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delopsia · 2 years

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Eyes On Me | Max Brinly X Reader

Word Count: 11,00 Warnings: Swearing, a bit of angst, unprotected sex, oral (reader receiving), mild size kink, overuse of "honey" (sorry), occasional blood that involves a bear trap and your foot (not sorry), not beta read. Cross Posted Here On AO3

There's something so menacing about Hackett's Quarry. You can't quite put your finger on what, but something haunts the forests once the sun has fallen, lurking, watching. A stark contrast to the charming, rustic nature of the camp during the day. If parents had to spend one night before sending their children for the summer, the camp would be closed and defunct within a year.

It's in the unnervingly chilly breeze that finds you on the warmest of nights, in the way the wind whispers your name in your ear and tries to draw you further into the unknown.

"Y/N."

A horrified yelp leaves your lips, your body recoiling from the noise so fast that you stumble.

"Hey, hey!" Hands grasp your shoulders — firm, grounding you. "It's just me. You're okay."

You're too shocked to speak, staring blankly at the man before you. Max. It was just Max. Not something lurking in the woods. Frowning, Max draws you in, and you're powerless to do anything but fall into his embrace. He's nothing but warm, warding off the breeze nipping at your exposed skin like he's your knight in shining armor.

"I've got you," he murmurs, directly into your ear. "Why're you so freaked out? Did something happen?"

"No," you breathe, "this place is just spooky at night."

Max chuckles— it's the sweetest sound you've ever heard. "Is this why you always wait for me, hm?" That's partially the reason, but it's not like you're going to outright admit it. Unfortunately, your silence must speak louder than words, because Max laughs again, hugging you a little tighter. "Well, you're safe with me, honey."

Heat blossoms in your chest, wrapping around your heart with an unfamiliar gentleness that makes it ache. You can't see his face, but you know he's grinning. Your thoughts are proven true when he draws away, big hands lingering on your waist as he gazes into your eyes, searching for any hint of fear or worry.

"Let's just get this over with," you'd much rather stay here and hug Max for the rest of the morning, but duty calls. You've been tasked with getting all of the take-home goodies put together for the campers. Leave it to Mr. H to miraculously forget to mention it until the night before the campers leave.

The walk to the main building isn't very long, but the poorly lit trail makes it feel like you have to walk for hours. Next to you, Max doesn't even appear bothered, eyes trained on the path ahead. Whether it's dumb confidence or he's just not awake enough to care about what lurks in the dark, you're not sure.

"You'd think Mr. Dont-Call-Me-Hackett would at least leave the light on for us," he gripes, pointing up to the lamppost. Strange, it had been on last night when you walked the kids back to the cabins.

It's not just dark on the path, you learn. The entire camp is dark, even the main building doesn't have a singular light coming from it. Hackett's Quarry looks absolutely deserted. If you weren't an employee, you would almost think the place was abandoned.

"You don't find this spooky at all?" You whisper, afraid to raise your voice any higher.

Max's shoulder is bumping into yours, accidental but comforting, in a way. "No, this place is creepy as shit."

Powered by five and a half hours of sleep and fear itself, you forge ahead. Every step towards the building feels heavier. If it weren't for Max ambling along next to you, you would have turned back and not returned until the sun was up. Even now, as your foot meets the first step, you're considering it.

The door to the cafeteria is unlocked, much to your dismay. The idea of going back to bed really sounds good right now. Opening the door reveals...nothing but more darkness. You can't see a damn thing.

"You wouldn't happen to know where the light switch is, would you?" Max sighs, with a frown. You've got nothing. Feeling up the wall until you find a switch it is.

Max goes left and you go right, hands running up and down the wall in search of the magic switch that will illuminate the cafeteria. You think you find it, once, but it ends up being the switch that controls the fans instead.

"Found it!" By the time you've processed Max's announcement, blinding white light is burning straight into your retinas.

At least Mr. H was decent enough to leave the supplies out on a table. Candy, ink stamps, bubblegum, animal-shaped erasers, and pencils. All things the kids couldn't be trusted with over the course of the past two months. Exciting.

"That poor bus driver," Max is already settling down, popping a lemon-flavored candy into his mouth.

"This is what we got up so early for?" You're not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't...this.

Max hums, "Mr. H made it sound a lot more important than bags of candy."

Understatement of the century.

As much as you want to sit down while you work, the boxes are tall, and you cant see what's inside of them unless you stand. Your hand continuously bumps into Max's as you reach for supplies, and you swear you're not doing it on purpose. It doesn't help that Max laughs every time, doesn't make it any easier when he playfully nudges you with the sweetest grin on his face.

"Hold on," rather unceremoniously, Max takes it upon himself to dump the boxes out on the table, rearranging them into easily reachable piles.

Why hadn't you thought of that?

"Better?"

"Better."

An unforeseen side effect of sitting down — it's much easier to get tired. It doesn't help that the cafeteria is so chilly and that Max is practically a furnace next to you. Your movements are gradually slowing, a shadow of the pace you used to be working at. How is one supposed to focus on goodie bags when it's this early?

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Max's voice is enough to temporarily shatter the sleepy silence you've been wallowing in.

"Not much," you say through a yawn, "Emma snores."

"I don't know how you put up with it," he plucks the finished bag from your hands, tying it shut in a neat little bow.

You're yawning again, just the thought of it is triggering them. "She's not that bad." Lie. She is that bad.

"Are you kidding?" Max scoffs. "Emma could guide ships through the fog."

Nobody believed you when you said Emma snored, until the night of the slumber party in the lodge. The memory of a half-awake Jacob carrying her into an empty room and shutting the door is something that you will never forget.

Max's shoulder bumps against yours as he works. Vaguely, you wonder if he would be a good cuddle buddy or not. If his hugs are anything to go by, he definitely is.

The back of his hand settles against your forehead, testing your temperature. "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little..." you're not sure what to think of the look he gives you, "pale."

You can't help but frown when his hand draws away from you, leaving your skin even colder than it was before he touched you. "Just tired, is all." Working on their own, your hands reach for another bag and a handful of candy.

"You can go back to bed if you're that sleepy," he offers, tossing another complete bag into the box, "we only have a few left."

The offer is tempting, but the thought of leaving him to finish this by himself makes you feel guilty. It's not like you'd get much sleep with your sleep paralysis demon Emma above you. With another yawn, you fold your arms on the table and rest your head on them, blearily watching Max work. He's quick, even though he doesn't look all that awake himself.

"Can't take your eyes off me, huh?"

"Nope."

The chuckle is expected, but you definitely don't expect him to reach over and wipe a mark from your cheek. The little voice in your head tells you to mess it up a second time just so he'll touch you again. Your eyes close, just for a second, you tell yourself. Yet when they reopen, Max isn't working anymore.

No, he's mirroring your position, head nestled in his arms, blue eyes gazing over at you—like you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen. He smiles when he realizes that you're looking at him, nudging you with his elbow. You feel like a giddy little kid, shyly flirting with their crush in the cafeteria.

"It might be more comfortable if we took a nap on the library bean bags and not the table," he suggests, winking. You know he probably means nothing by it, but you wish he did.

"I don't want to move," you grumble, to which he rolls his eyes.

"Do you want me to carry you?" You can't tell if he's being serious or not. Like always, though, your silence must speak louder than words, because he's already standing up, cracking his neck as he does so. You have to raise your legs a little bit, but he scoops you up with unsurprising ease.

It would have been more surprising had you not caught multiple glimpses of him shirtless, working out with Jacob over the summer.

"Gosh dang you are cold," he whispers, eyes meeting with yours for a fleeting second. His lip quivers, fighting back what appears to be a smile. You have to look away to hide your own sheepish grin.

The problem with the bean bags is that despite their comically large size, they're always moving around. Kaitlyn and Abigail are always thwarting attempts to smuggle the bags into other rooms, but the kids are sneaky.

"They really couldn't leave two?" Max groans at the sight of the singular beanbag. At least the campers were decent enough to leave you the largest one out of the five. Max isn't that big of a guy, both of you could fit there just fine.

"We could share?" It shoots directly from your mouth, your sleep-clouded mind unable to register what you're saying until you've already said it. He hums like he's thinking about it, and it's too late to take back your words.

A painstaking moment crawls by. Then, you realize he's moving again. One, two, three, four strides until he reaches the beanbag, and then he's settling down into it with you cradled in his lap. Your head finds home against his chest, the pitter-patter of his heartbeat loud in your ear.

"This okay?" He asks; his head is so close to yours that you can smell the peppermint of his toothpaste lingering on his breath.

"Yeah," it's more than okay.

Your words must serve as encouragement because his arms secure themselves around you, his head coming down to rest against yours. He's so warm — the frigid air rippling through the lodge feels like just a memory now. You tilt your head up, bleary eyes landing on his freckled face.

He's looking back at you. "Hi."

"Hi."

He smiles at that; his thumb begins to rub back and forth across your spine. You're not sure if he's even aware that he's doing it. His head draws forward to lean against your own, the tip of his nose brushing against yours.

This. The simplicity of it all, being cradled in his lap whilst his pretty blue eyes gaze into yours. The scent of his woodsy body wash and minty toothpaste intertwining in such a way that it makes your head spin. You could get lost in this forever.

"You have such pretty eyes," he says it so quietly that you almost don't hear it.

But you do, and God, your cheeks are so hot they could start a forest fire. You're too shy to speak. Words? Don't know her. All you can do is duck your head down and hide your face in his chest.

He doesn't say anything more, but you can feel his eyes lingering on your frame. It's strangely comforting — like nothing can harm you as long as he's around to protect you. Listening to his heartbeat is like listening to a lullaby. Every blink is becoming a challenge. Another yawn wracks through your body, and then you're gone.

"Rise and shine, love bugs!"

You're yelping, all but jumping out of Max's arms and quite nearly cracking your head on the wooden bookshelf. Laura stands before you, smiling, but the expression worn in her eyes makes you want to shrink into nothingness. Hot breath fans out against your neck, and suddenly you're very aware of the fact that you're still sitting in Max's lap.

"Laura, wait, this isn't," Max pleads, "this isn't what you think it is."

That statement shouldn't sting as much as it does. Technically, you and Max are just friends — all you've done this summer is flirt and get a little cuddly. Yet, you can't help but feel like a home wrecker that just got caught with the husband.

Your feet hit the ground with a small thud, carrying your half-awake body past Laura and out of the library in a wordless hurry. You don't know why you're leaving or where you're going, but you'll take anywhere but here.

The sun is up now, painting the sky in rich hues of red and orange, and you can hear the kids chattering outside. Nick is already whirring away in the kitchen, flipping pancakes in a comically large skillet that you've never noticed before.

"Goodmorning!" He smiles, waving with his spatula. If he notices that you're here much earlier than you should be, he doesn't mention it. "Pancakes are ready if you want to grab one."

He's made three types today — banana, blueberry, and plain. Chocolate chip pancakes used to be the main attraction until deliveries suddenly stopped two weeks ago. You make your choice and stand outside on the balcony to eat, as far away from the library as you can possibly get. The kids are already beginning to funnel into the cafeteria, but you never see Max and Laura come out.

Whatever, it's hard to think about Max when you've got Nick's pancakes in front of you. Biting into them is like biting into a big, fluffy cloud. You'd volunteer to work at Hacketts Quarry next summer if it meant Nick was head chef again.

If only you'd caught feelings for him and not Max, the guy who probably has feelings for Laura.

The buses show up in the blink of an eye.

One minute you and Ryan are helping the kids shove their belongings into their suitcases; the next, you're herding them down the beaten path to the lodge for the final time. Max is among the counselors that are helping you, and for every step he makes towards you, you take two back.

"Kids, Counselors Max, and Y/N made Goodbye Goodie Bags!" Mr. H's voice echoes throughout the camp as he holds up the completed box of goodies. Max looks at you; you avoid his eye.

The kids are absolutely thrilled. One thank-you hug becomes two, then three, and the next thing you know, you're swarmed. You don't know where one kid ends, and another begins, and all you can see are their smiling faces and brightly colored camp shirts.

An arm sneaks over your shoulders, much bigger than the children's — woodsy body wash kisses your nose. Somehow, Max has gotten wrapped up in this little group hug too, and he's mostly hugging you.

"Hackett's Quarry forever!" You can distantly hear Emma cheering, joining in on the hug more enthusiastically than all of the children combined. It's hard to focus on her when Max pulls you closer, drawing you in until you're safely tucked under his arm and snuggled up to his side. You melt into it like butter in the hot sun, powerless to fight his affections.

The kids are all cheering and chanting with their counselors, an incredible noise that has your ears ringing and yet the world is impossibly quiet. Nothing compares to the sweet laughter that falls from Max's plush lips; you can't hear anything except him.

"Hackett's Quarry forever!"

And then they're gone. Tumbling towards the buses with their bags stuffed to the brim with goodies, crafts, and camp gear. A few bags had to be duct taped shut, other kids are improvising with plastic bags and anything else they could concoct. One boy is wearing three shirts on top of each other because they wouldn't fit.

You're still cheering, even as the buses leave, waving goodbye until the final bus has crawled out of sight.

Only then do you realize that a toned arm has fallen from your shoulders and instead curled around your waist. Only now are you aware of how close Max is holding you and the look Laura is giving you from the corner of your eye.

As much as you don't want to, you step away. The fiery look in Laura's eye and the hot sun combined cannot even begin to melt the iciness that's settling into your now empty side.

"Y/N?" It's hard to ignore Max's voice. The sound alone has your gears slowing.

Jacob, your lord, and savior, comes bumbling over to you, effectively ending any of Max's advances. "He isn't bothering you, is he?" His tone makes him sound like a protective older brother.

You shake your head, frowning. "No, I'm just a little upset, is all."

When he cocks his head to the side, you explain the morning's events. There's an unintentional emphasis on how you woke up, on the looks Laura has been giving you since the end of July, and the singular comment that set you off. You feel lighter, being able to talk about it with someone.

"So he's made you feel like a side piece," he observes, and suddenly the pieces click into place. A reason for why you feel this way.

"That's exactly it."

Jacob hums in thought, rubbing his chin. An idea must strike him because his face lights up so brightly that you swear you see a lightbulb appear above his head. "I have an idea."

"Oh boy."

You don't even have a chance to ask what he could possibly be up to. He's already bounding off towards Kaitlyn with a wicked grin sprawled across his face.

Whatever he's up to, it can't be too much, considering you leave for home in an hour. Your heart pangs in your chest — this is probably the last time you'll ever see Max. You begin the long haul to the cabins to fetch your bag with your feet filled with lead. So much for a summer fling.

The van is on fire.

You leave for twenty damn minutes and return to heavy smoke and the van ablaze. Mr. H raises his voice with a tone you've never heard before. He's walking in your direction, wrapped in such a rage that he's shaking. You're scrambling to get out of his way, but his shoulder still slams into yours. Your ass hits the ground with a thump.

In the corner of your eye, you can see your bag roll away after Mr. H's foot connects with it.

Max is there. Kneeling by your side, hand curling around your cheek so gently that you can barely even feel him do it. "Are you okay?" You hate how concerned he sounds. You hate hearing such an endearing tone come from someone that doesn't share your feelings. Your eyes are watering, but not a single tear is related to your fall.

"I'm okay," blinking the tears back.

There's a calloused thumb swiping under your eye, catching a singular tear. If he doesn't quit looking at you like you're the most precious thing he's ever seen — if he doesn't stop touching you like you're made of glass, your tears will turn into a waterfall.

"You don't look okay," he whispers.

Getting up is the only way to stop the waterworks from turning on full blast. Max makes room for you, hands hovering around you as if you may fall again. Jacob hands over your bag once you're on your feet.

Mr. H leaves. Stranding your rag-tag crew at Hackett's Quarry for one more night.

"P.A.R.T... Why the fuck not?" You tune into Dylan saying, a mischievous tone in his voice. "Alright, it seems the stars have aligned for us. No?" There's no getting out of a party, and you're really not surprised that it's already being suggested as soon as Mr. H has left. What really surprises you is when Jacob decides that you and Max should find supplies. It's not like you can walk off and avoid Max now. Not without ditching him with all of the work. At least Jacob reunites you with your phone after delivering that order. "So a lighter, a bucket, and blankets," Max recites, raising a finger for every item he lists. "Where the hell are we going to find a bucket?" "That's what you're worried about?" This is a camp; there have to be buckets somewhere. "How do you plan to find blankets that don't belong on a bed?" Max is quiet, eyebrows furrowing. "I have no idea."

Your phones both kick on at the same time, buzzing to life for the first time in months. It feels strange to look at the screen again; you haven't seen one all summer.

"We have the same phone," he's sidling up next to you, holding his phone next to yours. Identical models. The only difference is the cases.

"What a coincidence," his lock screen flashes on, and your cheeks warm in an instant. It's a picture of Max, shirtless and on a hiking trail. God, does he have—

"Don't mind that," he's shoving his phone into his pocket, looking anywhere but at you. "So about those supplies."

Right. You need to be focusing on supplies. Not Max and his abs.

Supplies.

Not Max.

Supplies.

You're so focused on not focusing on Max that you don't realize your feet are moving. Carrying you right back down the path to the lodges. Max strolls along next to you, his hand bumping against yours with every few strides. Each time, your heart practically leaps up your throat.

"I know I should have asked this before," he says, breaking the silence. Oh god, what is he about to ask? "But where are we going?"

Oh.

Right.

"Art Lodge," you croak, nearly jumping out of your skin when his fingers brush with yours again. "Abi always lights a candle during her classes; there should be a lighter in there."

Max hums, and for a brief second, you meet eyes. He's smiling down at you, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with it. Jokingly, you bump your shoulder into his, just a little tap that has the both of you laughing.

Then you feel it.

Timid fingers slip between your own, slotting together at an agonizingly slow pace. You have to remind yourself to keep walking, have to fight the urge to immediately take his hand and squeeze it as tightly as you can. It's so, so slow like he's afraid you'll bolt if he moves too quickly.

Just like that, he's holding your hand. Curling your fingers around his feels as natural as breathing.

The lodges come into view, standing proud as ever in front of the cliffs. Even as you cross the miniature bridge, Max holds your hand, thumb swiping back and forth against your skin. You hope he never let's go.

"Any luck?"

"No, but I found fruit snacks that expired in 2015."

You have a feeling that the fruit snacks may be the cause of Max's prior hacking fit.

You've found everything but blankets. There were none left behind; not a singular beach towel could be located in the pool storage bins, and the laundry had everything except blankets. Now it's beginning to seem that you're going to be coming up short on your end of the deal.

"You would think that Mr. H would have at least one decent blanket," Max's voice echoes across the dark attic.

"I'm beginning to think that he doesn't believe in them," you deadpan. The boxes up here are just filled with old craft supplies and a few family photobooks. Nothing less, nothing more.

Something heavy falls over where Max is.

"What was that?"

"I fell."

One peek over your shoulder reveals that he has indeed fallen, and he doesn't look like he's about to get up anytime soon. Toeing through the various boxes, you make your way over to him.

"Seems we're sticking it out without blankets tonight," you step over him, careful not to trip yourself.

Max reaches up, his hand circling around your ankle, holding it there. "What's worse is, I have blankets in my car," his other hand comes up to brush away some dust that's gathered on your sock.

"If only your car weren't a mile away," you hold a hand out for him to grab, intending to pull him up. You don't expect him just to reach up and hold it. "Are you getting up, or are you staying on the floor?"

"Oh." He blinks dumbly. Now he gets up, back cracking as he does so.

Climbing back down the ladder is the worst part. Max goes down first, seemingly insistent that he catch you if the rickety old thing miraculously breaks on your way down. It doesn't, but that doesn't stop him from placing his hands on your waist when you're within reach.

"This place needs a serious overhaul," he observes aloud, once you're on solid ground.

To his credit, he's not wrong. The chimney is crumbling on the inside, and more than half of the buildings on the property are beginning to come apart. Lodge 5 lost a whole stair last month, and a few weeks before that, Lodge 2 woke up without a balcony railing after a particularly windy night.

The stairs creak under your feet as you head out of the lodge, testing your anxiety with every step. You're just waiting for the day someone's foot goes through one of these thin old boards.

Two lighters and a bucket await you at the bottom of the stairs, your proud, hard-earned treasures. With one hand, you pick up the bucket; with the other, you tentatively reach for Max's hand.

"What are you doing?" Laura's voice has you jolting, hand slipping back from Max's. You blink, bewildered by her sudden appearance. Words aren't coming to you.

"Heading down to the campfire?" Max sounds just as confused as you feel. Wasn't she paired up with Kaitlyn?

"I was talking to Y/N, but that works too," she clarifies with such a pleasant tone that barely feels genuine. You choose not to reply, remaining quiet to avoid raising any conflict. It's no secret that you two don't exactly get along; you'd rather not add to the list of reasons why.

To your dismay, she walks to the campfire with you, walking right between you and Max the entire way. She and Max are chattering about some movie you've never heard of; you can't bring yourself to listen. That feeling from earlier nags at your heart, Jacob's words echoing in your head. Does he like you, or did Jacob have a point back there?

At the campfire, the rest of the group has already gathered around the campfire; they're just waiting on you three.

"We couldn't find blankets," you supply, handing the bucket off to Kaitlyn's awaiting hands.

"Don't sweat it," she winks, "at least you found the lighter. Dylan has been hitting two rocks together for ten minutes, and it's getting old."

Max sits on the log next to Nick, blue eyes meeting yours as he pats the space next to him. At least, you thought he was looking at you. But before you can even comprehend what's happening, Laura is trotting over and plants herself in the space next to him, recharging their conversation from before.

"Y/N, over here!" Jacob waves, garnering your attention. Guess you're sitting next to Jacob, then.

With heavy feet, you wander up and sit next to him, trying not to look too dejected. It's really not that big of a deal. Who cares if Laura sits next to Max? Who cares if Max completely forgets your presence when she's around?

Not like you care at all.

"I'm sorry," Jacob says, handing you a wine cooler, "we tried but we couldn't talk her out of going to find you guys."

You've forgotten how hard it is to get these damn caps off. The skin on your fingers burn as you try and fail to twist it open.

"Need help?" Jacob cuts Max off, from whatever he was about to say. Nodding, you hand it back over.

It's unfair how easily he pops it off, adding it to his already decently sized collection of bottle caps. The alcohol is overwhelmingly sweet on your tongue, artificial strawberry overpowering the alcohol until it's just barely there. If only there were enough of these to go around; you reckon you could drink the memories of today away.

On your left, Dylan makes a face at his own drink, something bright orange. "Is strawberry any good? This one's not liking me too much."

You're not one to drink after people, but right now you'll take all the distractions you can get. "Only one way to find out," holding out your drink for an exchange.

Dylan's drink is much more tropical, a pleasant mixture of orange and pineapple that hits your taste buds much easier than the strawberry. This is the kind of thing you could drink all day and not get tired of.

"You're telling me that you don't like this?" You can't wrap your head around it, this is so much better than strawberry.

Dylan shrugs, seemingly much happier with your drink. "I hate pineapple."

That settles your trade quite nicely.

Like a broken record, your thoughts jump back to Max. All too coincidentally, he's looking at you, with this unreadable expression that you've never seen on him before. You wonder what that's about.

The campfire finally awakens and roars to life, flickers of red and orange lick the air, spitting up tiny particles of ash in its wake. You hate how the burning timber reminds you of Max's body wash. Why does everything have to remind you of him and his stupidly pretty face?

Truth or dare kicks up when you're just beginning to finish your second drink, some grape flavored thing, when your body has loosened and your head is spinning ever so slightly. Lack of drinking over the summer has obliterated your alcohol tolerance, and you're glad that nobody offers you a third, because any more may lead you to losing your filter and some questionable decisions.

"Y/N!" Oh god, why is Dylan saying your name.

"Huh?"

"Since you so graciously traded drinks with me, twice, might I add. You get to go first," he grins, eyes shimmering from the fire, "truth, or dare?"

What do you have to lose? "Truth."

He grins, a big toothy smile, and you're suddenly concerned about what you've gotten yourself into. "Who has the nicest body at this camp?"

God, you should have picked dare.

"Max," you croak, voice suddenly too heavy for your tongue, "sorry Jacob."

Jacob pouts like a kicked puppy, Max just turns red in the cheeks.

Everything devolves into a blur, thanks to the alcohol that's coursing through your veins like a wildfire. You dare Emma to exchange clothing with Kaitlyn, Ryan kisses Dylan, Nick's shoes wind up on the wrong feet, Jacob nearly jumps through the fire naked, Abi's hair is tied up in six different places. A storm is beginning to roll in, you can hear the thunder rolling in the distance, but you've still got time before the game has to wrap up.

Even without the storm distracting you and the alcohol clouding your thoughts, its hard to focus on the game. Not when Max keeps flicker his eyes between the fire and you, expression as unreadable as ever. Laura's saying something to him, but his eyes remain locked on your frame.

"Laura," Emma's voice shakes you from your trance. How long have you and Max had your eyes locked? "Truth or dare?"

Laura fiddles with the brim of her hat, thinking about her reply. "Dare."

"I dare you to kiss," she pauses, analyzing her audience like you're a bunch of adoring fans, "Nick, or...Max."

Your heart drops.

"Seriously, Em?" For the first time all night, Jacob sounds irritated, his formerly drunken, goofy tone long forgotten.

"I choose..." Laura stands, and for a split second, you wonder if she's going to kiss Nick instead. But then she's turning, planting her palms on Max's shoulders. "Max."

God, you can't sit here and watch this.

Your feet are hitting the ground before Laura can make her move. No amount of alcohol will make you sit through this. Someone's calling your name, but it falls upon deaf ears. Your body is moving much faster than your intoxicated brain can keep up with, but all you care about is getting as far away from the campfire as you can.

Footsteps follow after you, that voice is still calling your name.

"I'm not dealing with this," you mutter.

Against better judgement, you step off the beaten path and run into the forest as fast as your legs will carry you. Concern of what lurks in the forest is long forgotten, all you can think about is disappearing off the face of this Earth.

Max will never have feelings for you. Not when Laura, pretty, bold, hardheaded Laura, stands there in the spotlight. Fuck Laura, fuck Max, and fuck truth or dare.

You stumble upon a clearing, with a conveniently placed ranger box that you've never seen before. Surely you've gone far enough.

"What the fuck," you say to yourself, sitting on the metal box, "what the fuck?"

It's cold out here, and now you wish you'd worn a jacket. The fire was warm, yes, but has it always been this cold at night? You don't recall it being cold this morning, but then again...

Max's stupid face manifests at the forefront of your thoughts. Him and his stupid freckles and his stupid brown hair that has no right to be as soft as it is. You can't believe you thought you had a chance with that cute, airheaded bastard. So what if he was so excited to introduce himself to you at orientation that he spilled his juice on your white shoes.

There are plenty of fish in the sea, you're sure there's another guy out there who gives the sweetest hugs and calls you 'Honey' like it's going out of style. Who are you kidding?

The only fish you want is named Max.

Water hits your cheek. Are you crying?

It happens again, cold, running down the side of your face, then again, and again. Great. You're not crying, its raining.

"Wonderful," suddenly, you feel very, very sober as you take in your surroundings. It's so dark, who knows what's out here with you?

You're walking, but you have no memory of which direction you came in from. Where even are you? You've never seen this area before, never the less walked through it. Nothing looks familiar, and to make matters worse, a downpour starts.

"Can anybody here me?" You cry out, but you can barely hear your own voice over the rain.

The ground is slick under your feet, no doubt your shoes are going to be caked with mud by the time you find your way back to the lodge. Something crashes behind you, scratching the back of your neck. Yelping, you bolt, mind jumping to a million places. What was that? A tree? A bear?

Blood runs down your neck, hot and sticky, not at all like the frigid rain that's pelting your body. Water splashes under your feet, you're sure that it hasn't been raining very long but massive puddles have already formed; mud tugs at your shoes like a giant suction cup.

Pain blossoms in your right ankle.

You hit the ground with a heavy thud, crying out as excruciating pain bites its way down your foot.

"Fuck!" Your voice echoes the forest as you twist and turn in a frenzied horror, crying once more when the pain worsens. There's something tight latched around your ankle, teeth dug deep into your flesh. You're trying to pull your injured ankle away, but something holds tight; it feels like you're on a leash.

In the darkness, you catch a glimpse of shimmering silver. A bear trap.

Your foot is in a fucking bear trap.

"What the fuck?" Your voice cracks. There's a chain on the end of the trap, wrapped around a thin tree. Your trembling hands pry at the jaws of the trap, but your efforts are futile. Prying the trap open feels like the equivalent of prying open the jaws of a bear, you're far too weak to even make it budge.

The sharp, jagged teeth only dig into your flesh even more, boiling hot blood gushes from your wound like a waterfall, pooling in your shoe. Tears prick at your eyes, God this fucking hurts.

Light passes over you, impossibly bright, forces you to close your eyes in order to save your retinas from burning right out of your skull. A voice calls out. The light passes again, darts back to your pitiful frame in an instant. The voice raises again.

Dear Lord, why did you have to send Max?

One minute the world is cold and lonely, the next, Max is there, warm arms wrapping around you, drawing you into an even warmer chest. No amount of trying can hide your sniffling, the pained wail that escapes your lips is almost pathetic.

"Fuck, what the fuck?" His voice is high and pitchy, hands are cradling your cheeks. "Hold on, hold on."

He's letting you go, maneuvering down to get his fingers in between the jaws of the bear trap. Just his touch alone makes it all worse.

You don't want to let go of him, but you're powerless to stop him as he maneuvers around you. His foot catches the chain, disturbing the trap, and somehow it clamps down even harder.

"Ow!" You yank your foot away from him, yelping when the trap bites yet again. Fuck the man who designed this, and fuck whoever decided to put this damn trap out here.

Max is saying something, but you're not registering it. How are you supposed to listen when a bear trap is trying its damn best to tear your foot right off your body.

"Hey," he says again, "just keep your eyes on me, okay? I'm going to get you out of here." His hands slide down your leg as he speaks; you're too distracted by his voice to realize that he's placing your foot in his lap. "Just keep your eyes on me, honey."

You don't know why you comply. Maybe it's the pet name; maybe it's because your foot is in a bear trap. But you do, whining, you force your eyes to meet his. For the first time in your life, you struggle to lose yourself in his eyes, in him, his presence. He's stroking the sensitive skin at the bend of your knee, gently, slowly, coaxing your leg out from under you. You don't even remember when you'd yanked it away again.

Slow, his fingers hook into the gaps of the teeth, biceps bulging under his jacket as he pries the trap open. The teeth slowly ease from your injured flesh, agonizingly slow, blood gushing from the wound. Finally, finally, it's open just enough for you to pull your foot out, and then it's snapping shut again with a noise that has your heart-stopping.

With your foot free from its confines, you stumble up to your feet, using a tree as leverage. What you don't expect is for your ankle to hurt even worse than it did when it was in the bear trap. It catches you so off guard that by the time you bite your tongue, you've already made a noise, and Max is reacting to it.

"Hey, hey, hey, hold on," he's crowding you, wrapping an arm around you when you stumble.

"I can walk on my own," you lie through your teeth; had he not sidled up next to you when he did, you would be on the ground again.

"No, you can't," his voice gets that pitchiness again, "do you know how far away from camp we are? I've been looking for you for a half hour!"

It's only now that you realize how hard he's breathing. There's mud caked to his boots and the legs of his jeans, his hair so wet that he looks like he's walked right out of a shower, cheeks red.

"Why even come after me?" You grumble under your breath. "Shouldn't you be making out with Laura by the campfire right about now?"

Max stiffens. "That's not...no, that's-"

"-that's not, what? Max?" The words drip from your lips like venom. Your injured foot its the ground again; trying your hardest to walk away, but it only throws your balance off even more. All it does for you is push you closer to Max, your shoulder bumping against his ridiculously firm chest.

"I didn't kiss her." His words are so quiet, yet your ears burn as if he'd yelled them through a megaphone.

Oh.

"I didn't spend an entire summer trying to work up the courage to ask you out, just to watch you walk away because of some stupid campfire game," whispered so quietly into your ear that it tickles, nose bumping against your cold cheek.

Oh.

A wrongly placed step leads you to crash into him, minimizing the gap between you until there's almost nothing left. His nose bumps into yours, arms wrapping around your waist as he gathers you up against him.

"Fuck you," you're wrapping your arms around his neck, "you couldn't have told me this sooner?"

And then you're kissing him. Lips clashing together, wet and messy. His lips are so soft against yours, moving slowly, molding against your own so easily, so naturally. Your head spins; if his large hands weren't gripping your waist, you fear you may float up into the clouds and never come back down.

Lightning flashes and thunder cracks, reminding you of your surroundings, of where you are. You've almost forgotten about the throbbing in your ankle, just a dull pain that can't even begin to take your mind off of Max.

Then you're putting weight on it, and okay, maybe the pain is enough to take your mind off of him. "Ow, — shit."

Max is bending down, and in one motion, he scoops you off the ground. It's unfair how easily he does it. "Let's get you taken care of, honey," the goofy grin on his face is so big that it can be heard in his tone.

He makes it look easy, carrying you out of the forest like it's the simplest thing he's ever done. You rest your head on his shoulder, shivering from the cold rain that doesn't want to let up. Thunder cackles and lightning crashes, lighting up the forest around you. You jump every time, clinging to Max just a little bit more.

Forever passes before Max steps out into a clearing, the lodge standing tall before you, not a light on in sight. It's hard to tell if it's just abandoned or the power has gone out. Usually, the lamp post would be able to tell you, but the bulb burnt out weeks ago. Mr. H never wants to replace the damn lights.

"Did you find them?" Abi's head pops out the door; breathes a sigh of relief when she catches glimpse of Max carrying you up the steps.

It's much warmer inside; everyone's gathered by the fireplace, curled up in bean bags and whatever else they could have found. Dylan's even drug in Mr. H's spinning chair.

With the campfire's light, you can finally see just how messed up you really are. You're absolutely caked with mud, so much so that you can't even tell how badly your ankle has been injured.

"Is there any reason why Mr. H would have bear traps in the woods?" This is the most serious tone you've ever come out of Max.

"I'm sorry, bear traps?" Ryan's head pops up from behind Dylan. Weakly, you raise your bloody foot. It seems to be enough of an answer because everyone's face changes.

Kaitlyn practically tears your shoe off, revealing your formerly white, now crimson red, sock. "This needs to be cleaned before it gets infected," she observes, gingerly touching the swollen skin around your injury, "you should go upstairs and get properly washed up."

Max doesn't need much convincing, already making for the single stairwell that's been cleared. There's a nice bathroom hidden upstairs; you've never seen the inside of it because Mr. H won't let anyone use it unless it's an emergency.

It's worth the wait, though. The bathroom is ridiculously nice compared to the ones scattered around camp. Complete with a marble countertop, two sinks, and miniature stairs that lead to a comically large bathtub. It looks right out of a magazine.

"So this must be where Mr. H takes his hot dates," Max comments, sitting you down on the edge of the counter. It feels strange to see the lights flick on, illuminating the room in a gentle, golden glow.

"You're a mess," you giggle, reaching out to pluck a leaf from Max's hair. He looks worse than you do, somehow.

"It's been a hell of a night," he rolls his eyes when you tussle his wet hair, batting your offending hand away. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, soft and sweet. "I'm gonna go see if I can find you some clean clothes, 'kay?"

You nod, stealing a second kiss just because you can now. When he's gone, you slide off the counter, balancing your weight on your good foot. Might as well start a bath.

To your surprise, Mr. H has several bottles of bath bubbles stored in a cabinet, right next to some big, fluffy white towels. You hope he doesn't mind too much that you borrow some of the vanilla-scented bubbles and help yourself to more towels than you actually need. Surely he'll understand when he sees your injury.

The hot water kicks on immediately, a stark contrast to the barely functioning showers downstairs. It takes at least forty-five seconds for the water to be tolerably warm and even longer for it to get hot. With the bubbles added, you begin to peel off your clothes, grimacing at how they stick to your skin.

It all becomes worth it when you slide down into the tub, aching muscles relaxing the moment you've settled. Even the dull stinging in your ankle cannot take away from how nice the water feels around you.

"Sorry, I couldn't find your bag, so I'm giving you some of my clothes instead — holy shit!" Max yelps, turning his back to you. "I am so sorry; oh my God, I should have knocked."

You can't help but laugh, unbothered by the intrusion. "If I cared about you walking in, I would have locked the door," you giggle, "you can turn around, silly."

Truthfully, you hadn't even thought about locking the door. As long as it's him and not someone else, you can't bring yourself to care about the intrusion. He's pretty much seen you at your worst already.

His movements are slow, cheeks flaming red as he sets his bag of clothes on the counter. He doesn't look at you, refuses to tear his eyes from his feet.

"You have so much mud on you," you remark, tracing your eyes up his frozen frame.

Blue eyes dart to you, then back to the floor. "I'll wash it off once you're taken care of."

Hm.

"I mean," you can't believe you're suggesting this, "this bath is big enough for the two of us."

You swear he jumps.

"I-" he rubs the back of his neck, gaze fixated on the bottom of the tub, "are you serious?"

Shrug. "Serious as a bear trap."

Leaning your head back, you close your eyes. Only after a night of drinking and bear traps would you ever consider suggesting sharing a bath with Max. He's shuffling around, shoes hitting the floor with a small thump. You peek an eye open. Immediately you're met with an eye full as Max lifts his shirt from his body, back muscles rippling with the motion. He must see you in the mirror because he freezes, shirt still above his head.

"Don't mind me," closing your eyes again.

It's another minute or two before you feel the bath water disturb. You want to open your eyes, but you save it for when you feel him settling in across from you, legs bumping into your own. He looks like a deer in headlights, but he's there, toned chest, messy hair, and all.

Teasing, you bump your knee against his. "You look terrified."

"You're just really pretty," he says like he's in a trance, only breaking from it when your eyes widen. "I mean, I...did I say that out loud? I'm sorry, that probably sounded really weird. I didn't-"

You don't know what possesses you to do it, but you find yourself turning and scooting over to his side of the tub, water sloshing as you curl yourself into his side. His jaw snaps shut the moment your head comes to rest against his shoulder.

"Oh." It's clear in his tone that he's more than surprised, but he raises no objections, even relaxes against you. His head leans on top of yours, arm shifting to wrap around your shoulders and draw you even closer.

His heart is beating away in his chest; you can hear it from where your ear rests against his collarbone. "I'm sorry that I made you feel like I didn't have feelings for you," he presses his lips to your temple, "I really should have confessed weeks ago."

"Weeks ago?"

He hums; the vibration tickles. "I was going to, back when we had that slumber party."

Ah, the slumber party. Simultaneously one of the best and longest nights of your stay at Hacketts Quarry. If only Emma didn't have a foghorn in her family lineage.

"What stopped you?"

"Emma's snoring kept interrupting me."

You can't help the giggle that falls from your lips. It certainly explains his strange behavior from that night, from the endless stuttering to the way he would stare off into space.

"What are you laughing at, hm?" His arm around you tightens, breath tickling your skin. "Are you laughing at me?"

It only makes you laugh more, trying and failing to push his head away. "No, I'm not!" You squeal, squirming away from the fingers tickling your waist. Your legs kick, unintentionally sloshing water out of the tub and onto the flooring below; the tickles stop immediately after, but they're replaced by something more.

Kisses.

Tiny ones, all up and down the side of your face, neck, and any open skin Max can reach. Laughter erupts after every peck; this night genuinely doesn't feel real. He works his way over to your lips once he's covered every inch of you in kisses. It turns out he's saved the best for last.

The angle is awkward; you have to crane your neck to the side to meet his lips properly, but it's worth the struggle. Just a simple caress at first, feather-light and barely there, then it deepens, head spinning, lips interlocked in the sloppiest of ways. His free hand is finding yours, guiding it up until your fingers intertwine in his hair; he sighs as that, smiling into the kiss.

Your neck is starting to hurt, but the idea of breaking your kiss for even a second hurts more. In one swift motion, you turn, throwing your leg over and straddling his hips, properly settled into his lap.

"Fuck," he gasps against your lips, "honey."

You can feel him pressed up against you between your legs; a shiver wracks down your spine. You'd almost forgotten that you were naked, but God, you could really get used to this. Large hands settle on your thighs, fingertips tracing from the back of your knees to the base of your neck; one settles there, the other finds its way around your waist, gathering you into his chest.

Teeth nip at your bottom lip, hot tongue soothing over the area, and who are you to deny him? You meet him halfway, heat blossoms in your belly, tongues sloppily tangling before retreating. This time, you don't mean to move, but your knee slides under you, unintentionally grinding down into his lap. That heat rages into a fire, thighs twitching around his hips. Shit, that shouldn't have felt as nice as it did.

Max is breaking away from you, toned chest panting, pupils blown wide. Not a word falls from his lips, but his eyes, the hand resting on the swell of your ass, say it all. All you can do is nod. Whatever this is, you want it.

His lips find your exposed neck in an instant, kissing at a spot below your ear that has a noise falling from your kiss-swollen lips. The hand you had tangled in his hair comes up to cover your mouth, muffling the next sound that ripples out of your throat when Max's tongue traces down the side of your neck.

He pauses, reaching up to remove the hand from your mouth, "wanna hear you." His voice is husky, a far cry from his usual tone.

Arms wrap tightly around you, and then he's moving, lifting you up and out of the water. The room is surprisingly cold compared to the lukewarm water, and you barely have time to hook your legs around his hips before he's stepping out of the bath. He sets you up on the counter, pecking your lips as he does so.

All you see is white.

The towel on your head moves back, settling around your wet shoulders instead, "sorry," Max chuckles, and then he's kissing you again.

It's chaotic, torn between teasing tongues and lingering lips, teeth clacking together as you try to dry yourselves the best that you can. The bathroom counter is low enough for Max's hips to comfortably slot between your legs, and you can feel the head of his cock nudging between your legs, but it's still too high. Not if you want him in you.

Squirming to the edge of the counter isn't enough, but Max is smart, catches on to what you're trying to do so quickly that you're suspicious as to whether or not he can read minds.

"Do you want this, honey?" He whispers against your lips, tone sickly sweet.

"Do you really need an answer to that?" This man is going to give you cavities.

Fingers brush up the inside of your thighs, wandering up, up, up; sparks fire their way up your spine. His lips find yours again, briefly, because you can't help the gasp that escapes you when his thumb teases your entrance.

"Fuck, Max." He has no right to smile that cutely at a time like this.

Especially not when he sinks to his knees guides your legs over his shoulders and begins kissing and licking the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, leaving behind patches of red that will surely bruise in the morning. His breath is hot, fanning out against your most sensitive areas. Pause. Then, his tongue is on you, with slow, languid strokes that have your head falling back against the mirror with a loud gasp.

You're bringing your hand up, trying to catch the whine that leaves you, but Max is prying it away before it can even get there. Blue eyes shimmer up at you, guiding your hand to the back of his head.

"Fu-fuck, Max!" You mewl, tangling your hand in his hair.

He draws away from you, just long enough to wet two of his fingers with his tongue, and then he's back. Fingertips teasing at your entrance, tongue flicking against you. You squirm, panting, hand tugging at his hair, God, why is he so fucking good at this?

There's a pressure, a long, calloused finger sliding into you, in and out, moving in perfect tune with his tongue. Sucking harshly, chuckling when you jolt, then there's a second finger, stretching you so, so nicely. His tongue wanders between his fingers, momentarily dips inside of you, travels back up, down, back in again.

"Max~!" You cant help the profanities that fall from your lips when his fingers curl, rubbing against a sensitive spot that you didn't know was there. You're tightening around his fingers, squirming; you don't know if you want more or if you want to get away from it.

A third finger eases into your trembling body, then a fourth, working into a rhythm that's driving you towards the edge. No, no, no, it's too early for you to cum already.

Words fail you; you don't even know what you're trying to say. All you can do is tug at his hair, kicking your good foot against his back.

"Is something wrong?" His lips and chin are shiny, wet with saliva, and you.

"Close," is all you can say. What in the world did he expect?

Max chuckles at that, pressing one last kiss to your thigh before coming back up. He's reaching into the cabinet behind you, and your eyes don't miss how wet his hand has become. "You don't reckon Mr. H has any condoms lying around here, do you?"

The eye roll that leaves you is almost instantaneous. "Don't need one."

That's enough for him. He's gathering you up again, guiding your legs over his hips, and then he's lifting you, and your back is hitting the wall.

Oh.

That's why he used four fingers.

"Good lord," is all you can say, eyes fixated on his cock, resting between your legs. It's not the length that you're worried about; it's how absolutely thick he is. How the hell does he plan to fit that in you?

He has no right to turn so red, bashfully avoiding your eye, but he spits into his hand and works his saliva over himself so confidently that your head spins. You'd always known there were two sides to Max, but come to find out, there are actually three.

"Tell me if it hurts, honey," he murmurs, leaning in to peck your lips, "'kay?"

"What, think I can't take it?" You tease, but you don't even know if you can take that. Only one way to find out.

Now it's his turn to roll his eyes, shifting to line himself up with your entrance. There's a pressure bigger than the one his fingers brought, and then he's pushing inside. Your body flutters open, slow; your legs twitch at the stretch. There's a strange popping sensation as the head finally eases all the way in.

"There you go," Max's eyes are fixated between your legs, mesmerized by how his cock stretches you open, disappearing inside inch by agonizingly slow inch.

Your head is spinning; you have to remind yourself to breathe, mewling at just how deliciously wide he spreads you. You don't know where your body is finding the space, but your insides are clenching around him greedily, taking it and taking it until finally, finally, his hips are flush against yours.

"Fuck," Max breathes, "how are you feeling?"

"Full." More than full. Full to the point that it's hard to breathe. Your legs are trembling; if it wasn't for him pressing you into the wall, you're sure you would have fallen by now.

His hips rock, drawing out just a little bit, then sinking back in, once, twice, driving the breath from your lungs with every shallow thrust. Quicker now, he draws out, drives his hips back up; the whimper that leaves you is loud, echoes throughout the bathroom.

“You like that, honey?” And when you clench down around him, he groans, repeats that motion again. Your head knocks back against the wall.

With his lips settling on your neck, Max sets his pace, long, slow thrusts, twitching his hips in different angles as he fucks you open until he hits a spot that has you jolting in his arms. One of your hands are tangled in his brown hair; the other is around his neck, nails biting into and raking down his pale shoulder with every dizzying thrust.

"Max!" His name falls from your lips like a mantra, like it's the only word you know. "T-there!"

"Yeah?" He breathes, picking up his pace but the head of his cock never once loses that spot. Hits it over and over until you feel tears burning behind your eyelids.

"Eyes on me, honey," his lips ghost the shell of your ear, cock driving into you harder now, sudden, shattering the agonizing pace he'd built up. You don't even know when you closed your eyes, but when you pry them open, the sight you find is enough to make your eyes roll back again.

Max, sweet, sweet Max, pink-cheeked, irises blown wide, muscles rippling every time he drives himself back into you. Even as he's panting for breath, he has the audacity to grin at you, chuckles when you whimper.

He's shuffling, pushing you higher up the wall just by his hips, driving out the space between you. This angle is so, so different; he's hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, harder, just a little bit faster than before. Lips lock with yours, tongues tangling with such ease that you feel yourself become lightheaded.

There's a heat roaring in your belly, grows hotter every time his hips meet yours, body squirming, powerless to do anything but take it. You're whining, both hands on his shoulders now, gasping for breath against his plush lips.

"Honey," he groans, punctuates it with a particularly hard thrust that has you seeing stars, "are you close?"

All you can do is nod, whimpering his name. Max is losing his rhythm, torn between long and short strokes into your aching hole, and God, you're so fucking close that your whole body is shaking. You can't even clench around him anymore; body so worked open by his dick that you've lost all control over it.

"Inside," you choke out, burying your head in his neck, "cum in me."

He doesn't need to be told twice, picking up the pace. You can't think, can't even contain your noises, and thank God the bathroom is on the farthest side of the lodge, where nobody can hear you cry out his name one last time.

Your vision goes white; nails dig into Max’s back as you cum around him. His hips stutter to a halt, cums in your trembling body with a strangled noise that sounds like your name. For a few moments, you're weightless, floating up into the clouds as your body spasms with what energy it has left.

There's a wetness on your shoulder.

All of a sudden, you're back on Earth, lungs working double time. One of your legs have fallen, only held up by Max's hips and the hand that's rubbing circles into your lower back. You clench around him; he jumps.

"Are you crying?"

Red, puffy eyes meet yours. "Happy tears," he promises, rubbing your noses together.

It takes a minute for him to pull out of you, cum spilling out and running down your thighs. Your legs are shaking so badly that you can't stand, and you're very aware of your injury again. Max wastes no time in scooping you up again and placing you on the counter, takes his time cleaning you up.

The bathroom is much warmer than it was when you first walked in, but it's still considerably cold. While Max busies himself with a warm cloth between your thighs, you reach into his bag in search of warm, dry clothes, and by God do you find them.

"Well, that's just not fair," he pouts, "why do you look better in my clothes than I do?" You blush at that, fiddling with the end of his sweater.

With a properly cleaned and wrapped ankle, you climb onto Max's back, comfortably resting there as he carries you downstairs. Much to your relief, they've put a movie on the projector, barely even noticing your arrival.

"Took you long enough," Emma sing-songs. "We figured you'd drowned up there."

"Sorry, got caught up in a battle with the house ghosts," you struggle to hide your wince when you sit down. Something tells you that you'll not be able to walk in the morning, or the next day, for that matter.

You thought you'd hid it pretty well until Max winks at you.

Smug bastard.

And if anybody notices the way you waddle to the truck the next morning, they don't say anything. Not even when Mr. H drops you off where the cars are parked and you clamber into Max's passenger seat rather than hopping on the bus with Emma.

"So," Max grins, tapping the steering wheel, "what adventure are we going on next?"

This world isn't ready for the hell the two of you are about to raise.

After you can walk again, of course.

#the quarry #the quarry x reader #the quarry x you #max brinly #max brinly x reader #x reader #self insert #reader self insert #max the quarry #quarry game #hacketts quarry #the quarry smut #max brinly smut #oneshot #the quarry max #updated 09/20/23 to remove mentions of hair

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