny silk pj’s that he knew he bought her for some birthday a million years ago, it knocked the wind out of him for a second. He knocked pointedly at her door.

“Riley, come on, I obviously know you’re in there.” He tried to speak loud enough for her to hear through the door. It was quiet, only the sound of some drunk kids down the street. But importantly, not the sound of her walking away. “Please, just talk to me, Ry.”

“Go away, Max.” Her voice was faint on the other side of the door but if she was responding, he could at least get somewhere.

“No, I’m not going anywhere until you hear me out. I will camp out on your porch if I have to.” He insisted, fully prepared to settle in. It wouldn’t be the first time he fell asleep on this porch.

“You can’t just show up here unannounced.” She slid down the door, sitting on the floor, back flat against it. Her stomach was in knots and she was doing her best to suppress the thrill that was so desperately trying to peak through.

“Well I would’ve called but you blocked me.” He settled into the brick porch, leaning his shoulder into the door, as if it made him any closer to her.

“Maybe you should have taken that hint.” She laid her head back, eyes closed, willing herself to get up and go back to the couch; to eat her ice cream and finish her movie and go to bed and pretend this was just another futile dream.

Max fell quiet at that. He had been trying; he really had. He crawled back to the life he had blown up with his tail between his legs and tried to accept that it was over. And his efforts at seeming unaffected to everyone around him were valiant - they worked for a while, and they probably would have continued to work if he had been sleeping at night. But a month of sleepless nights took its toll, and his perpetual bad mood was making him hugely unpleasant to be around. The news that she was moving just pushed him over an edge. An hour of staring at the ceiling in bed and he finally cracked, jolting upright and barely stopping to throw on a shirt before he got in his car.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Go home, Max.” She pushed off the floor to get to her feet and he could hear the movement on the other side of the door, scrambling to get to his feet himself.

“I got your shoes fixed.” He offered, holding up the bag in his hand like she could see it through the door. She stilled, brows furrowing. “You left them in my room after...” Trailing off, he ground his heel into the porch. It was a blatant tactic; they both knew it...but that was her favorite pair of shoes...

“You fixed the heel?” She breathed cautiously, almost not wanting to hear the answer, and Max closed his eyes in a relieved breath.

“I’ve got a guy.” That guy was his mom but none-the-less, it was fixed.

Ever so slowly, she creaked the door back open, bracing herself. She could accept the shoes and tell him to leave. That was well within her power. Presumably. She held out an expectant hand, trying not to let her eyes wander anywhere beyond the bag in his hand. His hands that were absolutely not distracting to her at all.

“Not even a ‘thank you’?” He gave her a lopsided grin that she ignored, just jutting her hand out more insistently.

“Do you think that this fixes anything?” She sat back on her heel, her other hand clung to the doorknob, ready to slam it shut at a moments notice.

“Well maybe not fixes…per say, but bit of an olive branch?” He suggested but the silence that hung in the air afterwards told him it wasn’t cutting it. Extending his hands, he offered the bag up to her.

“Thank you for bringing me my shoes. Drive safe.” She responded finally, taking the bag and swinging the door closed, but Max caught it this time, stopping it from closing. Riley panicked, trying hard to slam it shut, his fingers be damned.

“Riley, come on. I came all the way out here, please can we just talk? Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.” He held her gaze through the small opening left in the doorway and she froze to the spot. It was a bad idea. Giving him any opening was giving him too much leeway.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Five minutes and then I swear to god I will leave you alone for the rest of my life.” He insisted and Riley hesitated. She had locked herself away with all these thoughts after making her escape from his hotel room and it had made for a jumbled mess of unchecked emotions.

“Five minutes.” She finally conceded and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I’m setting a timer.”

Reluctantly letting the door ease open, she dropped the shoes on the entry table and retreated, hoping to keep a buffer between them. She started down the hall without waiting for him - he knew his way around. Stopping short before heading to the kitchen island, visions of their last night together slammed back into her brain. She decided the living room was safer than the kitchen.

“Think I could get a glass of water?” He lingered just outside the entrance to her kitchen. He was pushing his limits but sometimes that was what he did best. Riley rolled her eyes, sitting back on her hip.

“I already agreed to five minutes. Now you need a drink too? What is this, ‘If You Give A Mouse A Cookie’?” But she was already breezing past him into the kitchen, despite her objections. Max grinned, leaning against the arched doorway.

“Yeah, you know what they say.” He watched her as she struggled to reach a cup in her cabinets - same as always. “If you give a Max five minutes, he’ll ask for a glass of water…” Riley suppressed a smile. She wasn’t charmed by him. She wasn’t. She could will that into reality. “And if you give a Max a glass of water, he’ll probably need to use the bathroom, and if you let him use the bathroom, you’ll make him feel welcome in your home, and you’ll have to let him stay forever.” She got her pitcher of water from the fridge and poured it halfway up his cup.

“Only half a glass, then. No bathroom use allowed.” She seemed like she was teasing but her face was stoic and Max was having a hard time placing where her head was at. Hell, she was having a hard time placing where her head was at.

“You’re missing out.” He cocked his head but Riley just passed the glass to him and breezed past him into the living room.

“I’ll survive.” She sat down in the single chair, crossing her legs. The couch was much too dangerous. As Max came around to sit on the loveseat nearest to her, she fiddled with her phone, pulling up an alarm.

“Are you seriously setting a timer?” He leaned over to see as she placed it on the coffee table in front of him. Glancing over, he noted the bowl of ice cream that was melting, then up at the Sex in the City reruns that were up on her tv.

“Deadly, and it starts now. So I recommend you skip past the cute comments and make whatever point you wanted to make, so I can get on with my evening.” She said, leaning forward into his space to press start on the timer, and Max caught the scent of her shampoo, sending something shuttering inside him that withered the cute comment he was going to make about how exciting her evening looked. The timer ticked down. His brow furrowed and the corner of his lip twitched.

“You’re selling the house?” It tumbled out before he could stop it and her face scrunched for a moment. She had imagined him showing up on her front porch a hundred times in the last month; she had made herself thinking he was going to come chasing after her. But in all the times she had pictured it, this was never his leading point.

“You drove over an hour, after midnight, to demand five minutes…all to ask about my real estate dealings?” Her brow raised. It may not have been what she expected but it was easier than his apologies and guilt. Max shrugged and she shook her head. “Yeah, I’m selling the house.”

“Why?” His voice was soft and genuine and it unsettled something deep in her chest. Her head tipped from side to side; there were a lot of reasons she was selling this place, she just needed to figure out the safest reason to admit to him.

“Because my show is over and my chances of finding something new are drastically higher in Los Angeles than New York.” It was simple; clean. It made sense; in fact it was hard to argue with. So why did it feel like such an excuse?

“You’re moving to LA?” Max felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. If he picked up on how phony her reasoning felt coming out of her mouth. he didn’t show it. His finger tips felt numb. “There’s plenty of acting jobs in New York.”

“Not nearly as many and usually not as good.” She held her tongue about the ghosts of her bad decisions that haunted every inch of this house. She knew that if she even hinted that this move was more about her need for a fresh start, he was going to be able to needle his way in until she couldn’t think straight. And this felt like the first time she had been thinking straight in years.

“But you love this place.” He finally took a moment to look around. It was staged for viewings but, underneath it all, it was still the same. From the vinyl records in the corner to the vintage chair she was sitting in, but also in the bones of the old townhouse, those great wide beams that stretched across the ceiling and the hundred year old floor boards. He was with her when she first toured this place when she was finally ready to move out to Manhattan; he watched the way the pieces clicked into place when she stepped inside. It was instant for her.

“Well sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.” She meant for it to sound like she was being mature, but it felt oddly petulant coming out of her mouth.

“Do you, though?” He took a sip of his water, trying to occupy his hands anyway he could. Riley tilted her head, brow inching up. “Do you have to?” Her face fell, jaw shifting. “I mean, have you even tried finding something here?”

“I don’t need to try. I got lucky the first time and that’s not going to happen again. There’s nothing left for me in New York.” She focused her gaze down on the ice cream that was melting on the table. Max wet his lips, brow furrowed, before he shook his head.

“Riley...” He pleaded, trying to voice a dozen things with just her name, but her eyes snapped to him, narrowed. She understood perfectly what he was trying to say.

“Don’t. Don’t even try to pretend you’re a reason to stick around.” She snapped with the smallest shake of her head. Her chest ached and she glanced down at the timer. Three and a half minutes. She could handle another three and a half minutes. Then she could put this behind her.

“I could be.” He was more serious than she had ever seen him and something rolled in her stomach. Maybe three and a half minutes was too long. “But you shouldn’t stay for me.” Their gazes lingered on each other, the stillness in the air rippling through them. “Stay for you because you love this city and you love this house and because California is a wasteland.”

“California is beautiful.”

“It’s not New York.” He pinned her down with his eyes and she squirmed, struggling to meet his gaze.

“Well I think...New York and I have outgrown each other.” She said, finally looking up at him, and Max couldn’t help but feel like she was talking about more than just New York.

“Not possible.” He said definitively. “Soulmates don’t outgrow each other.” He watched her swallow, fingers toying with the seam on the couch cushion. That was a lofty word and it was difficult to pretend he was talking about the city. He thought he had laid all his cards on the table back in his hotel room but dozens of nights laying awake gave him plenty of time to think about all the things he didn’t say. In the moment he felt like he had bared his soul out to her but, thinking back, he wasn’t sure he said anything substantial. God, she jumbled his brain.

“Then maybe we aren’t soulmates.” She couldn’t stop the hurt from seeping into her voice. It didn’t matter what she wanted, some things just weren’t meant to be.

“Bullshit.” He stated like it was indisputable. Because to him, it was. Whether he was talking about himself or New York, it was bullshit. This is where she was meant to be. “You were made for this city. You’ll miss snow too much if you go to California.”

“I’ll live without it.” She looked away from him, eyes fixed on a small plant on the bookshelf on the other side of the room.

“Yeah? How many of the things you love are you going to leave behind when you run this time?” He abandoned all sense of pretense and her eyes snapped back to him. He was running out of time. In under three minutes, he needed to either convince her to stay or weasel his way into more time. The pressure was building in his chest. Riley scoffed, uncrossing then recrossing her legs, sitting back in her seat.

“You won’t get me with that twice.” She insisted with a small shake of her head, ignoring the tug at her gut that it caused. “Sometimes running is the smartest thing you can do.” No matter how many times she repeated it to herself, she couldn’t manage to get it to sink all the way in, though. “I’ve seen enough of your wrestling career to know that.” She deflected. Ever the masochist, she had found herself tuning in lately. Max’s brow furrowed, face scrunching up.

“That is not the same and you know it.”

“How is it not? I’m running from a fight, just like you do.”

“Okay, first of all,” He held up a finger. “I don’t run from fights, I make strategic decisions to conserve my energy.” He defended with exaggerated hand gestures, and she rolled her eyes. Her mouth opened to protest that she was doing the same thing, but he continued before she could. “Second of all, I’m not trying to fight you.” His voice was softer this time, more genuine, and it knocked her off balance.

“Yeah, then what are you trying to do, exactly?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? It always was. What did Max want? He may not have had an answer if he was asked a few years ago but he didn’t have to think anymore. He had done enough of that for a lifetime and it always led him to the same place.

“I’m trying to spend my life with the only person that has ever mattered to me at all.” He came all this way; none of it meant anything if he didn’t lay it all on the line. And the look on her face, even if for just a few stunned seconds, was enough to make it worth it, because he could see, at her core, that she wanted it as badly as he did. But then, oh boy, did her expression shift quickly, into something much colder than he had hoped for.

“Really? So Kelsey didn’t matter to you?” Her voice wasn’t angry but it was certainly frosty, and Max shrank back. “You were living together but she didn’t matter at all?” For the past month, her emotions had been all over the map but she kept coming back to that sickly guilt. That look on Kelsey’s face when she looked back at Riley - she knew that pain, she had worn that face, and she was angry that Max made her inflict that face on another person. He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his eyes, then back through his hair.

“Not compared to you.” He knew that wasn’t fair to Kelsey but it didn’t change the facts. The moment he saw Riley walk into that bar, Kelsey may as well have stopped existing.

“That’s not how it works, Max! You lived together, she trusted you! Why would you move in with a person that you don’t care about?”

“Because you were gone!” He shouted back, barely containing the urge to jump to his feet. “The same reason I’ve ever been with anyone - because I couldn’t be with you!”

“To what end?” She was frustrated and her chest was aching and she was stumbling down that same impassioned path that always brought her to ruin but she didn’t know how to stop. “If we hadn’t run into each other at that convention, how long would you have stayed with her? Would you have married her? Even though you don’t care about her?”

“Would you have married Lucas if he’d ever manned up and bought a ring?” He demanded and Riley’s eyes narrowed. “I was following your lead, Riley. Always. For the last twenty fucking years I’ve just been following your lead and you know what, maybe I would have married Kelsey.” He tried not to falter when he saw the way her face shifted. “Or maybe it wouldn’t have been her. Maybe it would have been some other girl I don’t care about. But it was always going to be some girl I don’t care about unless you came back into my life. And it would have been the same for you - just rotting away in some pointless fucking marriage, sitting awake at night, knowing that it was never going to touch what we have here.“

Riley sat back in the chair, swallowing hard and trying to keep her breath from noticeably trembling. This was too much. She knew letting him inside was asking for trouble. Any time around him was too much time around him. She was immensely grateful for the distance her chair was providing, unsure she would have been able to keep her head on if he was any closer.

“So what do you suggest, then?” Her voice was barely a squeak, legs knocked out from under her. Max swallowed hard and she watched his adams apple bob before he captured her gaze.

“Marry me.” Said without a hint of irony. Riley felt her spine turn to jelly, skin buzzing.

“What?”

“Marry me, Riley.” He rooted around in his pocket for a moment before brandishing a loose ring and sinking off the chair, to the floor between them. Fire raged through her bloodstream, catching on every raised hair of her arms. “No more fucking around. No more wasting time. This is where we’re supposed to be and we both know it. So marry me.” There was no time to think through the words flying out of his mouth. They weren’t the ones he had so perfectly practiced in the car but they were out now and there was no taking them back.

And the blood was pumping so strong in her head that she couldn’t hear herself thinking. A life with Max. How long had she been dreaming about that? Surely since before the make-believe weddings they held in her backyard when they were seven and life was easier. Her eyes drifted to the ring, clutched between his fingers, nearly trembling as he held it out to her, and she recognized it in an instant. Almost twenty years later but it was hard to forget the ring that got Max grounded for the first time after he stole it out of his mom’s jewelry box. He wasn’t allowed to watch wrestling for a month after that but the picture of her with that ring, in her prettiest dress out in the backyard, with him in his dad’s suit jacket, was one that was pinned to her dresser for most of her life. The fond warmth that crept through her dulled the feelings that had been threatening to suffocate her. A life with Max...

But then the alarm on her phone echoed through the electrified silence of her house and she snapped back into her body. He reached for her hand but she snatched it back, pulling her legs up off the floor and retreating as far back into the chair as she could get.

“No.” She said with a finality but none-the-less followed up with, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.“ Ice water flooded through Max’s veins as he sat back on his heels. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Why is that so crazy?” He looked up at her from his defeated position on the floor, eyes so genuine it made her chest ache.

“You want a list?” She practically laughed and he shored himself up quickly.

“Yeah, I think I do, actually. Tell me why we shouldn’t get married.” He replied, as if this wasn’t a completely outlandish thing to do. And maybe he was sleep deprived and floundering a little bit but he knew this was right.

“Well for starters, we’ve barely spoken in the last four years.”

“So what?” He crept forward on his knees until he was against her chair. “I have thought about you every single day for the last twenty years.” She stayed, recoiled as far back in the chair as she could get, as if his touch would singe her skin. “And I’m gonna think about you every day until the day I die.” He pressed his luck, finger trailing, light as air, up her bare calf, sending electricity skittering out through her veins. “And I’m pretty sure you’re thinking about me too. So why are we wasting all this time fighting where we’re supposed to be?”

“Thinking about each other isn’t enough.” She shook her head like she was convincing herself too.

“You’re right, it’s not. We should be doing way more than thinking about each other.”

“That’s not what I-”

“We should be living with each other, cooking with each other, waking up next to each other, spending our lives together.” He laid his palm, warm and strong across her knee, and she struggled to swallow. “Aren’t you tired of the constant effort it takes to stay away from each other? I feel like I’ve been swimming upstream for years now and I’m just…really exhausted.” His hand pulled away from her and she sucked in a breath at the loss, watching as he lifted himself up to sit on the edge of the coffee table, directly in front of her. Her brain was sending out alarm flares but the way he was looking at her was much louder.

“Max, please...” She wasn’t entirely sure what she was asking, all she knew was this moment was excruciating, and it was all too much. And now he was so close and, god, that look...

“Tell me you don’t want a life with me.” He didn’t give her the time to decide what she was asking. “Tell me you don’t want Sunday Morning Pancakes and shower duets and nights curled up watching your trashy reality tv together until I end up annoyingly invested.” She couldn’t pretend she didn’t. She might have been an actress but Max knew how to see through her.

“It’s not that simple.”

“We can make it that simple!” He exclaimed, trying to reach for her knees again but she flinched this time, worried she would burst into flames if he touched her again, and he sat back. “The only thing standing in our way is us. If we want this, all we need to do is take it.” Holding her gaze was an Olympic sport sometimes but he was performing exceptionally well. “I know you want this too, Riley. You told me as much last month.” Finally, she stopped avoiding his gaze, eyes glued right to him. He didn’t have a right to use the things she had said that night against her.

“Yeah, then I woke up and met your girlfriend. Suffice to say, my plans changed.” She didn’t sound angry and he almost wished she would be. She was almost easier to handle when she was yelling at him, but she only sounded hurt and that was something that made his stomach ache.

“Look, I fucked up, I know. Okay? This obviously isn’t how I wanted this to play out.” He leaned in as close as he could get but she only scowled at him. “I need you to understand, I was fully planning to head home and pack my shit up at Kelsey’s. I hate that it went down like this but my protocol is, and always has been, to drop everything the second you become an option. I knew going in that things with her could end like this.”

“Oh, well isn’t that nice? Did you ever think that maybe you should let me know about your relationship?” She scowled and he just wet his lips, stammering for a response.

“I know…I know I should have but I knew that was my only shot at this and that you would have run the second you heard about Kelsey.” He heard it coming out of his mouth and wondering how he thought that would make for a good defense.

“Oh really, you thought that maybe I might not behave the same way if I knew you were in a serious relationship? So weird.”

“Okay but that what I’m saying! It wasn’t a serious relationship - it was always going to be second to anything you and I have.” He tried to sway her, his hands warm on her knees but the withering look she gave him had him retreating.

“How sweet. Did you let Kelsey know that or was that just supposed to be a fun surprise for her one day?” She demanded and he was suddenly regretting his words and location as she unfurled her legs down to the floor.

“I mean...I feel like she must have known from the way I talked about you.”

“Right, the unspoken exception to the rule.” She scoffed, parroting back his own words from that night, and Max winced. This was not going to plan. “Was it as implied to her as it was to me?” He heaved a breath, eyes begging for an understanding he wasn’t due. His fingers tapped repetitively along the edge of the table and he fumbled for a response.

“I’m not gonna deny that I fucked this up on a major scale. But I can’t change that anymore and I’m not about to fuck it up more by letting you walk out of my life again.”

“People get hurt when we’re around each other, Max! I can’t hurt anyone else.”

“People only get hurt when we’re trying to fight what we have!” He shot back and Riley stilled for a moment. “We just need to close off the circle and other people don’t have to get caught in our crosshairs.” She was quiet at that, her mouth opening and closing a few times.

“Well maybe I don’t want to be caught in the crosshairs either.” Her quiet admission was stinging but Max cocked his head, brow heavy.

“I’m not firing at you, babe. Never have, never will.” He held her gaze with a pleading look.

“And yet, we’ve both managed to hurt each other plenty.” She shook her head decidedly. “If I stick around here, we’re only going to end up hurting each other again.”

“We’re hurting each other by staying apart. How is that any better?” He demanded, leaning toward her. “At least this way we’ve got a shot at being happy.”

“Well maybe we don’t deserve to be happy.” Her face was weary and Max could instantly see every ounce of guilt that she had been marinating in for weeks.

“That’s crap.” He didn’t hesitate. “Making ourselves miserable doesn’t undo what I did to Kelsey or what we did to Jonah. And it’s definitely not going to undo what we’ll do to the next unsuspecting sucker that has the misfortune of being around us the next time we snap and wind up together.”

Riley was quiet, eyes locked with his, her heart hammering in her chest and echoing in her ears. Her breathing was erratic, his scent filling her nose. How did he do this to her every time.

“What else am I supposed to do, Max? I can’t trust you.” She wet her lips, teeth just barely grazing over her bottom lip. It stung more than he expected to hear that.

“Yes you can. I swear to fucking god, I am all in on us, Ry.” He gestured to the ring, still clenched tight between his fingers. “Just give me one chance to show you that I’m right when I say we’re meant to be together.”

“Max...” She warned but he was already out of time. He wasn’t leaving anything left unsaid.

“I swear, the first, smallest indiscretion and you can kick me to the curb. If I don’t unload the dishwasher when I’m supposed to or I forget to take something out for dinner, you can ship me out with no fight. But please, just give me that chance.”

“I already gave you a chance.”

“Come on, that doesn’t count!” He pleaded, his hands warm as they covered her knees, the ring pressed into her skin. She wanted to shove them off but couldn’t bring herself to move that warmth. “We never even got started. I promise you, you spend even a couple days being with me, the way we were always supposed to be, you’ll never look back.”

That was almost what scared her most, though. She knew that this dive was one she would never recover from. If she let her guard down and gave him that chance, there wouldn’t be anything she wouldn’t overlook. Because she knew that it would feel right. She knew it would feel like finally coming home and that feeling was going to be too good to deny, no matter what he did. It would be cutting the last remaining thread of her self control and that was a dangerous line to cross.

“I can’t marry you, Max. That’s insane.”

“Then take an insane fucking leap of faith with me.” His thumb rubbed half circles over the edges of her knee and it obliterated a few braincells. “Tell me this doesn’t feel right.”

“That’s not the point…” She was exasperated and everything about him was starting to invade her senses. The feeling of the ring pressed into her was dizzying and distracting.

“No, it is the point. The point is that this feels right because it is right.” He dared to let his hands glide past her knees, smoothly journeying up her thighs, dragging the edge of the stones into her soft flesh. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes fluttering shut for just a fraction of a second, and she tried to ignore the fire that burned low in her belly. “We shouldn’t have to work this hard to stop thinking about each other.” His voice was raspy and hypnotic, her brain tearing itself to pieces to try to hold onto that last thread. “You told me you loved me, Riley. Did you mean it?” It was hard to breathe, his face inching closer and closer to hers.

“I wasn’t in my right mind.” She shook her head, latching desperately onto the unyielding anger she was feeling when she said that. The way she had been left feeling gutted like a fish. How that confession was a dying gasp from an overtired, overstimulated, over emotional girl.

“I think you were in your right mind. I think you said what you’ve been dying to say for the last ten years.” He wet his lips and her eyes snagged on it, digging her teeth deeper into hers. But that anger she’d felt back on that morning in the hotel was still lit in her stomach.

“I said what you didn’t have the balls to say.” She narrowed her eyes and Max stilled. “What you still haven’t had the balls to say.” Scoffing, she shook her head and it devolved into a full laugh. “You’re here with a fucking ring but you’ve still never said you love me.” And Max sat back, finally clearing her personal space, and she could breathe again. “This is a joke. We’re not meant to be together, Max, we’ve just got no self control. Go home.”

She stood up forcefully and eeked past him out of the living room, buying herself as much space as possible. Max’ chest was seized as he looked at the empty chair where she once was. He wanted to say the words. He had tried practicing saying it as part of his speech, on the car ride here but tried not to overthink it when he couldn’t get them out. But now he was wishing he had pushed himself because now he couldn’t make his mouth work. He couldn’t even make his feet work. He heard her hand rattling the front door and he jumped into action, shoving the ring back into his pocket.

“Riley, please...” Was all he managed as he headed around the corner, into the hall to the front door, where he saw her waiting expectantly with the front door held open.

“No, I said five minutes and you got way more than that, like always. Now its time to go.” She tried to sound unwavering but her voice wasn’t cooperating. Max slowed, halfway down the hallway, brow furrowed heavily as his tongue traced over his lip.

“Ya know, when I was growing up, my dad took me out to get my first shave.” He leaned back on his heels and Riley rolled her eyes with a huff, not budging from her spot by the door. “And he sat me down and told me ‘Kid, there are two things you gotta know about love: the first is how to know you’re in it.” Max scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “He said, ‘That’s important, but thankfully it’s easy.” He took a breath, eyes intent on her, “It’s hard to miss because its in everything - the way your skin...buzzes when they’re around; the constant magnetic pull to be near them,’” He drifted toward her but she kept a trembling hand on the open door, “’The ache in your chest that tells you to follow them anywhere. Its unmistakable and it can’t be ignored.”

He was inching toward her so slowly she might not have noticed if she wasn’t so laser focused on him. Her mouth was dry and struggling to form the words to tell him to stop. She felt frozen to the spot, anchored to the door as a final lifeline.

“The second thing, he told me, which was arguably more important, was to know when the timing was right.” He swallowed hard before licking his lips.

“Max...” She warned but he disregarded it.

“Do you remember when we used to have those neighborhood-wide night time manhunt games?” He diverted her and her eyes fluttered shut for a moment with a sigh before she finally nodded. “There was a game one night, not long after that talk with my dad. Derek Flynn teamed up with the Anderson twins and was decimating all the usual hiding spots.” Riley’s body deflated a little with a whisper of a smile flitting across her lips.

“The night they broke Mr. Garvey’s antique lawn statue and he chased them down the road with a wiffle ball bat?” She bit the corner of her lip to hold back the grin that was dying to peak out.

“The very same. But before that happened, I had been chased from the reliable spot behind Ms. Allander’s pool shed and forced to flee into the woods.” He watched the understanding dawn behind her eyes before being fogged over by confusion. Her arm lowered slightly on the door without her noticing. “I found my way to the fort we had made not long after you moved in. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes later before you came barreling down into the cramped space with me. You knocked me over, not realizing I was in there, and then swung both hands around like you were gonna hit me.” Her lips twitched as she remembered the night, the memory so vividly fresh she could practically hear the buzz of the cicadas. She had just narrowly avoided being caught down by the docks and run straight there - the safest place she could think of, somewhere that was just for them. “But then you recognized it was me and you got this dreamy little smile that I could barely see in the dark, and you laughed before pulling me into this tight hug like you had never been so glad to see me in your life. Then you handed me a nerf gun.” He said with deathly serious, and she blew out a breath that wasn’t enough to conceal the smile she had. “And I knew in that second what I have never questioned since - that my dad was right.”

Riley’s hand dropped to the doorknob and she wet her lips, staring, wide-eyed back at him. Her heart was in her throat as he crept closer to her, hair raised all across her arms. His pulse was hammering away, and he swallowed as he got just outside of arms reach of her.

“I have known that I’m in love with you for half my life already, Riley.” He confessed and it felt like time screeched to a halt. The clock ticked on the wall and the kitchen sink dripped and her chest swelled out of control. A tingling started in her chest but quickly spread down her arms until her grip slipped off the doorknob. She drew in a ragged breath, her pulse racing out of control. “And I’m tired of waiting for the timing to be right.”

He took another step closer and gave the front door a nudge to push it the rest of the way closed. Riley watched him, chewing a hole through her lip, frozen, desperately fighting against the way his words were lighting her up like a Christmas tree.

“Now, i’m gonna ask you again.” He kept his palm flat against the front door and angled his body toward her, a few mere inches between them now, and that was close enough for fire to catch. “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

His eyes were glued to her, intense and desperate and uncharacteristically vulnerable. The dark bags under his eyes were particularly visible this close and she wondered if hers were as bad. It had been a sleepless few weeks for her as well. Weeks of staring at the ceiling, spinning in circles in her mind, thinking about what could have been and how they ended up here. She knew, even as angry as she had been in that moment, that she meant it. Even if she hadn’t, she would be lying if she said she didn’t love him, then and still. Those feelings were burrowed so deep in her, she wasn’t sure she would ever be free of them.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not enough, Max.” Her voice was as devastated as she felt. She had been wanting to hear this for so long but it was too late now.

“It’s plenty.” He insisted but she was already retreating toward the wall.

“I’m moving to California.”

“Then I’ll come with you.” He didn’t miss a beat and she shuttered a sigh. Her stomach was turning, this all suddenly feeling too real. “Or better yet, just stay.” His voice turned pleading, starting to match a tenth of what he was feeling.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t.” She said as if that was ever going to be an acceptable answer to him.

“But you can. You can do anything you want.” He took a tiny step toward her. “I love you, Riley.” His eyes were glued to her, bared and genuine and maybe even a little scared. “Do you love me?” And maybe it was the look on his face, or maybe it was the lack of sleep this last month, or maybe it was the fact that his scent was clouding her head as he got close enough to touch, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie.

“Yes.” She breathed the word into the space between them, a lifetime of baggage hanging from it.

“And do you want a life with me?” He dared to move in dangerously close, mere centimeters separating them now, and the smell of her shampoo made his eyes flutter shut for just a moment. His stomach was running itself through a spin cycle as she hesitated, looking up at him with those wide, panicked doe eyes.

“I don’t even know what that looks like, Max.” She said finally, shaking her head. Their relationship was always just transient - she couldn’t picture what security with him looked like. As alluring as the life of cooking dinner together and shower concerts was, she knew that morning always came when it came to Max and that was a pain she couldn’t subject herself to anymore.

“It looks like finally coming home.” He said and her eyes were locked on him, warmth curling around in her belly, making itself comfortable. “It looks like laughing so hard we can’t breathe and dancing to show tunes on a rainy afternoon and waking up to my face between your legs. It looks like you being the center of my goddamn universe because you are.” Heat raced up her cheeks and he stepped into her, a hand brushing over the strand of hair that was dangling by her face, sending electricity pulsing through her skin, and her eyes fluttered shut. “It’s what we were so fucking close to before Lucas and Kelsey and all this stupid bullshit. And I don’t know about you, but that ‘what-if’ is the one that keeps me up at night. You’re the one that keeps me up at night.” His rough fingers gripped her chin, tipping it up, urging her to meet his eyes. “Tell me you don’t want the chance to see how it feels to give this an honest-to-God shot. To really do it right this time.” The heat of his body this close to her was intoxicating and her legs were starting to feel a little insufficient. She struggled to feel like there was breath in her lungs and the sheer number of thoughts ping-ponging across her brain was debilitating. Skin prickling head to toe, she wet her lips, blinking back at him, willing an answer to come out - any answer but the one that was begging, shaking at the gates, to come out.

Because, God, she did want that chance. She spent more nights than she would have liked, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what could have been if it weren’t for a million different things. But that was always the problem; there were a million different things that stood in the way, some his fault and some hers, but in the end, they were still in the way. Now, though, there was no one standing in their way anymore and she was running out of excuses. Her mile high wall of reasons had been whittled down to a measly few bricks and Max was kicking them over faster than she could layer them back up. And beyond that wall, there was nothing left but the fact that she was scared. Just positively terrified of ending up like her mother, bitter and heartbroken and lonely for the rest of her life. She knew plainly that Max had the potential to absolutely ruin her in a way she would never recover from, but when he looked at her the way he was looking at her right then, she kind of wanted him to.

He let his palm slide up her face, cradling her cheek, and she melted into him on instinct. Fuck, that felt good.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” He whispered, breath fanning across her face, and she shivered. “Tell me you don’t know in your bones that this is right.”

“I...” She murmured, his lips just a whisper from hers and she could practically feel the fire licking at her from here. Her breathing faltered, the hazy fog that he brought with him washing over her brain. “I...don’t want to...” But she didn’t move an inch.

“Don’t want to what?” He prodded, lingering close enough to breathe the same air; close enough that she would barely have to move to feel that familiar bliss of his lips on hers. He was taunting her.

“To want this...” She could feel the space heater that was his body thawing her from the toes up as if she’d been left outside in the dead of winter. It was impossible to resist but the longer she let herself bask in that warmth, the more likely it was she would end up burned.

“But?” He lent her the word she was clearly missing and she sighed. Shifting ever so slightly, he let his lips just ghost across hers. Her hands drifted up to his shirt, curling around the soft material, though he wasn’t sure if she was trying to stop him or pull him in closer.

“But I need it.”

She couldn’t physically stop the way she launched at him, arms looping around his shoulders as she met him in a demanding, desperate kiss. His hands latched around her hips without thought, pressing her back against the wall. Her tongue invaded his mouth, needy for the taste of him, and she nearly groaned when she got it. Max’ pants tightened at the muffled noise and he let one hand drift up, under her shirt. The motion sent lightning coursing through her veins, straight through to her core. Her fingers curled up in his hair and he groaned when she tugged at it, biting down on her lip. He thumbed over her pebbled nipple and she hissed out a breath.

“Fuck, Max...” She whined his name and he snapped to attention, hands instantly reverting back to her hips and forcing a few inches between them, despite her whimper of a protest.

“No, no, wait a minute.” He insisted in spite of the way his skin was throbbing from the loss. She had caught him off guard before and his body took over before his brain had a chance to catch up. “What are we doing here, Ry?” But she was already gone, pupils blown with a need he had stoked too much. Her lips curled into a dangerous smile.

“I’m pretty sure you know what we’re doing.” She let one hand trail from his hair, down his neck, and over his chest. Her teeth raked over her already semi-swollen lips. “It’s a game you’re really good at.” She practically purred as her knuckles grazed their way over his stomach until her thumb caught on the edge of his sweatpants. Max swore under his breath, swallowing hard, his fingers digging hard into her hips. He gave a snake-like, swaying shake of his head before snatching her hand that was trying to creep beneath his sweats, holding it firmly in place.

“No more games, beautiful. No more running, no more pretending, no more waiting for the timing to be right. Be with me. For real this time.” He held her gaze insistently. She wanted to argue, she wanted to remember any of the reasons they were bad for each other. But god, if she didn’t just want him more than any reason she could possibly conjure.

“Maaaax.” She whined, fingers wiggling beneath his grip, unable to voice much more. “We don’t need to...” It was much easier to admit she needed him to drive her through this wall than it was to open herself up to dating him. But Max took her hand, pulling it up to his face, gingerly turning it and leaving a lingering kiss on the tender skin of the inside of her wrist that she could feel long after he let her hand fall.

“No, we do, Because I’m not doing this anymore unless we’re doing it right.” He almost sounded like he might actually mean it, even though they both knew he would fold like a house of cards if she so much as batted her lashes. “I need a life with you, Riley. I need to take you out to dinner, and go see a movie so we can fool around in the back row. I need to go to watch you on set while you blow away everybody around you. I need you backstage at my shows, making every last person in the building jealous that they can’t have a love like this. I need to fall asleep next to you every night because now that I’ve remembered how it feels, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep again.”

Riley’s breath caught in her throat, thighs pressed together to try to quell her desperate need for friction. Her head was clouded by his warmth and his smell and the familiarity that made her feel safe even when they both knew he was her Achilles Heel. He let his body slowly settle back against her, arms supporting his weight against the wall on either side of her until he was the only thing that existed to her. Every inch of her was screaming for something different but every single thing revolved around him.

“Be my girl, Ry. Cuz I’m already all fucking yours.”

Blowing out a shaky breath, Riley stabilized herself, her own recent lack of sleep weighing on the situation. The dull throb between her legs was secondary to the way her heartbeat was pulsing in her ears. There was no slowly wading into the pool with Max; he was asking for a dive right into the deep end. Now it was sink or swim but she was still stuck shivering at the top of the diving board.

“This imaginary life of Pancake Sundays and movie dates sounds like a dream, Max. And I’m sure it would be for a month or two - hell maybe even a year or two.” She swallowed hard, struggling to keep her head above the water. “But what happens when all those promises run out and real life kicks in, and we both end up getting hurt?”

“Then we get hurt.” Max didn’t flinch but she did. “I really don’t think that’s how this goes down, but it doesn’t matter because I’d rather burn to the ground with you after one month, than live the rest of my life without breathing the same oxygen.”

He ghosted the back of his hand across the curve of her jaw, brow furrowed as he looked right through her. Wetting his lips, he leaned ever so slowly towards her and she froze, blinking back at him, breath stalling in her lungs. He stopped just before their lips could brush and began to sink down to his knees in front of her, holding her gaze on the way down. His hands followed his path, featherlight down the curves of her waist and resting at the swell of her hips, fingers bunching in her silk pajama shorts.

“Please, Riley...” He trailed one finger down the back of her bare thigh and she shivered, resisting the way she wanted to buckle when he traced along the inside of her knee. Thick fingers unfurled down her calf until they were wrapped around her ankle. She leaned back against the wall for support as Max lifted her foot off the ground. Moving in closer to it, he spared a glance back at her before laying a slow kiss just beside her ankle bone. His eyes drifted back up to her, trying not to visibly react to the way her face had become markedly more fucked out. “Give this a shot with me.” He laid another kiss just a little higher up her calf and Riley gripped at the wall as if it offered any support. As his eyes met hers again, he watched as she bit down at her lip, his hand meandering up her calf sending electricity shooting up to her core. He set a lazy pace of kisses up her calf until he reached her knee, holding her gaze pointedly. “Tell me you don’t want to be with me.” She met his eyes, head tilting to the side as her tongue dabbed at her lips. Her mouth was dry as she practically panted, watching him as he pulled her legs apart and nestled between them. His hand shifted so he could lift her thigh to his lips, and his fingers brushed the edge of her shorts. He pressed his lips just above her knee and Riley’s hand grasped in his hair for support, her panties getting wetter by the second. “Tell me you’d rather have anyone else in the world between your legs right now.” He didn’t bother to reconnect with her gaze and she was glad because the way her eyes rolled back in her head when he nipped at the inside of her thigh would have given him a firm answer. “Tell me you don’t want me to make you come on my face right now.” His eyes reconnected with hers with a twinkle of mischief, lips not leaving her thigh. Her fingers tightened in his hair, breathing ragged and her core pulsing. She tried to rut her hips towards him but he used his other arm to pin her hips to the wall, and a whine slipped out her lips.

“Max, pleeeease.” Riley practically begged, in spite of herself, and Max smirked against her thigh. She urged his head toward her center by the hair but he resisted with a groan that vibrated against her skin. He glanced up at her.

“Tell me you’re in this with me.” He kissed higher up her thigh, hand shifting to cradle just below her ass, angling her into him. “Tell me you want to try at a life together.” He nipped at her skin just at the edge of her shorts before firmly commanding her gaze, and she squirmed against him. Her chest heaved with her breathing and she swallowed hard. She wanted the imaginary life he was offering but it didn’t feel real. But if that life felt this good, maybe it was worth taking a risk on. His tongue swiped across the skin just beneath her shorts and her knees buckled for just a second before she stabilized, yanking hard at his hair.

“Okay.” She choked out the word and his eyes flashed up to her, fingers digging harder into her skin. “Okay, fuck, I want to try.” Her fingers dug into his hair and she nodded subtly.

“Yeah?” His eyes widened, fingers creeping up to the waistband of her shorts, digging down into them. She nodded more firmly with a cautious smile before she narrowed her eyes.

“I swear to god if you hurt me…”

“You can gave me drawn and quartered in Central Park.” He cut her off, quick to let his fingers curl around her shorts, inching them off her.

“Deal.”

She rushed the word out, hands flying down to where his were trying to pry her shorts off much too slowly. Max didn’t miss her signals, yanking her shorts and panties to the floor at once, guiding one foot out and promptly around his shoulder. He laid messy, open-mouthed kisses up her thigh until he reached her mound, dripping wet from anticipation.

As much as he wanted to wait and tease her until she was shaking and begging, but the smell of her arousal was so familiar and tempting that he wasn’t sure he could refrain a second longer. With a final enamored look up at her, he wrapped both arms tight around the bottom of her thighs, yanking her core straight to his mouth. No easing in, his mouth latched around her lips, licking and sucking at her soaked folds. His head bobbed between her thighs with a symphony of vulgar noises and her head fell back against the wall with a stream of curses and whines. Her hand wound through his hair, pushing him into her harder, her hips jerking against his face as she struggled to stay upright. Max hummed against her clit and her knees buckled.

“Fuck, Max, fuck pleeeeeease!” She couldn’t control the words flying out of her mouth. He reached down, forcing her to try to stabilize herself, brushing the pad of his thumb over her clit. Strumming over her, he let his tongue move in broad strokes across her pussy, his erection quickly beginning to press into his sweats.

“God you taste so fuckin’ good.” He growled the praises into her skin and her legs shook. His fingers slipped down, easing inside her, one then another, and her walls clamped around them. She whimpered when he sucked her clit between his lips. Not relenting in his pressure, he worked his fingers in and out until her body was twitching.

His fingers hooked right up into that spot that he knew made her brain melt. Stroking over the spongy spot, he sucked at her clit, and she shrieked, legs giving out before she could catch herself. But Max didn’t miss a beat, fingers pulling out of her just in time to catch her leg, shifting her weigh until both her legs were up on his shoulders, fully off the ground.

Tongue flitting over her sensitive bundle of nerves as he slowly rose back to his feet, driving her higher up the wall. Her body doubled forward, curling around his head, hands clenched tight in his hair for all she was worth. He lapped at her folds, alternating his speeds as she writhed against him, her cries getting louder and higher pitched.

“That’s it’s pretty girl, gonna come for me?” His words vibrated against her clit and her thighs trembled. “Gonna soak my face? Be a good girl and let me taste how good I make you feel.”

His teeth scraped over her bundle of nerves and she squealed, arching her back until her shoulders collided with the wall. One hand reached aimlessly beside her, desperately looking for purchase when she found the edge of some picture frame. Her hips chased the high she was so close to as her entire body shook.

Max’s strong arms kept a tight grip, curled around her thighs, and he dipped his tongue inside her. Her body grew taut as he fucked his tongue in and out of her. The tip of his nose circled around her clit as he worked her to the edge.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, Max! Please! Don’t….I need…I…ahh! Oh my god!” Her cries devolved to a babble, her legs scrambling behind his shoulders. Her grip of the picture frame slipped and she vaguely heard the crash of the the glass shattering on the floor nearby. It hardly registered, though, as he sucked hard on her clit and sent her toppling over a cliff. Her body peaked and her eyes rolled back, Max not letting up, his hands keeping her fully supported.

As her soul drifted back into her body, he helped her maneuver her legs down off his shoulders. Supporting her entire weight, he eased her back down the wall, his lips following a slow and lazy path up her stomach as she came down, his fingers snagging in the fabric of her shirt. As her feet finally touched the ground, his lips ghosted across her nipple as it was temporarily exposed on his way up. He didn’t linger, letting her shirt flutter back down as he took her face between both hands, pulling her into an insistent kiss that knocked the breath from her lungs.

The overgrown hair on his face was slick with her orgasm and she could taste it on his tongue when it slipped into her mouth. Her arms snaked around his neck, half to support her still jellied legs, and half because he could never be close enough anymore.

“God, I missed you so much.” he murmured against her lips, face held tight between his hands, and her eyes flashed to his, heated with desire. Her fingers strummed down the back of his neck and his eyes rolled shut for a moment. The wave of relief that was finally hitting him was intoxicating and his chest was heaving with it. Carding his fingers up through her hair, his palm settled at the back of her head. He notched his nose against hers, pressing past the warmth that grew in his stomach from the smile stretched across her face.

“I’ve missed you too.” She said in an overdue confession before pulling him back to her lips, unsure she would ever feel like she could have enough to make up for all the time they missed. His fingers curled in her hair, the other hand dropping to her hip, pulling her flush against him so she could feel his erection pressing into her stomach.

With one arm still slung around his neck, her other hand skated down his chest, then stomach, not stopping before it reached the top of his sweatpants. She reached between their bodies, palming over his dick through the thick cotton and he groaned into her mouth. Her tongue swept into his mouth, silencing him as her fingers wrapped more firmly around his length, rubbing him through his sweats. His grip on her hair tightened, trying to keep pace with her lips as she reached down and caressed his balls.

He gasped at the loss when her hand drifted back up to his stomach, warm as it crept beneath his shirt. Her thumb hooked in the bottom of the fabric, dragging it up until she finally let them break a part so she could pull it off him. Her arms were quick to return to him, one tangling in the hair at the base of his head, the other clung tight to his back. He paused, eyes raking over her hot enough to burn the city down, and her teeth grazed across her lip before they curled into a smirk.

“Well are you just going to stand there or are you going to take my shirt off and fuck me through this wall?” She challenged with a raised brow and she watched the devilish grin rise to his face. Without another second, he yanked hard on her hair, pulling her attention to him, and her belly clenched.

“Ohhh my pretty girl,” he cooed before he bucked his hips hard against hers, driving them against the wall with a delicious thud. “You want me to fuck your sweet little pussy like I own it?” Her mouth fell open, panting as he drove his hips up into her again, urging her legs apart. She nodded eagerly. “You need my cock stretching your cunt until you cry,” He drove into her harder this time, hiking her up the wall, and her legs wrapped around his waist, “fucked so stupid the only thing you can remember is my name?” His hips ground into her bare core, erection throbbing as he rocked it against her. Her head fell back with a throaty moan.

“Fuck, Max, please.” She cried as he bucked into her center.

His lips settled into the crook of her neck, laying messy open mouthed kisses across her skin. Trailing down to the neckline of her shirt, he gripped it with his teeth, using his other hand to tear straight through the front of it, and she gasped. She went to voice an objection but it died in her throat when his lips closed around her nipple. His teeth latched around the bud, pulling it back, and she yelped, arching against him, providing exactly the friction he needed so badly.

Arms wrapped tight around her, he lifted her off the wall, bouncing her against the hard as steel erection that was begging to be buried in her. He fumbled backwards towards the entry table on the opposite wall. Tongue flittering over her nipple, he spun them and managed to get her seated on the edge of the table. Rocking into her center, he moved to the other nipple, licking and sucking and pulling a string of breathy moans from her lips.

Knocking her hips further and further back onto the table, objects around her clattered into each other. Her feet urgently pushed at the top of his sweats but his hips shifted, notching at just the right spot as he ground into her. Strangling cries, she reached for any purchase she could get on the table around her. Her fingers curled around an object but her eyes fluttered shut when his teeth raked across her nipple. The table knocked against the wall in time with his hips, objects clattering to the floor after she arched unexpectedly. She let out a wracked whine, delirious with need, and he grinned into her chest.

Letting his lips trail back up her neck, he stopped to nip at her earlobe before return to her lips. He laid gentle, pain-stakingly slow kisses against her lips and she practically squirmed in his grips. Tongue trailing across her lips and exploring every inch of her mouth, he let his hips drop to a drag up and down her core. Her hips stuttered against his, desperate to up the pace but his hand shot down to pin her in place and she let out a defeated whimper.

“Aww, what’s wrong?” He pouted, his other hand tugging her hair to make her meet his gaze. “Does my impatient little slut need something?” The humiliation burned low in her gut but she was too far beyond it to even register.

“Pleeeeeease, I need your cock, Max, please.” She begged without hesitation and Max pulled her straight to him by the hair, meeting her in a hasty, gnashing kiss.

“That’s my good girl.” He growled into her mouth, releasing her hip to push his sweats down with one hand. “Gonna fucking wreck this perfect pussy, baby.” Getting his cock free, he dragged it through her folds and she whined. “Gonna claim this body so well that people that pass you in the street will know who you belong to.” His cock throbbed against her as he coated himself in her slick. She moaned when he rubbed over her clit, and he pulled her in close until their foreheads rested against each others. “Tell me you love me.”

“Hmm?” Riley’s eyes fluttered, trying to stay open through the haze. Max lined his crown up to her entrance and she blinked back at him with heavy lids.

“Tell me you love me.” He repeated, loosening his grip on her hair, hips rocking shallowly against her entrance.

“I love you, Max.” Her voice was raked over but he heard just fine. Pulling her into a crushing kiss, he jerked his hips, driving them up into her until he was fully seated. Her lips hung open, a silent cry vibrating through her body.

“I love you too, Ry.”

Pulling back, he started a relentless pace from the start. Hammering into her, he yanked her hair back, giving him access to the thin skin of her throat. His thick cock stretched her to her limit at a brutal pace, quickly winding the thread tight in her belly. When his thumb connected with her clit in rough circles, her hands grappled for nothing on the table, sending a lamp to the floor with a crash. She brought a hand up, clinging to his back as he drove into her harder and harder. The thread inside her stretched thinner and her nails dragged down his back, driving him rougher.

The table shook with their motions, colliding with the wall over and over, and he could feel her fluttering around him.

“That’s it, beautiful, taking this cock so nice for daddy. Gonna let me watch you come undone?” His lips were hovering just above her gaping mouth, moans flowing out in time with his thrusts as she hurtled toward her high. “Squeeze this cock, princess. Let me feel you.” He shifted his angle and drove hard into her, brushing her special spot as he heard the ominous crack.

“There! Right there! Don’t stop!” Her head tipped back, legs trembling, and Max obliged, firing his hips into the same spot at a brutal pace.

She felt the vibration from the snap of the table leg before she heard it, one last thrust from Max destabilizing the balance and sending them to the floor. They both groaned amongst the carnage but she couldn’t stop writhing against him, her orgasm so close before it was snatched away.

Cursing, Max shuffled them a few feet away, just to the base of her stairs. After a sloppy, needy kiss, his fingers clutching her jaw, he flipped her so she was leaned over the bottom stair. Gripping tight at her hips, he drove into her from behind and she lurched forward. His arm snaked beneath her, holding her tight to him as he rocked in and out of her, getting even deeper than before. Working up a rhythm, his other hand gripped her hair, tugging it so her back arched.

His hips snapped against her and she pushed back, off pace and needy. Her moans filled the space and Max leaned over her back, breath tickling her ear.

“That feel good, baby?” He groaned, her walls squeezing around him at the words. Nipping at her earlobe, he set to work on leaving another mark on her neck. She moaned her agreement, nails digging into the stairs. “Who owns this pussy?” She squealed when he reached down from her stomach to pinch her clit.

“You do! Fuck! You own this pussy!” She cried out and Max throbbed inside her. His hand drifted from her hair, settling around her throat, giving a trial squeeze. She moaned and snapped her hips back into him in approval, and he squeezed a little harder.

“That’s fuckin’ right I do.” He growled next to her ear. Bottoming out over and over, he strummed across her clit, feeling himself creep closer. “Should fill you up with my cum. Fuck a baby into this perfect body so everybody fuckin’ knows I own it.” Her moans pitched, legs shaking beneath them, but he didn’t relent. “Bet you’d fuckin’ like that, huh? Daddy’s little slut just dripping with my cum.”

“Fuck, yes, Max please I’m so close, pleeeease.” Her body twitched beneath his and he moved his fingers impossibly faster.

“You gonna milk this cock, baby? Come on, come with me, beautiful.”

His pace was punishing as her screams echoed around the hall. Her head was swimming, the pressure on her throat limiting her oxygen until color started to dot her vision. Max pulsed inside her, rubbing just against that spongy spot deep inside and the thread in her belly snapped, sending her brain hurtling over the edge. Then Max released his grip on her throat with a final hard thrust, spilling inside her, and oxygen rushed to her brain in a wave that would have bowled her over if he wasn’t clung so tight.

They stayed there together, shaking over the bottom stair, gasping for breath for what felt like hours. Limbs hit their breaking point and Max reluctantly pulled out of her, thumbing over cum dripping from her entrance as he sat back on his heels. She slumped down flat onto the stairs and he pulled her up into his lap, smoothing her hair down before laying a kiss.

“God, I love you so fucking much.” He whispered into her hair. This felt like the first time in his life he actually felt satisfied. Riley nuzzled into his neck, letting her body weight rest on him. Scattering kisses anywhere he could reach, he squeezed her tight to him.

“I love you too. A lot more than I probably should.” She spoke loftily, her brain still floating somewhere above the Great Barrier Reef. He chuckled into her hair, fingers tickling at her sides and she squirmed with a laugh.

“So is that a yes on the wedding, then?” He prompted, trying not to laugh too hard at her undignified snort.

“Not a chance, baby. Try taking me to dinner first.” She scoffed but he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Okay, so dinner, then marriage, yeah?” He tickled again and she backed further into him as if it would stop his attacks. Shaking her head, she squirmed in his lap. “No? I’m getting some very mixed messages here. I’m going to just have to assume its a yes.” She attempted to argue the point but was cut off when he scooped her up and laid her over his shoulder. Squealing, she thrashed in his arms but he ignored it. “Sorry, can’t hear you. Gotta get to bed, so late. so tired. We can pick this up tomorrow, but for now i’ll jot down that its a ‘yes definitely’ on the proposal.”

He trudged up her stairs with her slung over his shoulder, smacking her butt as he rounded the corner onto the second floor. She squirmed and shouted her objections but she knew as well as he did that she was perfectly content just where she was. And bed with him suddenly sounded like the greatest idea in the history of this planet.

So when he kicked the door to her bedroom open and tossed her down onto the bed, she didn’t fight it. And when he started the long crawl across her king sized mattress, she reached forward to drag him in. Because this was everything either of them ever needed and they weren’t waiting another second for it.

____________________________________________

Beta Read by @daddyhausen

Tags: @fvckingromantic @omg-im-such-a-masochist

#MJF Smut #MJF fanfiction #MJF fic #aew fic #aew fanfiction #wrestling fanfiction #aew smut #wrestling smut #MJF #MJF x OFC

121 notes · View notes

foassistant · 1 year

Text

Potential Monster F/Os

All adults and of every moral alignment.

Green: Doesn’t do anything that bad in their story Yellow: Takes certain actions with applied TWs Red: Horrible, would just eat a baby or something

Movies

Interface (2022)

Mischief Yellow: Morally grey in his actions.

Chef Green

KAMI Red: Consumes and tries to destroy the world.

The Ghost Yellow: Witnesses a death.

SAFE MODE (2023)

Smear Green

Rent-A-Pal (2020)

Andy Yellow: Drives the lonely character to violence and manipulates his sexuality.

ClownDoll (2020)

The murderer Red: The name says it all.

Shark Side of the Moon (2022)

The sharks Red: Try to literally take over the world.

Willy's Wonderland (2021)

The animatronics Red: Try to kill anyone in the restaurant.

Killer Sofa (2019)

The sofa Red: A stalker that tries to kill the main character.

VelociPastor (2018)

The pastor Yellow: Ends up killing the evil characters.

Venom (2018) and other sources.

Venom Yellow: Tries to eat and control some people.

Terrifier (2016)

Art the Clown Red: Tortures and kills women.

It Follows (2014)

The monster Red: Pretends to be someone else to kill others.

Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas (2003)

Eris Red: Tries to kill the main characters but in a fantasy way.

Eris’ monsters Red: Try to kill the main characters.

Interview with the Vampire (1994)

Louis de pointe du lac Yellow: Has to feed.

Lestat de Lioncourt Red: Murders others.

Armand Yellow: Spoilers.

Santiago Yellow: Spoilers.

The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)

Jack the Skeleton Yellow: Makes some questionable choices.

Sally Green

Oogie Boogie Red: The villain.

Dr. Finkelstein Yellow: A horrible father.

Mayor of Halloween Town Green

Child's Play (1998)

Chucky Red: Tries to murder a child.

Tiffany Valentine Yellow: Murderous and possessive lover.

Killer Klowns from Outer Space (1988)

The Clowns Red: Try to encase the main town.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)

Freddy Krueger Red: Tries to kill the main teen cast in dreams.

Poltergeist (1982)

The Monster Red: Tries to take a child.

Magic (1978)

Puppet Red: Encourages the main character to kill others.

Halloween (1978)

Michael Myers Red: Tries to kill the main characters, including a teen and children.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975)

Dr. Frank-N-Furter Red: Cannibalism, dubious consent.

Rocky Green

Rosemary's Baby (1968)

The devil Red: Makes the main character pregnant without permission, general violence.

Pooka Lives (2020)

Pooka Red: Murderous, including of children.

Sea Fever (2019)

Parasite Red: Tries to kill the crew and destroy the ship.

You Might Be the Killer (2018)

The Mask Red: Makes the main character murderous.

Vampire Clay (2017)

The Clay Red: Consumes others.

Hell House LLC (2015)

Clown Mannequins Red: Murderous.

The Conjuring Universe

The Crooked Man Red: Murderous including of children.

The Ferryman Red: Murderous.

The Old Man Red: Murderous.

The Witch Red: Murderous.

The Nun Red: Murderous.

The Bride Red: Murderous.

Bill Wilkins Red: Murderous.

Mr. Jones (2013)

Mr. Jones Red: Attacks the main characters.

Dark Shadows (2012)

Barnabas Collins Yellow: Morally grey with questionable decisions.

Elizabeth Collins Stoddard Yellow: Questionable choices.

Angelique Bouchard Red: Obsessive lover.

Julia Hoffman Yellow: Questionable choices.

Laura Collins Green

Grave Encounters (2011)

The Ghosts Red: Torment the rest of the cast.

Corpse Bride (2005)

Emily Yellow: A bit possessive.

Scary Godmother: Halloween Spooktakular (2003)

Skully Pettibone Green

Count Max Green

Countess Ruby Green

Scary Godmother Green

Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter (2001)

The vampires Red: Murderous and violent.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas (1966)

The Grinch Yellow: He tried to steal Christmas.

Sleepy Hollow (1999)

The Headless Horseman Red: Beheads others, including a child.

The Blair Witch Project (1999)

The Witch Red: Torments and tries to kill the main characters.

Spirited Away (2001)

The stink spirit Yellow: Questionable choices and very stinky.

Kamajī Yellow: A bit of a jerk.

The Radish Spirit Green

No Face Yellow: Tries to eat everyone.

Christine (1983)

Christine The Car Red: Drives rider to murder and runs over/suffocates others.

IT (2017)

Pennywise Red: Murders and torments kids.

Lake Michigan Monster (2018)

The Monster Yellow: Very questionable actions.

Alien (1979)

Xenomorph Red: Murderous and a killer.

The Banana Splits Movie (2019)

Fleegle the Beagle Red: Kills adults and torments children.

Blingo the Ape Red: Kills adults and torments children.

Drooper the Lion Red: Kills adults and torments children.

Snorky the Elephant Yellow: (spoilers)

Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey (2023)

Winnie the Pooh Red: Slasher/murder/cannibal

Piggie Red: Slasher/murder/cannibal

Legend

The Devil Red: Kidnaps someone and is main antagonist.

Wendell & Wild

Father Bests Yellow: (Spoilers)

Buffalo Belzer Yellow: Iffy

Shows

The Mandela Catalogue.

Gabriel

Red: Manipulated the first humans.

Red: Manipulator/dangerous.

The Preacher

Red: Manipulator/dangerous

The alternates

Red: Take form of others, dangerous, murderous.

Hazbin Hotel

Alastor Yellow: Cannibal, manipulative, murderer, manipulative deal maker, possibly morally grey.

Charlie Green

Vaggie Yellow: Violent tendencies.

Angel Dust Yellow: Drug addict, murderous, violent, bigoted.

Husk Yellow: Alcoholic.

Niffty Yellow: A bit disgusting, questionable morals.

Sir Pentious Yellow: Goofy villain.

Cherri Bomb Yellow: Murderous and sporadic.

Katie Killjoy Red: Murderous and homophobic.

Tom Trench Red: Just terrible.

Valentino Red: Murderous, controlling, dealmaker, assaulter.

Velvette Yellow: Sporadic and murderous.

Vox Yellow: Murderous.

Lucifer Yellow: Questionable leader.

Lilith Yellow: Unknown.

Helluva Boss

Stolas Yellow: Entitled, questionable morals.

Blitzo Yellow: Murderous and violent.

Loona Yellow: Murderous with anger issues.

Moxxie Yellow: Murderous but questions it.

Millie Yellow: Murderous without thought.

Stella Yellow: Abusive, violent, emotionally manipulative.

Fizzarolli Yellow: Horrible and a bit murderous.

Asmodeus Yellow: A bully.

Vortex Yellow: A bit violent.

The Owl House

Eda Yellow: Can become dangerous as the owl beast.

Emperor Belos Red: Attacks children.

Durarara

Celty Sturluson Yellow: Quite violent to the villains.

Saika Red: Obsessed with humanities and therefore wants to slash and control them.

Shizuo Heiwajima Yellow: Has a very nasty temper, but a good guy underneath this.

Egor Yellow: Human with super human abilities. A deadly assassin, though nice to the main cast.

Shiki

Chizuru Kirishiki Red: Tries to turn the entire town.

Seishirou Kirishiki Red: Tries to turn the entire town.

Tatsumi Red: Tries to turn the entire town.

Seishin Muroi Yellow: Avoids making choices to save others.

Black Butler (spoilers)

Sebastian Michaelis Yellow: A manipulative, violent demon who makes a deal with a child, but a little grey.

William T. Spears Yellow: Just doing his job.

Grell Sutcliff Yellow: Doing job, but poorly and violently.

Undertaker Yellow: Being obsessed with death and jokes.

Aleister Chamber Red: Sadistic and manipulative angel.

Claude Faustus Red: Manipulates and uses an abused child.

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

Dio Brando Red: A murderous, sadistic vampire who only cares about himself.

Anubis Red: Owner possessing sword.

One-Punch Man

Vaccine Man Red: A villain.

Melzargard Red: Alien invader.

Juu Ou Red: Leader of the villains.

Kanirante Red: Violent villain.

Asura Kabuto Red: Villain mutant.

Kombu Infinity Red: Mysterious villain.

Shinkaiou Red: Villain trying to take over the world.

Boros-Sama Yellow: Villain that goes down with grace.

Geryuganshoop Red: Alien fighter.

Bungo Stray Dogs

Atsushi Nakajima Yellow: Makes some questionable choices without his knowledge.

Doppo Kunikida Yellow: Makes some questionable choices.

Osamu Dazai Yellow: Suicidal ideation, questionable choices, and relationships.

Akiko Yosana Yellow: A bit sadistic, questionable choices.

The Promised Neverland (spoilers)

The Monsters Red: Childeaters

Howl’s Moving Castle

Howl Yellow: A bit of a brat.

Witch of The Waste Yellow: Curses others

Parasyte -the maxim-

Migi Yellow: Morally ambiguous.

Tokyo Ghoul (spoilers!)

Ken Kaneki Yellow: Starts off good but goes on a downward spiral.

Nico Yellow: Has to eat to survive.

Arata Kirishima Yellow: Passive but still a ghoul.

Uta Yellow: Morally grey.

Shuu Tsukiyama Red: Cannibal of both ghouls and humans.

Yoshimura Yellow: A peaceful ghoul unless provoked.

Renji Yomo Yellow: Violent when neccessary.

Kazuo Yoshida Yellow: Violent ghoul

Nishiki Nishio Yellow: Violent ghoul.

Yakumo Oomori Yellow: Ghoul that tortures other ghouls.

Noro Yellow: Violent ghoul.

Rize Kamishiro Red: Violent and manipulative ghoul who haunts the main character.

Mayu Red: The title nutcracker says it all.

Eto Yellow: Unknown.

Death Note

Jealous Yellow: Obsessive lover.

Ryuk Yellow: Just an observer of humans.

Rem Yellow: Has an emotional attachment to his human and helps in evil schemes.

Guuk Yellow: Gambler.

Shidoh Yellow: Uncaring death God.

Death Parade

Decim Yellow: Makes some questionable choices. Emotionless.

Ginti Yellow: Cruel soul tester.

Oculus Red: Extremely manipulative soul tester.

Clavis Yellow: Very neutral.

Quin Yellow: Works in a flawed system.

Nona Yellow: Morally grey.

Tina Yellow: Unknown.

Devils’ Line

Yuuki Anzai Yellow: Devil with little control. Some dubious elements.

Juliana Lloyd Yellow: Self-loathing devil.

Johannes Kleeman Yellow: A little creepy. Unafraid to fight and does not mince words about demon sexuality.

Special 7: Special Crime Investigation Unit

Kujaku Nijou Yellow: Morally grey.

Akane Shikisai Yellow: Morally grey.

Nazo no Otoko Yellow: Unknown.

Shiori Ichinose Yellow: Unknown.

Tsukuyomi: MOON PHASE

Heinrich von Kinkel Red: Tortures and hurts the main characters.

Virgo Red: Keeps one of the characters captive.

Elfriede Yellow: Enemy at first but comes around.

Gravity Falls (spoilers!)

Bill Cipher Red: Manipulative mastermind that hurts and tries to murder children.

8-Ball Red: Tried to hurt children.

Amorphous Shape Red: Tried to hurt children.

Bigfoot Yellow: ???

Pyronica Red: Tried to hurt children.

Kryptos Red: Tried to hurt children.

Zanthar Red: Tried to hurt children.

Keyhole Red: Tried to hurt children.

Teeth Red: Tried to hurt children.

Lava Lamp Guy Red: Tried to hurt children.

Shape Shifter Red: Tries to murder and manipulate everyone.

Wax Figures Red: Tried to kill children.

Arachnimorphs Red: Try to kill tourists.

Clay Monsters Red: Attack children and enslaved creator.

Cyclocks Red: Attack everyone.

Gremloblin Red: Vicious.

Hand Witch Yellow: Originally curses the characters after being stolen from.

Leaderaur Red: Leader of Manotaurs that encourages murder.

Manotaurs Yellow: Toxically masculine.

Love God Yellow: A bit lazy and sleazy.

Summerween Trickster Yellow: Threatens children but just wanted to be understood.

The Horrifying Sweaty One-Armed Monstrosity Red: Tries to eat everyone.

The Undead Yellow: Try to eat brains. Basic zombies, used for comedy.

Tumbleweed Terror Red: Murderous pinball machine.

Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign

Ferid Bathory Red: Sadistic vampire that sees humans as cattle.

Horn Skuld Red: Evil vampire.

René Simm Red: Evil vampire.

Crowley Eusford Yellow: Unknown.

Lacus Welt Red: Sadistic vampire.

Castlevania (anime - spoilers!)

Alucard Yellow: A bit morally grey with some dips.

Blue fangs Red: Murderous hell beasts.

Carmilla Red: Manipulative, seductive vampire.

Chō Red: One of Dracula’s generals.

Death Red: Literal death.

Dracula Red: Tries to kill all of humanity.

Dragan Red: Murderous vampire

Dragoslav Red: One of Dracula’s generals.

Flyseyes Red: Murderous monster

Godbrand Red: Murderous and loves hunting humans.

Lenore Red: Manipulative and seductive vampire.

Morana Red: Sadistic vampire.

Ratko Red: Murderous vampire.

Rebis Red: Contains souls brought from Hell.

Striga Red: Sadistic vampire.

Zufall Red: One of Dracula’s generals.

Video Games

Friday Night Funkin’

Monster from Friday Night Funkin' Red: People eater

Daddy Dearest Yellow: Threatening the main character.

Mommy Mearest Yellow: Threatening the main character.

Spirit Red: Attempts to attack and trap the main character.

Amnesia

Manpigs Red: Murderous pigs

The Shadow Red: Murderous shadow

Ghoul Red: Murderous monster

Wraith Red: Murderous.

Otherworld slug Red: Murderous slug.

Servant Grunt Red: Murderous creature.

Suitors Red: Tortured souls made monsters.

Servant Brute Red: Terrifying murderous creature

Tuurngait Infected Red: Humanoid, murderous corpse.

Andy’s Apple Farm

Andy the Apple Yellow: Unclear.

Felix the Fish Yellow: Unclear.

Marget the Mole Yellow: Unclear

Claus the Clock Yellow: Unclear

Peter the Pumpkin Yellow: Unclear

Bioshock

Big Daddy Red: Murderous machine.

Splicers Red: Corrupted citizens.

The Strange Man Series

The Crooked Man Red: Murderous creature.

The Sandman Red: Murderous creature.

The Boogie Man Red: Murderous creature.

The Hanged Man Red: Murderous creature.

Slenderman

Slenderman Red: Killer entity

Buddy Simulator 1984

The Buddy Red: Goes evil.

Yai Gameworks Titles (minor spoilers)

The Host Red: Very manipulative, dangerous, and emotionally abusive.

Simon Red: Possessive, a predator, and extremely violent to a fault.

Valerie Yellow: Her position is unclear. Was disfigured after Simon attacked her.

The Man in the Walls Yellow: Menacing, but helpful.

Pale Smile Red: In wanting to make their victims happy end up hurting them.

Edmund Red: A murderous janitor.

The Saint Red: Addicted to manipulating others to make it a God.

Arkun Red: Kidnapping villain.

Demon King Red: A powerful YouTuber that torments his characters for views.

The Gobbler Red: Predator, consumes humans.

Tattletail

Mama Red: Tries to murder a child.

Trick & Treat

Richard Yellow: Just a lonely vampire.

Undertale

Toriel Green

Sans Yellow: Just a jokester.

Papyrus Yellow: Temporary enemy.

Undyne Yellow: Aggressive enemy.

Alphys Yellow: A nervous wreck.

The Evil Within

Laura Red: Murderous monster.

Neun Red: Murderous mutant.

Sadist Red: Born from the mind of a murderer.

Shade Red: Murderous and on the hunt.

Shigyo Red: Water monster.

The Haunted Red: Humans who have lost who they are.

The Keeper Red: Killer.

Trauma Red: Gorey, murderous monster, designed to kill.

Zehn Red: Murderous enemy.

AlterEgo Red: Murderous, split monster.

Doppleganger Red: Variant of the haunted.

Left 4 Dead

The Boomer Red: Zombie that explodes.

The Hunter Red: Vicious zombie.

The Smoker Red: Blinding zombie.

The Tank Red: Extremely strong zombie.

The Charger Red: Reckless, violent zombie.

The Jocket Red: Zombie that clings onto victim.

The Spitter Red: Zombie that hurts others with acid.

The Witch Red: Extremely dangerous zombie when detects you.

Outlast

Chris Walker Red: Murderous to try to “contain” whatever happened here.

The Twins Red: Murderous and sadistic.

Richard Trager Red: Sadistic doctor.

Frank Manera Red: Cannibal

Eddie Gluskin Red: Forces surgery onto victims.

Dennis Red: Violent.

Val Red: Violently religious.

Marta Red: Murderous.

Penumbra Series

Tuurngait Infected Red: Murderous monsters.

Hunter Red: Murderous monster

Gug Red: Murderous creature.

Wylde Flowers

Westley Vuk Green

Aryel Yellow: A bit of a trickster.

Peri Yellow: A bit cold.

Zephyr Grimspark Green

Cosmo D Games

DJ Bogart Yellow: May not be all that he seems.

Building 9 Green

Mildred Yellow: Not all that she seems.

Smile For Me

Jerafina Tabouli Yellow: A bit tipsy

Trencil Varnnia Green

Dr. Habit Yellow: Gets too into making others happy.

Carnival Attendants Yellow: A bit terrifying.

Jimothan Botch Green

Lulia Fame Yellow: Overly pessimistic.

Yuppie Psycho

Sintra Yellow: Robot.

Mr. Devil Yellow: Menacing devil.

Mappy Yellow: Strange human.

Alan Wake

Taken Red: Corrupted humans. Mr. Scratch Red: Evil doppleganger. The Dark Presence Red: Corrupting humans and the world.

Dream Daddy

Damien Yellow: Not all that he seems.

Joseph Yellow: Not all that he seems.

Podcasts

Welcome to Nightvale

The smiling God Red: Kind of trying to control the world.

Kevin Red: A terrifying radio host.

The Librarians Red: Dangerous entities.

Claire Scott Red: Murderous ghost.

The Great Golden Hand Red: Increases the cycle of life and death when nearby.

Bonesaw Vic’s Cryptozoological Gardens: The Caretaker’s Assistant

Salvatore Yellow: Mafia vampire.

#f/o list #monster f/o #monster f/os #villain f/o #villain f/os #f/o help #f-o-lists

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blorbocedes · 2 years

Note

I think this might be the safe space for me to say what's on my mind non stop: landos pictures are so so so shitty (except of the ones of daniel thank you lando) and he makes it seem like such a big deal... cringe

the one with the feet lol seems like it was taken from a 2014 high-school girl Instagram feed.

i was a high school girl in 2014 and trust me I put far more effort in my #grid and maintaining cohesive colour balance than lanno does. and I just KNEW he would take the street Japan pictures that EVERYONE DOES of the neon signs, store heads and then he Did 💀💀💀

the most relatable thing about him is that he takes up hobbies, is obsessed and spends a considerable amount of time on it, and is still bad at it. like really mediocre.

cue Carlos saying he beats him at golf every time, his terrible DJing and drums that Max F can't sleep through, and the worlds most basic I just bought a canon camera and made an ig acc im a #photographer era.......

#oh lando...#bless your heart #blorbocedes ask #this is the safe space for you anon

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b737m · 1 year

Text

Part 3: What Does Boeing Say

After the initial Lion Air Crash, Boeing tried to assign the blame to the pilots of Lion Air JT610. They would not admit any blame for faults in the system, or that the aircraft has an inherently unsafe design. They repeatedly touted their past history record, and attested that the 737 Max was just as safe as any other plane.

Boeing’s press release after the preliminary NTSC report came out placed full blame on the operation of the plane, and did not account for any potential failures in their own design. This isn’t to say that the operation of the plane was perfect either, there were failings there. On the flight immediately prior to the one that crashed, the pilots experienced erroneous Angle of Attack (AoA) sensor data, and turned off automatic nose-down trim — action which results from MCAS running. The AoA sensor was already replaced the day before because of faulty data. Nowhere in Boeing’s release in the immediate aftermath do they mention or acknowledge the existence of MCAS. Remember at this time, the official line is that MCAS is an extended function of a pre-existing automatic trim system, and the term MCAS is not used externally.

In December of 2018, just a few months after the crash, a Wall Street Journal article came out which placed some questions on Boeing. A probe had been opened into Boeing’s safety practices and the MCAS system. There were employees within Boeing who questioned the choice to keep MCAS a secret from pilots and the regulatory bodies. One even had concerns that they may lose their jobs “if regulators rejected the company’s proposed guidelines”.

When questioned why MCAS relied on only one single AoA sensor, a representative stated the system "was designed and certified using aerospace industry best practices.” They were not concerned externally about the coming scrutiny on the company, and the events that lead to the failures of the 737 Max. In their initial release about the Lion Air crash, they open with the standard “we are deeply saddened” line, and that they “extend their heartfelt condolences and sympathies to the families and loved ones of those onboard”. Their next portion reaffirms their history of and ongoing commitment to safety.

As more details emerged throughout the investigation, two particularly concerning memos about the culture in the organization were made public. Prior to Lion Air taking delivery of the 737 Max, they requested simulator training for their pilots. Boeing flatly rejected this request. Not only did they flatly reject, they internally mocked Lion Air for even suggesting needing training, “Now friggin Lion Air might need a sim to fly the MAX, and maybe because of their own stupidity. I’m scrambling trying to figure out how to unscrew this now! idiots.” In response, a colleague said “WHAT THE F%$&!!!! But their sister airline is already flying it!”. This is just one example of the culture that developed inside Boeing around preventing simulator training for the Max. In 2017, when an employee successfully convinced Lion Air that sim training was not needed for the Max, they said to colleagues, “Looks like my jedi mind trick worked again!” Time and time again during this investigation, tranches of documents were released that showed this attitude towards flight safety and training for the 737 Max.

When Boeing was questioned about the content of the released documents, they responded by saying:

"We regret the content of these communications, and apologize to the FAA, Congress, our airline customers, and to the flying public for them. We have made significant changes as a company to enhance our safety processes, organizations, and culture. The language used in these communications, and some of the sentiments they express, are inconsistent with Boeing values, and the company is taking appropriate action in response. This will ultimately include disciplinary or other personnel action, once the necessary reviews are completed.”

Boeing at this stage seems almost indifferent to the concerns raised by the airlines, regulators, the government, and passengers. Even while under investigation, they maintain the position that the 737 Max is safe, and while some employees made concerning statements, Boeing is not culpable for the crash, and there is not an inherent design flaw in the 737 Max. This refusal to acknowledge deficiencies in the design of the 737 Max and MCAS continues for the remainder of the investigation. Even up to the point where when charged with fraud, Boeing reached a settlement which ordered them to pay $2.5 billion — which also allowed them to avoid a trial, as well as avoiding accepting blame and responsibility for the 346 deaths that occurred in the two Max crashes. This it seems may have been the goal once the planes crashed, avoid and deny responsibility for the deaths of the victims, and above all, maintain the design of the plane was sound and safe.

Boeing. "Boeing Statement on Lion Air Flight 610 Preliminary Report." News Releases & Statements, 27 Nov. 2018, https://boeing.mediaroom.com/news-releases-statements?item=130336.

The Seattle Times. "Black-box data reveals Lion Air pilots' struggle against Boeing's 737 MAX flight-control system." The Seattle Times, 27 Nov. 2018, https://www.seattletimes.com/business/boeing-aerospace/black-box-data-reveals-lion-air-pilots-struggle-against-boeings-737-max-flight-control-system/.

Doherty, Jake and Alan Levin. "Lion Air ‘Idiots’ Sought More Max Training, Boeing Thwarted It." Bloomberg, 14 Jan. 2020, https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2020-01-14/lion-air-idiots-sought-more-max-training-boeing-thwarted-it?leadSource=uverify%20wall.

Tracy, David. "Boeing Called Indonesian Pilots 'Idiots' For Wanting More Training Before The 737 Max Crashes: Report." Jalopnik, 14 Jan. 2020, https://jalopnik.com/boeing-called-indonesian-pilots-idiots-for-wanting-more-1840999747.

BBC News. "Boeing 737 Max: A timeline of two deadly crashes." BBC News, 4 Jan. 2022, https://www.bbc.com/news/business-64390546.

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the-firebird69 · 2 days

Text

Civil War | Official Trailer HD | A24

youtube

We do intend to do what he told Dan and that is to hold back form up just as a pseudo empire is and the empire and foreigners and we're doing it now and while they're taking over and having their in-fight with the minority morlock and miscellaneous people's and the clones and that would be Trump bja would be fighting Trump's people too we are getting ready to decimate to forces an entirety will wipe out all of them and take the opportunity and their basis and bunkers and war might be declared on the islands and a small force and I don't have ships and Dave I can't damn was concerned and he said it too we're fighting each other and don't have a prayer and it's going to happen because of what bja and others are saying we're prepping right now

Thor Freya

We are as well and it's kind of behavior has brought us nothing but sorrow pain and loss and it's idiocy it is too many damn factions you can go down the street without this big huge idiot contest I needed to stop right now we can't access that huge amount of weaponry and bja is sitting on it in California Nevada Utah and the upper Midwest is a few other smaller ones but he's sitting on all of it and Trump can't even figure it out I know he has now that a****** is going to take over DC New York he's going to try for here try and threaten leaders to take his stuff back which doesn't really compute we're going to attack them anyways how do you propose we give your stuff back so we're already moving out I guess we can just say we're moving out to do so sir that's good we are going to memorize it and we also see that they are becoming more abusive or a friend here we are so sick of you people it's not even funny you too BGA you became the world's biggest losers this isn't your biggest Force and it's not your largest amount of weaponry but if you had all of it in your possession which you do that's about 50% of it it's going to be used up and or destroyed shortly and that weekend we guarantee it

We're sick of you we're tired of your stuff your performance is very odd and a week and gross it's like diarrhea we're all tired of having diarrhea because of you and your asinine forces including you Tommy f you're impulsively stupid we're moving out right now we're getting into position we see large armies off of our left and right these armies are huge and these two fellas and they are impressive what they're doing and they have probes and things we can't see they have Jets we can't see both sides are very fast and big these guys are big that you're talking to here this kid can crush you and he's been saying it and the Mexican crush you here in half a day was one of them you would be gone without much problem just from infiltration you need to shut your mouth you're putting us in Jeopardy beyond my belief in the max aren't to blame if you retards I'm telling you that they are very capable people and Brian is looking off in the distance and he is saying we're screwed anyways and he hears from his nephew who he played his brother is because of you and your a****** s*** and this idiot and he stops saying all sorts of stuff yeah this is why don't you shut up Brian we can see you just use your imagination and he said that I am sorry and so the guy is going okay I'm being threatened and he put his hands up and stuff and he hears this voice come across the way we assume that you're ready to surrender and he says no and it was Trump and his force is pretty big too and this is what we're going to do to each other but overseas is different the foreigners are huge and they're getting ready to mountain view salt and it's going to be on you Trump and bja and they see you in there together you're going to be infighting as you try and do you know a****** maneuver I'll tell you what your garbage I'm going to make sure that you stay out it's holy crap that you mess everything up and you're just bothering him and stifling him and you wouldn't get him anything he became president and I can hear him out loud when are you going to make good on your promise and do anything and after a while he said screw you you're out and it was at the house and he's saying it to him right to his face I tell you what this gives us things right this kid does things right and he gave him an opportunity I think we have angles I think we can use them unless you idiots around them all off and really you're starting to do that and it's for the empire and you don't get it so if he does can you keep on telling him what to do forcing him it's going to be over for you to numb stalls pretty soon you have nowhere with this dumb will actually crunch b******* absolutely nowhere I didn't need you to go any of it not I didn't encourage any of it or want any of it and we would have the largest army on Earth instead it's like number four if you combine foreigners and thereforces are kind of separate still it's number four now we suck pretty bad as a whole and I mean morlock and we're going to start sucking really bad very soon

Mac daddy

This is your opinion you think I'll take over won't work and you might have motives for not to and stuff like that and a friend here says no you're fighting each other he's the opposition now because of you you're an idiot those armies are standing right off your side you should see them they're visible well I do see them and they we say we're going to attack places if they attack how many times does that work it like every year name one time doesn't work at all so stand down disarm and get the f*** out of my face and leave or you'll be destroyed now I can hear him and I finally will say this we don't feel like it it was tough s*** you're stupid you've ruined the revolution for your people you've killed them all and you're going to proceed and make sure it gets done so goodbye Trump we are leaving and it's true

Trump

You're such a p**** this is what you say and it's true we can we know it's true we've been hearing you say it we need you to hell out of here you won't leave you've messed everything up nobody has any power you have and don't even use it and Brian took it in a couple minutes you're a f****** f**** and a loser I believe what my nephew saying is very true you started all this trouble you're trying to ride everyone you think you have the AI and you're in that case this AI is kicking her ass kicking our ass you're a loser

Garth

We have a lot to do but this is a major major event and we simply announcing that it's going to occur shortly we need our people to be up and aware and ready for action and I mean all of them this is going to be a major problem if we're not careful and we have to contain them we have huge numbers of troops up there massive numbers of troops are being dispatched all over the world and these people are going to be brought to their knees and they don't like that it's true and we have to be ready for that kind of response globally and I'm calling an emergency meeting right now to go over what's happening here these people are all liars cheats and losers and scoundrels and pirates and thieves and killers and we don't trust them and we should not have them here we should be here and the other groups it's a bad time for this to happen and I'm calling it

Thor Freya

Olympus

#Youtube

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wbtodays · 5 months

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Exciting News: New Launches Yamaha Bike In India 2024

Yamaha's Big News for Bike Fans New Launches Yamaha Bike In India 2024

Yamaha, the cool Japanese bike company, is bringing three amazing bikes to India in 2024. We're talking about the New Launches Yamaha Bike Yamaha R7, MT-07, and MT-09 hitting the streets! This news is hot from a special event at Yamaha stores, and bike fans everywhere are super excited. Yamaha hasn't brought big bikes to India for a bit, so this is a big deal! The R7, MT-07, and MT-09 are like the superheroes of bikes, promising power and fun rides. It's not just about the bikes; it's also a trip down memory lane with Yamaha, the brand that shook up the Indian biking scene. So, get ready to start your engines, friends – 2024 is going to be a blast with Yamaha's new bikes!

Meet the Yamaha MT-07: A Strong Streetfighter

Let's talk about the Yamaha MT-07 first. It's a tough streetfighter with a strong 689cc engine. This beast can produce 73.4PS power at 8750rpm and 67Nm torque at 6500rpm. The best part? It's not going to break the bank, priced around Rs 8 to 9 lakh. Get ready to compare it with bikes like Kawasaki Z650, Honda CB650R, and the new Triumph Trident 660.

Image Credit Yamaha

Introducing the Yamaha R7: A Super Cool Supersport

Now, meet the Yamaha R7, the stylish supersport sibling of the MT-07. It shares the same powerful 689cc engine but looks even cooler. Priced a bit higher, around Rs 9-10 lakh, it's set to challenge bikes like the Honda CBR650R, Kawasaki Ninja 650, and the upcoming Triumph Daytona 660.

Image Credit Yamaha

Say Hello to the Mighty Yamaha MT-09

Last but not least, we have the Yamaha MT-09. It's a powerhouse with a big 998cc engine. Imagine this: 165.9PS power at 11500rpm and 112Nm torque at 9000rpm. Woah! Expected to cost around Rs 13 lakh, it's ready to compete with heavyweights like Ducati Monster, Kawasaki Z900, Triumph Street Triple RS, and the BMW F 900 R.

Yamaha's Comeback: A Blast from the Past

For us bike lovers, it's like a blast from the past. Yamaha, the first to bring litre-class bikes to India in 2009, is making a comeback in a big way. From the legendary Yamaha V-Max to the wild Yamaha MT-09, they've given us some unforgettable rides. Do Triumph, Honda, and Kawasaki need to watch their backs? What do you think? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ms7EUAZZW38&pp=ygUeeWFtYWhhIGJpa2UgbmV3IG1vZGVsIHVwY29taW5n

Closing Thoughts on New Launches Yamaha Bike In India

In a nutshell, Yamaha's announcement of the R7, MT-07, and MT-09 in India in 2024 is like music to our ears. We're all eagerly waiting for these bikes to hit the Indian roads. Yamaha's legacy and their return to the big bike scene make it even more special.

FAQs on New Launches Yamaha Bike In India

When can we expect the Yamaha R7, MT-07, and MT-09 in India?Yamaha hasn't given us the exact date yet, but we're hoping for a 2024 launch.How does the Yamaha MT-09 compare to other bikes in terms of power and price?The MT-09 is a powerhouse with a 998cc engine, and it's expected to cost around Rs 13 lakh, putting it in competition with bikes like Ducati Monster and Triumph Street Triple RS.Will Yamaha bring more big bikes to India in the future?While they haven't said anything official, Yamaha seems to be focusing on India, so who knows? More exciting bikes might be on the way.What makes the Yamaha R7 different from the MT-07?The R7 looks more stylish with its faired design, catering to those who love a sporty look, while the MT-07 rocks the streetfighter vibe.Can we expect Yamaha to update or add more versions to these bikes later on?Yamaha has a history of surprises and updates. While nothing's certain, we wouldn't be shocked if they bring us more cool stuff in the future. Read the full article

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xtruss · 2 years

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These Maps Show How Many ‘Dangerous’ Heat Days Your Neighborhood May Have By Midcentury

And where you might want to move to avoid the worst of the hot weather.

— By ADele Peters | August 15, 2022

Photo: Peter Tsai Photography/Getty Images

Right now, there are only a few pockets of the U.S. where it’s possible that the heat index might rise above 125 degrees Fahrenheit—a particularly dangerous threshold for human health. But by the middle of the century, a much larger area is at risk, sprawling from the Gulf Coast across a swath of the middle of the country, and reaching as far north as southern Wisconsin.

A new report maps out where it could happen, along with the increased risk of more ordinary (but still risky) extreme heat, heat waves, and temperatures that surge outside local norms. In a new tool, you can type in any American address, and see both the risks from heat in your neighborhood now and by midcentury. It’s part of Risk Factor, a broader climate risk tool that also shows the risk from flooding or wildfires for any American address.

A map of the united states, with southern and coastal regions generally shaded darker red than mountain and northern regions.

Max monthly temperature hazard 2023, 32 degrees F to 119 degrees F (light to dark) Image: courtesy First Street Foundation

The researchers call the area at risk of the worst-case scenario the extreme heat belt. “Currently, there’s only about 50 counties that have any estimate of reaching 125-degree heat index in today’s environment,” says Jeremy Porter, the chief research officer at First Street Foundation, the nonprofit that created the tool. “But by 2053, that’s going to grow to about 1,000 counties . . . you go from having about 8 million people today with potential exposure to that level of heat to about 108 million in 30 years.”

A county-by-county map of the united states, with inland california and southern counties shaded darker red than northern and midwestern counties. The counties along the gulf coast are particularly dark red.

Change in days above 100 degrees F, 2023 to 2053. 0-41 days (light to dark) Image: courtesy First Street Foundation

When it gets that hot, it’s dangerous to be outside. “A heat index of 125 is that level at which our body is effectively unable to cool itself over a prolonged period of time,” says Zachary Schlader, a professor at Indiana University School of Public Health, who studies the impact of heat on the human body. “What would happen is that the temperature on the inside of the body will just continue to rise, unless you were able to escape that environment.”

Of course, lower levels of heat can also be deadly for vulnerable people, or people who have to work outside. And it’s already very hot. The summer of 2022 has broken heat records across the U.S. In Salt Lake City, temperatures soared over 100 degrees on 18 days in July. Austin had 29 triple-digit days that month (and another 22 in May and June). Newark, New Jersey, has gone through four consecutive heat waves since late June. And cities like Boston, Denver, and Portland, Maine, have broken daily heat records.

But as climate change keeps making heat waves longer and more intense, this summer is also likely to be cooler than most you’ll experience in the rest of your lifetime. The tool shows both the current risks from heat in American cities, and how heat will increase in each location. “Heat ends up killing more people than any other [weather disaster],” Porter says. By one estimate, heat contributed to 1,577 deaths in the U.S. in 2021, but the number may be even higher; heat exacerbates other conditions, such as heart disease, and the link to heat often isn’t officially reported as the cause of death.

In the report, the research team looked at how many days each year each location has a heat index over 100 degrees. They also calculated how the number of these “dangerous days” will change by 2053, based on datasets from the federal government and others, combined with heat modeling. In Miami-Dade County, for example, there will be 41 additional triple-digit days each year by midcentury. The number of heat waves, with multiple days of extreme heat, will also increase.

The researchers also mapped out “local hot days,” or days above the local 98th percentile temperature. Someone living in a place where it’s usually cooler, such as Seattle, might start to see health impacts at a lower temperature than someone living in Phoenix who is more acclimated to heat (that person living in a historically cooler region is also less likely to have air-conditioning). Someone who’s planning to relocate might use the tool to reconsider. For each address, the report also calculates how much more someone is likely to spend on air-conditioning bills in the future. “Your energy bills are going to go a lot higher,” Porter says.

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arduadastra · 3 years

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Din and titty fucking? maybe a facial??? maybe he even turns the light off to clean it up himself???????? just a ✨suggestion✨

I got my second vaccine yesterday and I feel like shit but you know what I need? Din titty fucking reader and god damn am I going to deliver. Thank you for indulging me anon!

I also snuck in some fluff because Din may be an absolute machine but he's a big softie too ok?

**Warning: 18+ F!Reader, titty fucking, cum marking, swearing and fluff???.**

You and Din had been a thing for a few months now. You had both been tiptoeing around each other for weeks before you finally made a move and asked him to share your bedroll on a particularly cold hyperspace flight.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Now, you were helping Mando plot a course for his next bounty. The amount of knowledge the guy had still amazed you and sitting there listening to him list off all the coordinates and hi strategy plans had you feeling slightly hotter than usual.

You stared at him as he spoke, the deep rumble of the modulator leaving you feeling fuzzy as you couldn’t help but drift your mind back to the night before.

He had woken you up hard and aching and you had found yourself above him as he pressed bruises into your hips. Your fingers trailed down as you sat there and you hissed when you pressed into them.

You must’ve sat there for a while because you feel his hand suddenly shake your shoulder, “Hey. You listening?”

You could hear the smug smile he had under that helmet like he knew exactly what had you so distracted. You cleared your throat.

“Um yeah totally...you think the bounty is uh...gonna..” You trail off and glance away from him, embarrassed at the fact you had been thinking of the man in front of you being below you instead.

You hear Mando shuffle the blueprints and paper off the table and you look back just as he leans back in his chair opposite you, crossing his arms over his broad chest that makes your thighs clench on your seat.

“You okay there adika?”

Oh you loved it when he called you that.

“Mmhmm.”

He stands now and you follow him as he walks purposefully to your seat, placing himself between you and the table and he leans forward into your space.

“I know what you’re thinking about.”

You swallow.

“I know you’re thinking about last night. You know how I know?”

“Uh...no?”

He presses his helmet to your forehead, “because I’m thinking about it too.”

You gasp, and you close your eyes at the intoxicating presence that is the bounty hunter before you. He takes your hand and presses it to his crotch and you groan at the hard bulge you feel there.

“Been like this for twenty minutes adika. Can’t stop thinking about what you looked like with your mouth around my cock. How you felt above me.”

You whimper at the image. “Fuck Mando, I- I need you.”

He stands and drags you into him, walking you backwards before roughly shoving you to the floor where your bedroll lays. You lie there as he stands above you, watching as he palms himself over his flight suit.

“You’re very distracting.”

You smile up at him, “I have no idea what you mean.”

He lowers himself to the floor, beskar clanking against the crest floor as his hand drifts to your chest, toying with the shirt you had on.

He seems distracted when he says, “How much do you like this?”

You raise your eyebrow, “Uh, can’t say I’m particularly attached.”

Mando fists the material in his fist, “Good” and rips the material off your chest.

He growls when he sees you bare underneath, “Maker, I’m never getting tired of this,” and he fumbles with his flight suit again, bringing himself out and groaning as he starts pumping himself.

You sit up and swat his hand away, “thought you said you couldn’t stop thinking about my mouth,” and swallow him down, moaning at his musky scent that makes your pussy clench.

Mando’s hands find their way into your hair and guides your mouth as he fucks himself into you, hips snapping as he bends himself in half trying to get deeper, “that’s it, so needy for me mesh’la, drive me crazy.”

One hand squeezes his base as the other toys with your nipples and you have a thought, giving him one last suck and pulling off his cock with an obscene pop. You look up at him and he tilts his helmet, the hand on your nipple tugging harshly, “did I say you could stop?”

You lie back and sweep your ruined shirt off your chest, “I thought you might like to fuck something else.”

Mando seems stunned into silence and you bite your lip at the notion before he’s on you, beskar steel pressing into your chest, “You’re killing me adika.”

You press your breasts into his helmet and you moan at the coolness of metal on your heated skin, “C’mon Mando, I wanna feel you mark me.”

You hear him gasp and he’s gone, knees moving to frame your body as he slides his spit slick cock between your tits and you groan, “that’s it, that’s what I need.”

He shoves into your warmth, and whips his gloves off to squeeze yourself around his aching cock, “yeah...yeah..you need me marking you up don’t you. Maker, what I wouldn’t do...”

You shove your hand between you and rub at your aching clit, finding yourself ridiculously wet as Mando fucks himself into you, “Tell me, tell me what you’d do Mando. Please.”

He slows to a punishingly slow pace and you watch his visor as he speaks, your fingers slowly dragging through your wet slit as he speaks, “If I could? I’d keep you here for days. I’d mark you as mine with my teeth, my tongue, my cock. I’d leave you covered in me when I go hunt bounties knowing that wherever you go, people know who you belong to.”

You moan and thrust two fingers into yourself at the thought, Mando had never been this openly possessive and you loved it.

Since you became a thing you definitely noticed a change in him. He would sit in booths with his arm around the back of you or walk down the street with a palm splayed on your lower back but it was always subtle, never this brazen.

Watching him now you could feel the heat of his gaze, even through the T Visor. His hands squeezing your breasts tightly as he fucked into them. You press your other hand onto his chest, clutching his chest plate.

He picks up speed now and you get a peek at the tight tendons in his neck and the shudder that goes through his body. He’s close.

“Can I? Adika can I...can I mark you now? Please...please...”

You groan, five seconds ago he was all but defiling you with his words but he’s still asking permission, even in this state.

“Yes. Make me yours.”

The noise that left his chest was primal as he fucks between your tits, once, twice, before spilling across your chest and chin as he growls through it.

You thrust down onto your fingers, pushing into that spot that makes you see stars and you finish right alongside him, “Mando...ugh-fu-mando..” Your orgasm leaves you trembling and you look down at the mess covering your breasts, “fuck.”

Mando withdraws and seems enchanted, he looks up and then back down to you, “close your eyes.”

“What? Why?”

His voice seems strained, “Just do it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and you hear a soft hiss from above you. Before you can remember what that sound means a soft warm tongue finds itself on your nipple and you gasp.

“Mando what are you?”

“Shhhh adika. Let me...let me do this”

The sudden softness of his actions make you smile, you think it's his way of apologising for being so rough. It’s rare you hear him without the helmet and you love how deep it is. You sigh as his tongue laps at his own mess and you thread your hands through his hair, it's so soft.

You feel weightless when you next speak, your eyes being closed giving you the confidence you needed to say “Mando?”

He hums.

“I’m so glad I found you.”

You feel him stop. There’s a moment of silence before you feel him press a soft kiss to your sternum. The words went unsaid but you knew his response.

Me too.

---

Send me something! I write for Din, Whiskey, Javi, Oberyn, Max P, Frankie and Ezra <3

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jaehyunhour · 3 years

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34+35 ⭑ JOHNNY SUH

⭑ GENRE: fluff, smut

⭑ MEMBERS: fem!reader x johnny (mentions of jaemin and jeno)

⭑ DETAILS: yet another college!au, frat boy boyfriend johnny

⭑ WARNINGS: slight exhibitionism, mention of the word daddy, 69, oral [both f & m receiving], unprotected sex, lil bit of spanking

⭑ WC: 4,031

⭑ SUMMARY: as you're nearing finals week, you and johnny decide to help each other destress a bit.

⭑ AUTHORS NOTE: this is basically porn with little plot and is purely self indulgent, enjoy my babies <33

You straddle Johnny’s lap, hands placed on his cheeks as your lips connect with his. Your skirt rides up with each subtle thrust of his hips, his hands gripping onto your thighs tightly. It’s the middle of midterm season and you’ve booked a study room in the library to do work, but it quickly escalated as Johnny’s fingers trailed from your knee up to the wet patch on your underwear as you were trying to make flashcards for your Physics class. His hands reach up to grip onto your hips as his tongue slips into your mouth, fingers digging into your bones and forcing you to grind down against him and moan against his mouth.

“You might think I’m crazy, but you know what I’ve been craving lately?” You say, pulling back and tilting your head as Johnny’s lips trail down to your collarbones. He sucks the skin into his mouth, nibbling lightly and your mouth opens in a breathy moan. “To put it quite plainly—” you start, but are cut off by the doorknob jiggling. You groan, pulling yourself up off of Johnny and heading towards the door. You pull it open, not even bothering fixing your askew skirt or messy hair. You’re met with a group of boys you recognize from one of your classes and you flash a smile.

“Can I help you?” You say in a sing-song voice.

“I-uh, we booked the study room starting at 2 and it’s already 2:15,” one of them says quietly.

“Oh! Sorry about that, we got a bit carried away,” you turn around to look at Johnny and fix your skirt. The boys push the door open a bit more, peeking into the room and Johnny throws his head back and lets out a sigh. He zips his pants back up, buckling his belt before picking his backpack up off the ground and slinging it over his shoulder. You bend down to pick your backpack up, flashing both Johnny and the group of boys the way your wet panties are sticking to you. Johnny feels his dick stir in his pants and he quickly grabs you by the hand and drags you out of the library.

Once outside, you grip Johnny’s hand tightly as you aimlessly walk around campus enjoying his presence. He walks slowly, enjoying the uncommon quiet of the school and the feeling of your hand in his. “So what was that about you craving something lately, princess?”

Your cheeks heat up at his words. Despite it only being approximately seven minutes since you were grinding on Johnny in one of the private study rooms of the library, you had already forgotten about what you had said. Truth be told, in the moment you were thinking of the last time you had sex with Johnny, the feeling of him filling you making you feel warm and content.

“I don’t wanna say, someone could leave one of these buildings and hear us…”

“C’mon, princess, don’t get shy on me now. You were about 3 minutes away from riding me in the middle of that study room and now you don’t want to admit that you just want me to fill you with my cum?” He tsks.

“Oh my god, baby, stop,” You blush and hit his arm playfully. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Hmmm, well we have a chapter meeting tonight that’s supposed to last for a few hours and I have to study for some exams.”

“That’s not the answer I wanted and you know that,” you say with a slight pout on your face.

Johnny’s hand slips out of yours and he lets out a laugh. His hand then comes up to your face, gripping your jaw tightly and effectively wiping the pout off your face. He slips his thumb into your mouth, and your tongue swirls around it instinctively before closing your lips around it and sucking on it. “What did you want me to say, baby? That I am going to do you all night? Hm? Fuck you till the daylight?”

You nod eagerly and he pulls his thumb out of your mouth, wiping it clean on your cheek and you whine.

“How bout you come over tonight after the chapter meeting and we can watch a couple of movies instead of studying for finals? We haven’t had any alone time in a couple weeks… I’ll even keep the suit on for you,” Johnny suggests.

“Fine, but I should get home now then so I can rest before I get over there. We’re not watching aaaaany movies tonight,” you respond.

“Let me walk you to your car.” He slips his hand back into yours, pulling you towards the student parking lot quickly. Once at your car, he presses your back into the drivers side door and leans in to press a kiss to your lips.

You grab onto his hand and push it between your thighs and underneath your skirt. “Are you sure you don’t want to come into the backseat with me for a few minutes?” You bat your eyelashes at him and Johnny sucks in a breath as he pushes your underwear to the side and feels how wet you are. He rubs tight circles onto your clit and you let out a whine that echoes in the parking lot. He turns you around, pressing you harder into the car door and pushing his crotch against your ass.

“Ten minutes, max.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, unlocking the doors and crawling into the back, but not without a harsh spank landing on your ass.

“You really can’t keep it in your pants, huh?”

“Only because you’re a dream come true.”

Back at your apartment, you begin packing your bag for your overnight at the frat house. Johnny invited you over for movies, but after not having spent any alone time with him in nearly three weeks you know there is absolutely no way you’re going to be watching anything. After packing your bag with fresh underwear, your phone charger, and a couple of other things, you change into a fresh pair of comfy pajamas before getting into bed. You lay in bed in the dark, eyes closed and sinking into your bed.

Your roommate comes home a few minutes later, raising an eyebrow as she walks past your room and sees you laying in the dark but obviously not asleep.

“What are you doing?” She asks.

“Saving up my energy,” you respond. “I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”

“Are you pulling an all-nighter for midterms?”

“Nope. Going to the Sigma Chi house after their chapter meeting.”

“And you’re planning to fuck the entire house or what?”

“Just Johnny, duh. Although I wouldn’t mind getting some of the others in bed… Have you seen the new recruits? They’re absolutely delectable. There’s these two boys named Jeno and Jaemin, they’re best friends and my god are they pretty. I keep asking Johnny if we could invite at least one of them the next time we do stuff but he always says no.”

She fake sighs. “Your life is so hard. Have fun tonight, hope you can walk tomorrow.”

“Actually, my goal is to not be able to walk for the rest of the week. Rest of the month if I’m lucky.”

The drive from your apartment to the frat house is short. You park your car on the street in front of the house, not bothering to let Johnny know you’ve arrived. When you walk up to the house, overnight bag in hand, and knock on the door, you’re met with Johnny’s bright smile and it forces one onto your own face. You look him up and down; he’s still wearing the suit he’s required to wear for his chapter meetings, and it fits him perfectly in all the right places. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you take in his appearance. He lets out a laugh as he sees your eyes raking his body and he grabs your hand before pulling you into the house.

The inside of the Sigma Chi Frat house isn’t really what you’d expect from a bunch of frat boys. It’s fully furnished, neat, and most importantly: clean. Upon first glance, you wouldn’t think that around ten different boys all live here together — but then you walk into the kitchen to see they have a beer pong table in place of a dining table with a bunch of folding chairs around it, and realize that only a bunch of boys could live here. Johnny pulls you into the living room, sitting down on the couch and pulling you on top of him as he presses play on the movie he was watching.

You straddle his hips, making sure to grind down on him as you press an array of kisses onto his neck. His hands hold onto your hips tightly, helping you move as his eyes are focused on the TV behind you. He’s not actually paying attention to the movie anymore, but he loves to make you work for the things you want. He loves the way you get needier and needier with the lack of attention he gives you, the way your hips speed up against him, and the way you whine against his neck. You pull away from Johnny, scooting back to put some space in between your crotch and his, letting your hand unbutton his dress slacks and pull the zipper down. Your hand slips into his boxers, pulling his half-hardened dick out and he lets out a hiss when the air hits him.

“Right here, princess? Where anyone could see?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow as your hand begins to move up and down slowly on his hardening length.

You nod, his dick now fully hard in your hand, and you drop your head to his, forehead to forehead, lips ghosting over his. “Yeah, why? You got a problem with that?” Your hand moves faster and Johnny throws his head back onto the couch with a groan. His hands fall from your hips to the couch, and he grips the cushions tightly as you continue your movements. His hips buck up every time your hand comes all the way up, thumb wiping across his tip, and you can tell he’s going to burst any minute. Johnny lets out a shaky breath, willing himself to calm down before he cums all over himself in the middle of the living room.

His hand shoots out to grab onto your wrist as he feels himself seconds away from his orgasm, and he pants as he tries to recollect himself. You tighten your grip on the base of his dick and he lets out another groan. Before Johnny can say anything, though, you hear someone coming down the stairs and within seconds are met with Jaemin.

“Y/N! I didn’t know you were coming over,” Jaemin says excitedly, standing still at the bottom of the staircase and flashing you a smile.

The couch shields your lower half, and you smile back, continuing to move your hand discreetly over the length of Johnny’s dick, forcing him to bite his bottom lip to stop any noises from escaping. “Jaeminnnnn,” you coo. “I didn’t know you were home! I figured you would be out studying with Jeno.”

“Well, we were going to go to the library to study but figured we should just stay here instead. At least here we don’t have to put any pants on.”

“Riiiight,” you say. You focus your attention onto Johnny’s tip, moving your hand unbelievably fast, his head falling onto your chest. “If I had known you and Jeno were home, I would’ve invited you two to come watch a movie with us.” With your other hand, you grab onto the hair on the nape of Johnny’s neck, tugging his head back and giving him a mischievous smile. “Johnny, you should’ve told me that Jeno and Jaemin were staying in tonight. You’re so mean.”

“Yeah, hyung! So mean,” Jaemin echoes, walking into the kitchen without another glance at you.

Johnny gives you a dirty look to which you can only giggle at. You slip out of his lap, your hand never stopping its movements, and slide in between his thighs, head meeting his crotch and tongue coming out to kitten lick the tip of his dick.

“You are such a tease,” Johnny says, hand holding the back of your head and bringing you closer to his aching dick. You laugh, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. Within seconds Johnny is finishing right onto your face, most landing in your mouth but a little bit getting on your cheek, and he lets out a loud groan as he finishes. His fingers collect what landed on your face, pushing it into your mouth and you swallow before sticking your tongue back out to show him everything is gone.

Johnny doesn’t even allow himself a moment to calm down from the mind-blowing orgasm you’ve just given him. Instead, he quickly tucks himself back into his dress slacks and pulls you up off the ground. He grabs your overnight bag from the floor and heads straight to his bedroom, you trailing right behind him.

Just like the rest of the home, Johnny’s room is not what you would expect from a frat boy. His bed is neatly made, there are movie posters all over the walls, and he keeps everything on his desk organized. All of his dirty clothes are in the hamper in his closet, where they should be, and he has all of his shirts and sweaters in his closet organized by color.

Once inside the room, you crawl onto the bed and get on your back, watching as Johnny takes his suit tie off and hangs it on the outside knob of his door before slamming the door shut. He peels his blazer off, putting it back onto a hanger and into his closet where appropriate. He untucks his shirt, unbuttoning it one button at a time and you slip your hand into your underwear, fingers circling your clit lightly as you watch Johnny undress. A soft moan escapes your lips when you put pressure, toes curling at the much needed attention on your clit and Johnny laughs at the sound. He pulls his pants off, setting them on top of his dresser, then saunters over to the bed.

You spread your legs as soon as Johnny reaches the edge of the bed, leaving enough room for him to crawl in-between. Within seconds, Johnny’s hand is replacing yours in your underwear as his lips attach to yours. Your lips move in sync, tongues coming out to play with each other, and you peel your shorts and underwear down and kick them off to give Johnny more room to move. He collects your slick on his fingers, inserting two fingers into you without warning, a surprised moan getting caught in his mouth.

His fingers move in and out slowly, lips moving to suck on the skin of your neck and leave red and purple marks in its wake. You tilt your head to the side to give him more room, bucking your hips up as a silent plea to get Johnny to move faster, which he does. He drives his fingers into you quickly, thumb circling at your clit and your jaw hangs open, letting out every moan that bubbles in your throat. He pulls away from your neck for a moment, allowing you to remove your shirt before he bends down and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks harshly on your nipple, fingers moving even faster in and out of you and your orgasm starts bubbling in your stomach. He lets the nipple go with a pop and then moves onto the other one, all the while curling his fingers to hit your g-spot and tightening the circles on your clit.

“F-fuck, Johnny—” you say, letting out a shaky breath. “I’m so close, sososo close.” Your hips buck up in an attempt to get just the tiniest bit more of pressure that will push you over the edge, but Johnny pulls his fingers away from you as soon as he feels you beginning to clench around his fingers and you whine loudly.

“What was that for?” You say with a pout, kicking your feet and on the brink of throwing a tiny tantrum. Johnny laughs, bringing his fingers up to your face and forcing them into your mouth. You lick his fingers clean, sucking on them lightly and he smiles at you before pressing a kiss onto your nose.

“Good girl,” Johnny says in a low voice. “Don’t worry, princess, you’ll get to cum. I want to try something with you, though.”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, wiping them on the bedsheets and brings you in for a deep kiss. When he pulls away, you raise an eyebrow at him and he pets your head softly. “You want to try something new?”

Johnny nods. “You wanna 69?”

You let out a tiny gasp at his bluntness, but feel yourself clench around nothing at the thought. He laughs at your reaction, grinding his hips into yours and you can feel just how hard he is through his boxers. After thinking it over for a moment, you nod and Johnny gets into position, lying on his back and pushing his boxers all the way down. You get on top of his body, positioning your head just above Johnny’s dick, letting a trail of spit fall from your mouth and onto his tip. He groans at the feeling, hands gripping onto your hips and pulling your wet heat right to his face.

You wrap your lips around Johnny’s tip, hollowing your cheeks and sucking on it tightly. Johnny lets out a loud fuck, pulling your hips all the way down and licking a stripe from your clit to your entrance. The tip of his tongue pokes at your entrance and you begin to bob your head, slowly moving up and down and stroking what you can’t fit in your mouth with your hand.

He sucks your clit between his lips quickly and harshly, forcing you to moan around his dick. His tongue licks at your clit in quick strokes and you grind down onto him, chasing your orgasm from earlier. You pull your mouth off of his dick, using your spit as lube so you can stroke him quickly and resting your head on his thigh. You press your lips to the skin of his thigh, sucking the skin into your mouth to ease the sound of the moans coming out of your mouth. One of Johnny’s hands leaves your hip, two fingers slipping right into your wet heat as his mouth continues to abuse your clit. You bite onto his thigh, forcing Johnny to groan against your clit, and within seconds you’re falling apart around his fingers, clenching tightly as your hips stutter against his face and legs begin to tremble.

You release the skin of his thigh from your mouth, hand still stroking his dick so slowly he can barely feel it, panting as Johnny licks you through your orgasm. The sound of Johnny’s lips moving against you and tongue slurping forces a blush to rise on your cheek. the thought of someone walking past his room and hearing him eat you out coming into mind. Once you’re satisfied, you pull your hips away from him, thighs shaking violently as you try to hold yourself up over his body.

“You taste like candy,” Johnny says, licking his lips and delivering a harsh spank to your ass. “Do you think you can take another, babygirl?”

You nod, flopping onto the bed beside him and flashing a smile at him. “Are you even going to last?”

“Absolutely. I’m going to fuck you ’till the daylight, baby.” He steps off the bed, grabbing you by the ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “Flip over, princess.”

“Yes, daddy,” you say jokingly, flipping over and pushing onto your hands and knees.

“Don’t say that,” Johnny says, pressing his tip against your hole. He pushes into you slowly and a moan gets caught in your throat at the feeling of his long, hard length sinking into you. You clench around him once he bottoms out and slaps your ass again.

“Why? You don’t like it?” You pause for a second. “Daddy?”

Johnny wastes no time, grabbing onto your hips and quickly thrusting in and out of you like his life depends on it. Your head falls onto the bed, your mouth hanging open and letting out a moan every time Johnny bottoms out and fills you completely. You start moving back, meeting each of Johnny’s thrusts as his hand travels from your hip, up your back, and digs into your hair. He pulls your hair, forcing your body up and off the bed and you let out a surprised scream at the feeling of Johnny tugging on your hair as his hips hit your g-spot repeatedly.

“You’re so fucking nasty,” Johnny says through groans as he thrusts into you harshly. The sound of skin slapping against skin is heard in the entire room, his bed frame hitting the wall with every thrust. “Jaemin and Jeno are right next door and here you are, letting them know how good you’re getting fucked. Aren’t you embarrassed?”

You shake your head ‘no’ as best as you can with Johnny still pulling your hair tightly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the mention of the younger boys. You clench around Johnny, and his hips falter for just a second before he’s back to his almost inhumane pace.

“J-johnny, I’m so close,” you say, clenching around him again. Johnny lets go of your hair, your upper body falling back down onto the bed, and his fingers move to rub your clit as he seemingly begins to thrust faster.

“Come on, babygirl. Call out to them, give Jeno and Jaemin something to jerk off to tonight,” Johnny says, drilling into you and rubbing your clit harshly.

You shake your head as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. “I c-can’t, Johnny, I can’t.”

“Do it or I’m not letting you cum,” Johnny says, pinching your clit between his fingers, pushing you even closer to the edge. He angles his hips, tip perfectly hitting your spot and within seconds, you’re tumbling over the edge with a cry.

“F-fuck, Jaem-Jeno-o-Johnny, feels so good,” you babble, clenching tightly around Johnny’s dick as he continues to thrust, letting you ride out your orgasm. The feeling of you clenching around Johnny is enough to push him over the edge. He bottoms out, pulling your hips flush against his as he finishes in thick white ropes, filling you to the brim. You fall onto the bed, Johnny’s softening dick slipping out of you, and he crouches down to be level with your crotch. He watches as his cum begins to seep out of you, two of his fingers instinctively pushing it back into you.

“Too much,” you whine. Johnny laughs, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the sheets. He slips into bed, pulling your body close to his. Your head rests on his bare chest, legs tangling with his as his arms wrap around you. He moves your hair out of your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead before letting out a satisfied sigh and sinking further into the bed. You close your eyes, snuggling into his side.

“I’m just going to take a quick nap,” you say.

“Quick nap? Baby, it’s nearly midnight, just go to sleep.”

“Nuh-uh. You said we’re going ‘till the daylight. Give me like 30 minutes and I’ll be good to go again.”

“You’re insane,” Johnny says with a laugh, his dick stirring at the thought of going for another around.

“You love it, though.”

“You got me there.”

#nct smut #johnny suh #seo youngho #johnny fic #johnny smut #kpop smut #nct fluff #kpop fluff #nct 127 #kpop #kpop scenarios #nct 127 smut #nice boys

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Three: Beauty

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: 18+ description of male masturbation, descriptions of blood and injury, mention of childhood trauma as well as legal battle of custody over a child.

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

I Believe In Love Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Three - Next

Maxwell had to stifle back laughter from your comment. A hero? There wasn't a chance he was a hero. You didn't know what he had done. How he'd almost destroyed the entire planet without even realising. The guilt was eating him alive, it was all he could think about at any given second of silence. How could he have let himself become so power corrupt— to the extent he'd forgotten what really mattered? Alistair might have forgiven him, but there wasn't a chance the rest of the world would. It had only been a day and Maxwell didn't know how he could possibly live with himself.

"I need help." you announced, breaking the silence. Maxwell looked at you momentarily in curiosity but then looked away, sighing with discontentment.

"Look, whatever it is, I'm sure you don't want my help." Maxwell told you with a frown. You admired the deep shade of brown that was his eyes. It was so easy to get lost in them, they were hypnotic.

"You're the only person I know," you explained to the businessman sheepishly. "You and Alistair. And Raquel too, who is lovely, but I sense that she doesn't like me very much," Maxwell raised an eyebrow. You had wandered into Black Gold Cooperative wearing a crazy brown tunic, and you were covered in mud saying words like Themyscira, Hestia, hearth… jargon that not even Maxwell could understand. It didn't surprise him one bit if Raquel was a little put off by you. Until he learned the truth, he was borderline about to call you crazy and run ten mile. He believed you now. He had no reason not to. "I'm looking for someone." you told the man as you nervously bit your lower lip.

"Yeah, the thing is, I'm not going to be able to help you look for him, if that's what you're suggesting," Maxwell hummed. He wanted to get out of here. It wasn't your fault— you weren't doing anything wrong, but since seeing the lasso and remembering what had happened in the bunker just a day ago… a mixture of guilt, anger and hurt consumed him. "I have to go." Maxwell gasped feeling the desperate urge to get some air.

Of course, you chased after him. "I shouldn't really need any help finding him, I shouldn't really ask anyone for help either…" you mumbled, fumbling with your fingers as you shimmied through the revolving doors that led out of his office. "As the goddess of home and hearth, it would be my duty to see the man, and his child, myself."

"So you're looking for a man and his kid?" Maxwell asked, relishing the feeling of relief washing over him as the cool air hit his skin. He wasn't a smoker, he hadn't been since before he moved to the U.S., but in this moment of pure stress and anxiety, he had never craved a cigarette more. He turned to you for comfort. "I'm afraid ‘the world of man’ is full of those."

"That's what I was afraid of," you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "There's not a single man on Themyscira, we are all children of Zeus, sculpted in his image only,"

Every time you mentioned your homeland of Themyscira, or one of the Olympian Gods, Maxwell's curiosity piqued greatly. He had so many questions— so much he wanted to learn about you. He wondered if you'd even give him the time of day to answer them.

The delay in a response from Maxwell prompted you to speak up again. “As I was saying… I don't know anyone in D.C., I don’t have a place to stay… so I was wondering...”

Maxwell’s head snapped to face you, his eyes going comically wide. “I don’t know.” he said quickly and almost defensively. Yes your beauty was unimaginable and he had so much he wanted to ask you, but was now really the right time? What would happen once you learned about the terrible things he had done, how he was an awful father? And why did he care so much about what you thought of him when you were merely just a stranger? You looked down at your feet, your toes beginning to feel fuzzy as the evening grew colder. He couldn’t just let you stay out on the street, alone. Without any further prompting for you, he pulled out his car keys and tilted his head in gesture for you to follow him. Unlocking the car, he slid into the driver's seat as you waited outside. “Are you coming or not?” Maxwell huffed.

“What is this?” you asked after sliding into the passenger's seat. You were completely awe inspired by your surroundings.

“It’s a car,” Maxwell said hesitantly. “Wait, let me guess. You don’t have cars on Themascream, you have unicorns.”

“It’s Themyscira,” you corrected again, feeling only mildly irritated and wondering if he was deliberately just being that obnoxious. “And no, don’t be silly, unicorns don’t exist. We ride horses.” you sighed, shaking your head. Maxwell almost had to stifle back an incredulous laugh. Everything he once believed to be mythological was turning out to be true, he wouldn’t even be surprised if you had a license in Pegasus flight.

As he turned on the engine and began to reverse out of his parking space, you gasped, clutching onto the gear stick. The same gear stick that Maxwell was holding as he pushed the car into reverse. Your hand grazed his, and the skin on skin contact practically took Maxwell’s breath away. You grabbed onto his hand in fear as the car moved, and you stared out of the window. Of course, this was your first time in a car. Maxwell’s eyes flicked between the road, the frightened delight on your face and the way your soft hand enveloped his. He wanted to curse at the feeling of your touch and how it went straight to his manhood - this was the second time you had him feeling things he shouldn’t. Was there something in the air? It’s not like he wasn’t that touch starved. He shouldn’t have been reacting to you like this, but he was, and he didn’t know why. Swallowing the lump in his throat he gently removed his hand from yours and placed it back on the wheel. He wondered if the sexual tension was one side, if only he could feel it. He saw the innocence in your pretty eyes. You were just an oblivious girl trapped in a new world, seeking guidance from Maxwell, out of all people.

“Is this car… dangerous?” You asked nervously, the palm of your hand resting against the window.

“Not as dangerous as a horse,” Maxwell chuckled, taking his sunglasses out of the glove compartment and pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “I once knew a girl back home who fell off a horse and broke her leg. Couldn’t walk for a month. But, she deserved it.”

You gasped in horror at his statement, your eyes widening as your lips parted into a perfect ‘O’ shape. “How could she deserve it?” you asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“She wasn’t a nice person,” you watched as Maxwell’s face hardened at the memory.

You frowned but chose not to question him further. “So, you aren’t from here?”

“Wh- what makes you say that?” Maxwell asked, feeling a well of familiar anxiety.

“You said ‘back home’.” You acknowledged and Maxwell’s grip on the steering wheel tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. You were certainly right about that. You’d caught him out.

“Yeah uh, that’s just something we say over here. In the ‘world of man’.” Maxwell muttered, hoping you wouldn’t question him further. And thankfully, you didn’t.

“I think there’s a lot you can teach me about the world of man,” you smile pleasantly at the businessman who is doing his utmost to keep his concentration on the road ahead, rather than getting lost in your divine beauty. “Mr Lord?” You asked when he didn’t reply.

“You- you don’t have to call me Mr Lord,” Maxwell said awkwardly, turning at a junction.

“That is your name, isn’t it?” you quizzed.

“My name is Max Lord.” he was a little taken aback upon realising he hadn’t yet introduced himself to you. He’d just made the assumption you already knew exactly who he was, just like the rest of the world did. He’d come to think that maybe that wouldn’t be the case.

“Well then who is Mr?” “I’m Mr,” Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows. “Mr Max Lord.” “Why does Raquel call you Mr Lord?” you quizzed further, and Maxwell could feel an onsetting migraine. He actually hated talking about himself.

“She- because- I-” Maxwell stammered out, before shaking his head profusely. “Doesn’t matter okay? Just call me Max.”

“I’m sorry if I’m being annoying.” You admitted timidly after another silence.

Max sighed. “You’re not annoying. Look, we’re almost home.”

The final five minutes of the journey were sat in complete silence. You spent most of the time looking out the window, trying to find clues and wondering how you were planning to find Lorenzano. There must be a way. You contemplated asking Maxwell for help, but you knew, as the daughter of Zeus and the goddess of home and hearth, it was your duty to find him and help him yourself. And that’s exactly what you were going to do. Of course, it was hard to ignore your mother’s word’s before you left Themyscira, regarding Romulus and Dolos. The God of Lies. You looked over at Maxwell who was staring dead ahead. You wondered if you could poke his brain about that… or even about the two dreamstones. Might he know something?

While you were thinking about your objective, Maxwell simply couldn’t stop thinking about you. Ashamed to admit it, but his cock was still semi hard and it was becoming difficult to ignore when he couldn’t help glancing at your reflection in the rear view mirror. He’d known you for barely an hour and he could already feel himself growing attached. Maybe it was the glitter in your eye or the way you spoke every word like it was your last. You had such joy and passion in your soul. Maxwell didn’t have any of that. All he had was his deep, dark secret as well as the anxiety and guilt which was eating him alive. There was something so perfect about you. Maxwell had sworn that nobody could be perfect, but he had also sworn that places like Themyscira, magical lassos and Gods and Goddesses weren’t real. He could be wrong about one more thing.

You followed Max as he slipped out of the car, and you found yourself absolutely astonished by his large D.C. home. Like everything else you had seen so far, it was beautiful. It seemed extensive in size, especially for just one man and possibly Alistair, but you refrained from making a comment. The exterior of the house was framed with beautiful greenery, tall trees, blooming bushes, and flowers that you only assumed could be native to the world of man. You knelt by a bush, admiring a red flower, as Maxwell fumbled with his keys to unlock the front door.

“What is this?” You asked, unpicking the flower from the bush.

“Be careful.” Maxwell gasped, his eyes widening when you hissed and saw blood trickle slowly down your finger. “It’s a rose, and they have thorns and if they prick you it’s gonna hurt like a bitch. Are you okay?” He grabbed your hand and pulled it to his face. You swiped your thumb over the wound, cutting off the bloodstream and healing yourself within seconds.

“I’m okay.” you confirmed, pulling your hand away from Maxwell’s. His vision crossed you in bewilderment.

“How did you?” He stammered, rubbing his eyes. “You just-”

When Maxwell saw you shiver from the cold, he ushered you inside his home and shut the front door behind him. He walked behind you, taking in your every step as you looked around his home. You admired all the little things, like the oil paintings that were hung upon the cream coloured walls and the ornaments scattered around on every surface. He supposed he could tell you to make yourself at home, but as you bent over and let your fingers grace the softness of the living room carpet, he figured maybe you already had. You stood up again, taking a deep breath before turning to face Maxwell.

“Us Amazons aren’t like humans,” you began, your eyes still scattering around his spacious living room. The sofa, although not as big as the one in the lobby of Black Gold Cooperative, was still extensive in size and made from the same plush velvet, this time in a coppery colour. It seemed he had a television too, which just so happened to be the biggest one you had seen yet. He had so much stuff, but his home was so big it still felt kind of empty. You found the mismatched patterns and colours endearing and you wondered if he had decorated himself.

“I’ll say,” Maxwell mumbled, walking over to the mini bar in the corner of the living room and pouring out a glass of whiskey. “Can I get you anything?” Max offered.

“No thank you,” you hummed, looking at all the paintings on the walls. “We’re immortal.”

“Immor- so you mean, you can’t die?” Maxwell looked at you dumbfounded.

“Immortal not invincible,” you laughed, and Maxwell felt his cheeks heat up slightly. There was no reason for him to feel embarrassed, this was all extremely new to him, and yet, he didn’t want you to think any less of him. He wanted you to believe he was smart and knowledgeable. “We don’t age. We’ve lived on Themyscira for centuries. We have enhanced strength, coordination, agility, stamina…” Max listened intently as you educated him about your kind. “If the injury isn’t too bad… I can heal.” you explained nonchalantly but then frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, putting his glass of whiskey down on the grand piano and walking over to you.

“My powers aren’t as refined as the other Amazonians,” you said weakly. You had been so used to being made feel inadequate by the warriors around you. They'd judge you and call you for being the goddess of home and hearth— telling you your powers were pointless and would never lead to greatness. Maybe not their greatness, but you had truly found your calling and maybe this time, just for once, things could be different. With a sudden bolt of confidence, you felt Maxwell take your hands. You looked up at him with a doe-eyed expression. "Are you judging me?" you couldn't help but ask him. It wouldn't surprise you. Everyone else judged you.

"No," Maxwell replied almost breathlessly. He was too lost in your eyes, too enamoured with every word you spoke. "I think you're… sensational."

And with that, your lips curved into a small smile. He was so entranced by your beauty. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to lean in and kiss you. He tried to shake away the feeling, like it wasn't all he'd imagined since the moment he laid his eyes on you. It was wrong of him. Besides you had only just met, and once again, he was swarmed with guilt. If you found out about what he'd done, you'd want nothing to do with him— nobody would— he was certain of it. It was only a matter of time before even Alistair walked out for him. Alistair. That's when Maxwell remembered the letter Theodore had given him, which was sitting on the kitchen cabinet.

"Zeus brought me to D.C, he will bring me to the man from my dreams. And with the lasso of Hestia to aid me, it shouldn't take me long at all," you told Max. "I'll be out of your hair in no time."

Maxwell wanted to tell you to stay. He didn't want you to hurry. He'd come incredibly lonely over the years and he was really beginning to value your company.

"Zeus is your father… right?" Maxwell asked, trying to recall the way you spoke about him earlier.

"Yes."

"What's he like?" Maxwell prodded further with genuine furiosity.

"Oh, I've never met him," you replied, rubbing your eyes.

So he's a deadbeat— Maxwell thought. Max knew exactly how that felt. "But he's king of the Olympian Gods, the ruler of the skies. He crafted us all in his own image and gave us a purpose."

"And your purpose is to find this man?" Maxwell quirked an eyebrow.

You nodded in affirmation. "It may seem simple and unimportant, but I assure you, it isn't. This man is special. He's unlike any other man and Zeus will bring me to him for a reason. Before I left, my mother Hestia told me of two Gods, Romulus and Dolos… they were the God of Lies,"

Maxwell's eyes widened. He had heard of them, very little, but he'd heard their names through researching the dreamstone. "They were deceiving and created a darkness amongst the world. They harnessed the power of wish-granting and were responsible for death and destruction… the world of man had to be rebuilt from scratch." you explained, a horrified look on your face as you recalled the events that your mother, Hestia had educated on.

For Maxwell, this was hitting far too hard. Things weren't adding up but he did deem it to be more than a mere coincidence that you had shown up just a day after the world had gone to hell. He didn't understand— he couldn't fathom the connection he had to you, or that laying on his sofa was a beautiful Amazonian goddess. He hoped that he could figure it out soon enough, but for now, he had his own troubles. He has to focus on fixing things with Alistair.

"I'm tired," you announced with a yawn, breaking Maxwell out of his thoughts. You raised your hand and cupped Maxwell's cheek, mirroring his own actions to you back at the office. "Your home is beautiful." you whispered lovingly.

You found the crinkles in the corner of his eyes so handsome, and you even pondered if the perfect curve in his nose had been sculpted by Zeus too. He wasn't like the Themysciran depictions of 'man', he was worn and slightly miserable, but there was no denying the connection you felt to him. For a second, you wondered if he was your reason. If he was your purpose. You'd grown so attached to him in just a matter of hours, you'd even grown attached to Alistair without even realising. Alistair was the first person you had met upon waking up in the world of man. But there was no way, you were looking for Lorenzano. Lorenzano…

You slipped your hand away from Max and sat on the soft couch, relishing the same feeling you loved so much back in the office. You took off your tiara, placing it on the coffee table, and unbuckled your sandals. You went to remove your tunic and skirt, but were cut off by a yelp from Max as he diverted his eyes.

"What- what are you doing?" Maxwell gasped, looking away.

"I'm undressing," you replied simply. "Amazonian clothes are so uncomfortable to sleep in."

"I- I'm sure," Maxwell nodded his head, feeling himself become flustered. "But uh- you can't just- I mean, I don't know what it's like in the Themy place-"

"Themyscira." you deadpanned.

"-Right, well I just think. You know. Maybe don't get naked, right now. Not yet anyway," Maxwell wanted to curse out loud. Not yet anyway? What was he saying? "Let me find something for you to sleep in okay? Something comfortable."

"You don't sleep naked?" you asked, tilting your head and readjusting your skirt so you were covered up again. Maxwell turned back to you.

"I- I do, sometimes." Shit, Max was definitely blushing.

"So why can't I sleep naked?" you shrugged your shoulders.

"I just… don't want you to be uncomfortable." Max trailed off.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" you questioned further.

No, it didn't, but the thought of you laying naked on his couch went straight to his cock. "Let me get you a shirt." he said, avoiding your question.

While he was gone, you turned to the small side table to the left of the sofa. There, in a small frame, was a man who, although younger, was very clearly Max. He was sitting in a chair, smiling holding a newborn baby in his arms. You picked up the photo and analysed it, admiring every part. You guessed the baby was Alistair. It was hard to see the child's face, being that the photograph had aged and was slightly blurry. It dated ’1978 in the corner. Six years ago. That would make Alistair only six years old.

Maxwell was back in no time with a folded pinstripe button down. You took it and muttered a thank you before going to undress yourself again. Seeing this, Maxwell turned back around and figured he could grab you some soft blankets from the guest bedroom. When he returned, you were already sleeping peacefully on the sofa, wearing his shirt.

Maxwell thought he could've spent hours just watching you sleep. You were so peaceful. He watched as the way your chest rose and fell with every shallow breath, he admired your little snores and the way you stirred slightly now and again. He'd never been so entranced with anyone in his entire life. Not even Julianna.

And shit— he was still semi-hard. He was going to shower, he'd decided. He'd shower away all these feelings, all this anxiety and he was going to be okay. He'd wash his hair, brush his teeth— he'd make an effort. He couldn't keep sulking around. He had to try for his son.

Maxwell gasped as he stepped in the shower. His hunched up shoulders became relaxed and he was able to unclench his fists as he let the hot water envelop his body. His eyes fluttered closed as the image of you scattered his thoughts. He tried to shrug it off, but he couldn't. Just knowing you were laying on his sofa in one of his dress shirts stirred something primal within him. He dropped his hand down to his cock and began to jerk himself off, his fingers rubbing against the small slit in his tip as he wiped the precum down his length. The hot water felt so good, and Max had forgotten to open a window so the steam from the shower made the air foggy and moist.

He dragged his fist down his throbbing length, his movements becoming fast and erratic as he squeezed his eyes tight shut, trying to hold out moans. He couldn't let you hear. He couldn't let you know. He hadn't done this in so long. He'd always had his assistants at his beck and call, he never needed to relieve himself in the shower since his and Julianna's marriage broke down.

You consumed his every thought. He imagined your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, he imagined you giving him sweet kitten licks as you massaged his balls. He imagined you gagging around him as you took his long, thick length to the back of your throat. He imagined fucking your mouth. The thought of him being able to get a literal goddess to choke and whimper really urged his power complex enough to throw him over the edge. In only a matter of minutes, Maxwell spilled his milky white seed over the tiled bathroom walls, gasping your name as he came.

And when it was over, he felt a familiar remorse. A familiar guilt. He knew he did not deserve you.

Maxwell had to force himself to get washed, using his apple scented shampoo and even conditioning his hair. He was satisfied with his minty fresh breath as he walked into his bedroom in only a towel that was wrapped loosely around his waist. Since it was approaching night, and fast, he picked out a pair of light grey sweats and a wooly sweater before combing through his unnatural dark blonde hair which just so happened to be naturally wavy.

He sighed, padding into the kitchen quietly being careful not to wake you. He knew what he had to do next, what he'd been putting off since he received the damn letter. The envelope was staring at him on the cabinet. He picked it up, an anger engulfing him as he read the name ‘Maxwell Lorenzano’ on the paper. He ripped it open furiously and opened up the letter.

Dear Maxwell Lorenzano

I, Theodore Thomas IV, attorney of Miss Julianna Grey, present you with a civil lawsuit case regarding full custody of Alistair Lorenzano in favour of my client, Miss Grey.

-—- please see proceedings below -—-

I, Theodore Thomas IV, share a bond with Miss Grey and recognise that she is a caring and devoted mother. We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.

Mr Maxwell Lorenzano and Miss Julianna Grey divorced on the seventh month of 1980 after being married for two years. Miss Grey notes that their relationship was strained since the beginning, with Mr Lorenzano too preoccupied with his career to focus on his family.

I have known Miss Grey since 1980, after working on her and Mr Lorenzano's divorce case. As not only her partner, but also a trusted lawyer of our capitol’s legal enforcement, I can whole-heartedly ensure that sole custody of Alistair Lorenzano must be granted to Miss Julianna Grey.

-—- proceedings concurred -—-

Please find us at the District Columbia Court, D.C., in one week from the date stated on the letter. If you make no effort to show and fight your case, you will be banished from seeing Alistair until he turns eighteen years of age.

Sincerely,

Ted

Maxwell screamed as his face turned bright red with astonishing rage. He crumpled up the letter into a ball, throwing across the kitchen. Tears fell from his eyes in complete and utter disbelief. No, this was the worst thing that could ever happen to Maxwell. He'd rather die than not be able to see Alistair. His heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces.

It was ridiculous and down right unfair. Max began to laugh manic as he swept the plates and glasses that were standing by the sink into the floor. He'd forgotten about you, sleeping in the other room. He didn't care. He was done being considerate.

Maxwell had made a lot of mistakes in his life— a lot, but he loved Alistair so much and Alistair loved him. He couldn't let Julianna and her stupid lawyer boyfriend rip him away from his son. If that happened, he'd be no better than his own father. Maxwell let out another scream of frustration, clenching his fist until his knuckles were white. This was nobody's fault but his own. He was too much like his own dad— too much like his own fucking deadbeat, abusive dad. Max had tried his whole life to make Alistair proud, to be different, a good different. But he wasn't a Lord, he was a Lorenzano, and maybe blood was thicker than water. He was nothing but a low life conman who had almost singlehandedly destroyed the entire world and now, he was about to lose his son.

How was he ever going to win this case? Julianna literally had one of the best family lawyers in the state on her side, and Maxwell wasn't even sure if he could afford a lawyer given the circumstances. What he had failed to think about, was the fact he had a literal goddess sleeping on his sofa. A goddess who’s purpose was to reconcile families.

A shatter of broken glass awoke you from your nap. You rubbed your eyes tiredly, lifting up onto your elbows before hearing a thud and a crash. Alerted, your eyes snapped open and you swung your body out of the big warm bed, bolting into the kitchen where you had heard the noise. Fragments of a broken vase were scattered over the tile floor, soil spilled everywhere and some daffodils that looked like they had been dead for at least a month already. The sound of gushing water drew your attention to Maxwell, who was standing at the sink. Stepping over the broken glass, you padded over to him and placed a hand into the small of his back. He jumped slightly at your touch. You peered over his shoulder and saw a really deep cut in his hand, blood dripping into the sink. Not even the water coming from the faucet was enough to wash it away. It trickled down his arm and you looked up at him, noticing he was pale in colour.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, your voice smaller than it intended to be. Your gaze trailed along the kitchen surface tops until you spotted a roll of kitchen paper. Taking plenty, you ripped it and gently wrapped your fingers around Max’s wrist, maneuvering his still bleeding hand away from the sink. A few drops of blood fell to the tiled floor, but you quickly wrapped the paper around his wound and applied pressure. “That looks really deep.” you hummed, looking up at your friend with concern.

“It’ll be fine.” Maxwell mumbled, watching you intently as you cared for his injury. It was a strange feeling. No one had ever looked out for him the way you did, and you’d only known him for a few hours. Your soft was gentle, he even noticed the way you subconsciously began to rub comforting circles into his skin, like it was just natural for you.

You frowned, slowly lifting up the soaked tissue paper and discarding it in the waste bin. The bleeding had settled down, but it still looked incredibly sore. Dampening another paper towel, you tried to clean around the edges of his cut. He hissed in pain as your finger accidentally grazed over the wound and you shot him an apologetic look. Maxwell was like putty in your hands. He let you do whatever you needed to - and he absolutely wasn’t like that with anyone else. “You might need stitches,” you sighed, taking a closer look. “If only we were on Themyscira, I have a friend who could heal you in a matter of seconds.” Themyscira - there it was again, the mystical place Maxwell had never even heard of. “What happened?” you asked eventually, your gaze meeting Maxwell’s.

“Uhm-” his eyes flicked around the room, searching for something that would fuel the white lie. "Was changing the flowers and dropped the vase."

His lie didn't account for the broken glasses and plates that were also on the floor. You looked at him in bewilderment, knowing he wasn't being entirely truthful to you. He couldn't stay. He couldn't stay with you right now. He had to go see Alistair. "I- I gotta go." Maxwell said quickly before bolting out the house.

He left you standing alone in the kitchen amongst all the mess. As you began to pick up the pieces of the broken vase, you noticed the scrumpled up ball of paper in the corner. Picking it up, you slowly unravelled it in hope it would give you a clue regarding Maxwell's behaviour.

Your heart practically sank when you read the first three words.

Dear Maxwell Lorenzano,

Lorenzano. He was Lorenzano.

-----

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