#the way he isn't fazed at all when he has to walk through a haunted house i truly don't get him

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Hotel Transylvania adapted Dracula and Jonathan well...

I've seen this idea going around a lot and want to deep dive as to why. This is LONG, so warning for that (TL;DR at the bottom). Also, I will be using "Harker" and "the Count" to refer to Stoker's characters, "Jonny" (I know canonically they spell it "Johnny" but this seems more accurate for him and I like it more) and "Drac" for Hotel Transylvania's characters. I'll say Dracula and Jonathan if I'm referring to both.

Possible CWs: mentions of horror, death and vampires

Sidenote: I am reading Bram Stoker's Dracula via the email site Dracula Daily, which means I am reading it "in real time" to the dates given in the journal entries; in other words I'm only on Chapter 4 (May 16th's journal entry), so I won't be covering plot points later than that. Please feel free to add on your thoughts (though this might mean spoilers for a 125 year old book; beware new readers like myself!). Also, I will only be referencing the events of the first Hotel Transylvania, because I think it shows the characterizations I'm writing about best.

So let's start with Jonny first, since he's the internet's fav rn.

So when we first meet him, his defining characteristic is his inability to notice Red Flags (just like Harker). This is best shown when he willingly walks into a "spooky" (haunted) forest he's been told about by the locals, sees zombies ON FIRE and FOLLOWS THEM to the Hotel without being fazed. Even when he enters the Hotel and encounters various monsters, he assumes everything is normal at first (even if we assume he knows about the local monster festival, the fact he sees all these abnormalities being pretty abnormal without blinking an eye is still very Harker-like to me).

He doesn't stay that unfazed for long, of course. Like Harker, it takes pretty big inconveniences (?) to notice how wrong everything is. Once he sticks his hand through a skeleton's ribs (not cool, Jonny) it's all over: he panics and screams because it's suddenly Too Real and he's officially scared. For Harker, this realization doesn't happen when villagers dissuade him from the Count; instead, it happens both when there isn't a knocker on the Count's castle and when his shaving mirror is yeeted chucked out the window (this may or may not be obvious by now but Harker is a British man from the 1800s /j), leading him to explore the castle and notice how all the doors are locked, which leads to him panicking.

Another characteristic we learn about Jonny pretty early on is his love for traveling. He has explored many parts of the world already, and wants to see more. Jonny likes to immerse himself in whatever culture he's in and is curious about everything, asking a billion questions about the environments he gets himself into. He's also pretty chill in general, calling his roommate from Hamburg "cool" despite the guy stealing too much of his shampoo and later throwing a flowerpot at his head. While Harker's profession is a lawyer, let's be real he writes about his experiences like a travel blogger, and probably would be if he had lived in Jonny's time. Also while he is put off by the villagers' concern, he seems to brush it off at first, just chalking it up to the locals being "superstitious" and choosing to go with the flow. He's shown to be very curious, asking many questions of both the locals and the Count once he's in the castle.

Jonny adapts to his new environment very quickly, as you'd expect. He is eager to learn more about these new monsters (asking a bunch of questions) and makes connections quickly because of his friendly personality. He even gets into planning Mavis's party the way he knows she'll enjoy, despite that just supposed to be a cover story, showing off his problem-solving skills. Frankenstein (Frankenstein's monster actually, but try telling the movie that) later describes him as a fun guy and that he enjoyed his many stories. Harker, as we well know, is polite to a fault and likes sending Mina his stories of his travels and recipes he finds. After his panic in finding he's a prisoner, he makes an effort to act as if all is normal and tries to find ways to adapt which will later aid him in escaping. In other words, the Jonathan's are curious, friendly, polite, and fairly adaptable with problem-solving skills.

Another thing to note is how Jonathan is with Dracula. Jonny gets increasingly frustrated with Drac's refusals to let him stay at the Hotel longer. He disobeys Drac multiple times, showing a rebellious streak. However, they are able to bond when all of that is pushed to the side, laughing and noting how fun the other can actually be (like when they use levitating tables to do cool tricks). Additionally, Jonny is immediately interested in Drac's family history, even before he knows that history's truth. He is patient and compassionate when faced with the awful truth of his kind killing someone Drac loved. Once he finds out being with Mavis could hurt her and his other new friends, he immediately chooses to put them first and leave the Hotel not to mention he doesn't want to be killed by Drac. Harker, on the other hand, gets annoyed by being held prisoner and has a resentment towards the Count for it. He rebels against the Count's strict order to sleep in his own room and works towards trying to unlock the entrance to the front door. He, of course, fears the Count which makes him unable to stand up against him fully, but he definitely doesn't just resign himself to a grim fate. However, he still finds himself distracted by the Count's descriptions of his family history, as well as his knowledge of law and the outside world. While I've yet to really see how compassionate Harker is (he is very polite of course!), it is obvious he loves Mina and cares for her, so maybe there'll be more similarities to this compassionate aspect as the book progresses.

Adding onto that, it's interesting to note the parallel and contrast of Jonathan and Dracula across the 2 versions. Harker is the protagonist of Stoker's story, while Jonny is the antagonist of Hotel Transylvania, which is vice versa for the Draculas. For reference, a protagonist and antagonist do not refer to characters being "good" or "bad". A protagonist refers to the character the reader/viewer follows the most throughout the narrative, and who is trying to reach a main goal the audience is following. An antagonist, by contrast, is the major character who opposes the protagonist's goal in some way as an obstacle. So in this case, Harker is the main protagonist of Dracula and his main goal is to leave the castle, which the Count (the antagonist) opposes by locking the doors and holding him prisoner for at least a month (but is likely to be longer, of course). In Hotel Transylvania, Drac is the main protagonist, and his goal is to keep Mavis (and by extension, all monsters) safe and away from humans. Jonny, the antagonist, opposes this by being a human who loves Mavis, fueling her desire to travel into the unsafe world, and wanting to stay with all of the new monster friends he has made. I think it's a fun note that while Jonny wants to stay in the creepy castle, Harker's only desire is to leave!

Some smaller things I noticed are how Jonny speaks in modern slang and often confuses Drac, which reminds me a lot of Harker's shorthand writing (which he professes would "confuse the Count" if he were to read it). At the end of the film, Jonny references Disney's The Lion King in a rap verse to refer to how he and Mavis "Zinged" (how Sony got away with that is a mystery to me), like how Harker uses Hamlet and Arabian Nights references to describe his predicaments. Also, the Jonathans have a thing for women with fangs.

Now let's move on (finally!) to Drac.

Drac, first off, is overdramatic. While his fear of humans is understandable given his past trauma, you can't tell me this man isn't overdramatic when he gives (what I'm assuming are) YEARLY presentations on how bad humans are, and yelling at pictures of them. He loves to monologue about why he built the Hotel, his anger towards humans, his family's history, etc. However, his first instinct when faced with something he doesn't like is to snarl in anger, fangs out and eyes red. At all other times, he assumes a cool, relaxed demeanor. The Count also does this, seemingly being cool with everything until he sees blood and shaving mirrors, or until his women roommates (I'm just going to call them that because their relationship to him is left pretty vague, at least where I'm at) try to take a bite out of Harker. The Draculas both get red eyes when this happens: cool! The Count, of course, also loves to monologue about his family's name and what he plans to do in the future. While I know the Count is doing this to scare Harker as a part of his cruel plan, the fact that he crawls around cliffs and generally acts strange around him purposely is the definition of overdramatic in my book.

On a more serious note, Drac fears change. He is perfectly content to keep his life structured exactly as it has been ever since the Hotel was built. This is best shown through Mavis's birthday party -- he hires zombified classical composers for the music -- and the pre-party activities (e.g. quiet bingo and charades). You can tell this is a yearly occurrence just by how everyone other than Drac looks bored/falling asleep. When Jonny and his monster friends try to convince Drac to reconsider these plans he deflects or, as aforementioned, snarls in their faces. I assume much of this is due to losing his wife, because his past shows that he actually used to be the life of the party (e.g. him traveling to Hawaii and singing in public). His whole arc centers around him learning to accept change and let go of his daughter, and once he does he's a lot of fun to be around! So it's pretty obvious he was fun and open to change once upon a time. The Count, meanwhile, also professes to be fine living a calm, unimposing life, though you can tell he really longs for more. He wants to travel to London and fit in with others. He wants to make human connections even if he plans to murder them later. Still, he has a set routine he doesn't really want to change once it's set. For instance, he could've killed Harker off pretty quickly after getting the estate details, but instead keeps the guy around for much longer. Sure, it's also because he wants to toy with his prey, but there's a solid case to be made that he genuinely enjoys Harker's company and is content to spend all night talking to him -- after all, he seems to do this on an almost daily basis. I suspect once Harker tries to change this routine in some way (through trying to escape or refusing to talk to him), the Count is probably going to snap. Of course, that's just my theory and I don't want to speculate too much on this point; to sum it up, the Draculas have a problem with change, but also seem to be fun-loving/curious about the world in some way.

Plus, both run a mean hotel! Drac has employees (or servants? The suit of armor DID say he doesn't get paid, so that leads me to question if any of them do) to help him, but he isn't afraid to do the work if no help is available. The Count literally pretends to be his servants when cooking and cleaning for Harker, acting the part of a good host. Also, the Draculas are very comfortable in their powers and are pretty quick to use them when need be.

That's about it for Dracula, since I don't have enough of Stoker's character yet to make comparisons. Once again, I encourage anyone to add on with anything I might've missed! I probably should've waited until I finished the book, but I was too excited to wait!

TL;DR -- The Jonathans are similar because of their naivety, distraction from panicking, love for traveling, friendly personality, adaptability, problem-solving, and compassion. The Draculas are similar because of their dramatic flair, fear of change yet yearning for more of the world, and ability to run a hotel.

#dracula daily #hotel transylvania #long reads #sorry this is so long #can you tell I love character analysis? #i spent so long on this

[ackerslut]

Eugene and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Scavenger Hunt

Prompt: Family II ao3

Eugene is having a perfectly pleasant morning when Varian’s pointy nosed boyfriend bursts into the kitchen like his ass is on fire.

It isn't- Eugene checks twice because there HAD been an unfortunate incident concerning Hugo and some fireworks that haunt Corona to this day and then he has to mentally slap himself for inadvertently checking out Hugo’s flat ass. 

“EUGENE!” Hugo shouts and that's when Eugene knows that it's going to be a Day.  Pointy never calls him Eugene, it's always Fitzherbert or class traitor. 

“Hugo,” Eugene says back, calmly stirring his carrot soup. 

(He thinks it's carrot soup. No telling what the palace cook puts in their meals these days. But it's orange and tastes salty so. Carrots.) 

“You're looking unusually…” he squints. “Athletic.” 

Hugo is red to the face and out of breath. His wide eyes narrow. “Varian’s gone,” he yells into the mostly empty kitchen. 

Fladkis and Victor, both part of the morning kitchen staff, don't even blink in their direction. Eugene supposed that after the past five years shenanigans, it would take something a bit more serious than one of the palace alchemist misplacing his boyfriend to faze them. 

“Have you checked-”

Yes.” 

Eugene shoves another spoonful of soup into his mouth. “You don't even know what I was going to say.” 

“I've checked everywhere.” Hugo’s right eye is twitching disturbingly. “He’s been kidnapped.”

How the turntables, Eugene thinks with no little amusement. As a former kidnapper himself, there were very few people who could manage to get the drop on Varian. In fact, the only person Eugene can recall who has is Cassandra. Who barely counts because she was hopped up on rock juice and evil ghost wizards. Wizard ghosts. Creepy girl children. 

Whatever.

“That,” Eugene says, “is very unlikely.”

“I know. That's why I'm worried.” Hugo glares at him. “Are you gonna help me or not?” he demands which is how Eugene ends up spending his morning traipsing through the forest in the sweltering summer heat. 

“Really, Rapunzel is the better candidate for this,” Eugene says- even though he’s relatively renowned when it comes to finding lost things. Ha. 

“You wanna tell Queen Rapunzel that her baby brother got kidnapped by bandits the day before his birthday?” Hugo deadpans. He pushes a branch out of the way and almost smacks Eugene in the face when he lets go of it. “I like my eardrums intact, thank you.” 

He reluctantly has to admit that Hugo has a point. Although Rapunzel is more prone to silent anger than shout-y anger. 

But Hugo’s neck is burning pink and he’s studiously avoiding Eugene’s eyes, which immediately makes him…suspicious. 

“There-” Hugo points to a note painted in…blood? blood on the Snuggly Ducklings street sign. 

HELP!!! -varian.

And just over the “i” in “varian” there's a squiggly heart. Eugene is going to strangle this kid. 

“He's fucking with you.”

“That's what I thought, but look!” Hugo points at the ground. Two pairs of tracks that abruptly turns into one and a following indent in the ground that could be a body being dragged. Maybe. 

Eugene looks at the stupid note. Walks toward and runs his finger over the drying red. It's raspberry juice. 

“DON'T LICK IT!” Hugo screeches, loud enough to be heard in Koto. 

“It's berry juice.” 

Hugo visibly deflates. “Oh,” he says and looks so relieved that Eugene flushes in embarrassment. Pointy will not make him feel feelings today goddammit. 

“When did you see him last?” Eugene asks instead. 

“This morning. At dawn.” Pointy is flustered all of the sudden and you know what? Eugene doesn't want to know.  “Did he say anything…?”

If anything, Hugo looks more embarrassed. “Uhm.”

“About where he was going or what he was gonna do today?”

“Scavenger hunt,” Hugo says through his teeth and then turns darker red. 

Honestly if this kid turns another pigment in the next five minutes he's gonna die of…something. Nothing pretty and then Eugene’s gonna have to explain to Varian that his boyfriend died via blushed too hard. 

“Scavenger hunt,” Eugene feels like he's missing something. “What kind of-” 

“It's a thing we do for…his birthday and stuff. He leaves a bunch of clues and I solve them.” 

That sounds incredibly boring, but also something Varian would be into. The solving part, not the leaving shit around for Hugo to find. “Why are you getting the fun part when it's his birthday?” 

Hugo scowls. “None of your business. Look, can you just help me find him, please?” 

Finding him seems to be more troublesome than Eugene had been bargaining for. Turns out their little “scavenger quest” was more in the vein of “hide and seek: the bandit edition which rapidly turns into “hide and seek: CULT edition” when they finally stumble upon the lair Varian is—presumably—being held in. 

“We don’t know that it’s a cult,” Pointy whispers, face smushed against Eugene’s arm where he’s trying to lean in. The cave entrance doesn’t allow for a lot of room and Eugene is the Superior Adult Here, so he gets to see what’s happening first.

“They’re wearing robes.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re a cult!”

They turn the corner and find themselves in a massive room with a stone alter in the center bracketed by torches. There’s five people in white robes holding hands and chanting. Eugene gives Hugo a flat expression.

“Aw fuck.”

Varian is tied down to the stone alter, shrieking so loudly it's a wonder they didn't hear him from miles away. Eugene decides to be amused rather than furious that cultists choose him of all people to be part of their ritual sacrifice. 

“Nice robe,” he tells Varian, and is confused when Hugo lets out an embarrassed squeak. “They give those out for free?”

“We do not,” says Cultist #3, hands on her hips, instead of, like, attacking him and Hugo when they entered the room. 

And then Eugene realizes that Varian is NAKED underneath the nice satin robe and that he now had to kill everyone in this room. 

“YOU MADE HIM GET NAKED FOR YOUR RITUAL?!” he shrieks. Hugo begins rapidly shaking his head and making cut off motions across his neck, but no one pays him any mind. 

One of the cultists squints at him. “Uh, he was like this when we found him.” 

Varian abruptly stops struggling. “Oh SHIT,” he says- the first phrase that isn't I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU I COULD DO IT I ONCE BLEW UP CORONA WITH A MURDER MACHINE out of Varian’s mouth since they found him. “Eugene stop thinking,” he orders, eyes big as dinner saucers but it's too late. 

“HUGO WAS YOUR SCAVENGER HUNT A SEX THING.”

Cultist #2 and #3 exchange a glance. 

“NO!” Hugo screeches back at approximately the same volume. Varian thunks his head back against the stupid stone alter like he’s trying to knock himself into a different dimension via brain damage. 

Cultist #1—and Eugene has him labeled as #1 because he’s the one with the sword (not because he’s tall, dark and intimidatingly handsome, that would be ridiculous)—scowls. 

“He’s supposed to be a virgin, idiots!” he yells at Cultists #2 and #3 respectively, who in turn look sheepish. 

“It’s weird to ask people that!” 

“Now we have to start from scratch!” 

“Nobody’s starting from scratch!” Eugene can feel a stress headache coming on top of the stress headache that was already aggravating his Hugo-induced migraine. Why is Eugene’s family like this. 

He draws his sword. “I’ll take care of the ho—uh, the tall one,” he tells Hugo, “you take care of the others.” 

Predictably, Hugo’s definition of “taking care of the others” is to throw his beanstalk body straight at them. This is the guy that Varian wants. 

“Oh my gods, that was hot,” Varian says, eyes wide as Hugo squawks and kicks Cultist #4 in the face from where he’s slumped against the wall, upside-down. Eugene is going to have to invest in a healer to melt his brain when this is all over. 

He quickly disarms his opponent and knocks him out. Once they see that their leader is out of commission, the other cultists surrender hilariously quickly. 

“Honestly, the sex thing kinda bummed me out for the whole thing anyway,” Cultist #5 said, holding his hands out obediently for Eugene to bind. “Like there’s just some shit you don’t wanna know.”

Eugene grits his teeth. “Can we stop talking about this?” he snaps, over Hugo saying, “you weren’t supposed to get kidnapped for real! I can’t have celebratory sex over rescuing you when I’m having heart palpitations, Goggles.” 

“Consider this, Hugo. I’m tied down to a ritualistic alter.”

Eugene wants to die. He lifts the hot, unconscious cultist up and over his shoulder and motions for the other one’s to follow. They don’t even protest, wanting to get as far away from whatever the fuck those two having going on. 

“I’m taking them back to the castle,” he says, over his shoulder. Varian is giving what Eugene assumes is his version of…bedroom eyes?! Oh GOD. And Hugo is biting his lip and—

You know what, Eugene has had enough family bonding for the day. 

#effingvarigoweek #varigo #eugene fitzherbert #hugo vat7k #varian the alchemist #varian tts #tangled the series #varian and the seven kingdoms #vat7k #my fanfic

[strawbnation]

Sweet potato has a very long fun day in Fuji 

#pht #jaehyun #yoonoh #nctinc #jung jaehyun #nct #nct 127 #mine #he's so cute THIS LOOK WAS SO GOOOOOOODDDD #there was not enough content of this when it came out I think 😭 #to be fair i-.. didn't find this on youtube illegally 😵‍💫 sure didn't #the purple hair the little shirt he's so cute and I love him so much I want to take a little bite from him #the way he isn't fazed at all when he has to walk through a haunted house i truly don't get him

[mandoalorian]

Don’t Let Me Go  [Maxwell Lord x Reader] SMUT

Summary: Spiralling in a circle of guilt and blame, Maxwell Lord reflects on the night he let you slip through his fingers. He just wishes he had seen the warning signs sooner. Then maybe he wouldn't have lost you.

Word count: 8k 

Author's note: This is my longest one shot so far oh my gosh. Please note that everything that is in bold italics are flashbacks. I hope you enjoy! Xx

MASTERLIST 

 ~ gif by: pajamasecrets

••••••••

There was simply no way to put into words how Maxwell Lord was feeling. Without you, his suburban-manor home was empty. Completely empty. Nothing but the drip of a leaky faucet echoing through the oversized kitchen, and the padding of his shuffled footsteps as he made his way to the bar to pour himself a drink. He didn't cook anymore, but he wasn't feeling the pain of going hungry. His bed wasn't made, but it didn't matter because he couldn't sleep in it anymore knowing that your scent still haunted the blankets. He would slumber around his house in a shirt that had been unevenly buttoned up and probably hadn't been washed in a week. His eyes were tired, cheeks were tear stained and he hadn't taken absence from work this long in his whole life. His job was what lost you. How could he ever want to go back?

 Maxwell was unravelling back into the mean spirited man he was before he met you— but somehow, worse. He didn't have friends, he had business associates. And he had chosen to cut himself off from his mother due the awful way she had treated him his whole life. If his own mother could see the broken shell of a man that Maxwell had become, she would laugh in his face. She would reprimand him, and tell him how she had warned him not to fall in love. Business first, always. But it was that same advice that she had ingrained into him from such a young age, which would inevitably be his downfall.  All he ever had, was you. And that was enough. That was all he needed.

 Maxwell hardly remembered life before you but he was certain it didn't hurt this bad. He had experienced loss before; with his father when he was only sixteen— but this was a different kind of loss. You were still out there. You were living your life, and you had chosen to do it without him. How could you? How could Maxwell possibly survive without you? He opened up to you like he had with no other. He softened around you and the level headed businessman had become completely dependent on you.

 When you were with him, you changed him into a better man. You encouraged him to tidy for himself, taught him how to cook meals and insisted that he even did his own dishes afterwards. You would scold him gently for not making his side of the bed until eventually, he was making both sides of the bed, and even doing laundry.

 You both shared a schedule— waking up at the same time every dawn. Sharing cuddles and kisses and intimate touches in bed under the morning sunlight. Eventually getting up and taking your turns to cook breakfast. Whether it be blueberry pancakes or eggs, or sometimes Maxwell would surprise you with an array of exciting different foods from all around the world. Then, you would head back to your bedroom and dance in your shared walk-in closet, laughing together as you picked out your outfit of the day. You’d tie his tie and straighten his suspenders before helping him into his suit jacket. He loved the way you'd style his hair on a morning. Maxwell was a perfectionist but you knew just the way he liked things and he really admired that about you. You'd brush your teeth together and he'd paint your face with your favourite face cream. When you applied your lipstick, you'd always give him a surprise kiss and make your mark on him. He'd reluctantly scrub the lipstick stain off his cheek, or jaw, or chin, or wherever you had planted it that day, but now he wished he still had every mark you had ever made on him.

 You were so understanding too. This was the longest relationship either of you had ever committed to before. You fell in love with each other hard and fast— but the honeymoon phase seemingly never ended. Everyday was a new and exciting ride with Maxwell. He knew how much you wanted children, and a family. You'd bring it up now and again. One day, Maxwell felt as though he should open up to you.

 He explained how he had never considered having children because of his own personal relationship with his family. He informed you about how absent his parents were, and he imagined himself to be like his late father; too consumed in his own work and business to give any attention to his son. Max knew that pain all too well due to experiencing it firsthand. He would never want that for his children. It was nothing to do with you— he has no doubt in his mind how excellent of a mother you would be. But to Max, being a CEO and father just didn't go hand in hand. Of course, this shattered you, but it wasn't a deal breaker because Maxwell was the complete love of your life. With kids or without kids, as long as you had Max, you believed you would live a lifetime of satisfaction and genuine happiness.

 Maxwell Lord hadn't known love until he met you, and the truth is, from the moment he laid his eyes on you, he was infatuated. He knew he just had to have you. And so he spent weeks trying to woo you and win you over. He started with all he ever known, buying you jewellery from Tiffany’s, Louis Vuitton heels and the most gorgeous crimson red shade of Dior lipstick that he dreamed of you wearing on multiple occasions. But it didn't faze you.

 "I don't need all of this," you sighed, placing the large white box on the table and re-wrapping it with the silver silk ribbon. Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "There are people out there who walk around the streets of DC in winter with holes in their shoes, mothers who can't afford ChapStick nevermind Dior Lipstick."

 Maxwell hesitated. No woman had ever rejected the material items he had purchased for them. They'd always sweep them away with a familiar glint in their eye and, to show their appreciation, would go down on him later that night. He lulled his head to the side. "Not even the necklace?" Maxwell questioned, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip.

 You breathed an elongated sigh, taking the Tiffany’s box and opening it once more with a small click. You adored the necklace. A small silver chain with a crystal heart in the centre. You could only guess that it was Swarovski. In the sunlight, the crystal gleamed a prism of rainbow colours— like a kaleidoscope. It was simply magnificent and unlike any other necklace you had seen before.

 “It is beautiful.” you hummed, admiring the way it sparkled before your eyes. Maxwell took the box from your hands and removed the necklace. He stood up and gently moved your hair to one side, his soft fingers brushing against your skin making your heart flutter. He clipped the necklace in place and adjusted it so the small crystal heart fell over your chest.

 "It brings out your eyes." Maxwell smiled and you felt your cheeks heat up at his comment. "Please, keep the necklace. I see how much you like it. And it suits you so well."

 You looked at yourself in the mirror. Still standing behind you, Maxwell swung his arms around your hips and pulled you into his chest. He gently pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. "Thank you Max," your voice was barely above a whisper. "But please, no more gifts. All I need is you."

 Your words took Maxwell by surprise because he had never heard no such thing from any of his partners before. It was true, you meant your sentiment completely, all you needed was his attention, his care, his love, and most importantly him. That is where he went wrong and what would ultimately be the downfall to your relationship.

 "I will wear this everyday!" you beamed proudly with a grin so wide. Maxwell felt chuffed with your love for the necklace. "I won't ever take it off." You promised him. "Let it be a symbol of our first date."

 "The start of our relationship?" Maxwell proposed and you let out a small squeal as your arms tightened around him and you buried your head into the softness of his chest. The buttons of his shirt poked into your cheek but you didn't care, and you felt your eyes close as he brushed his fingers softly through your hair.

 "The start of our relationship." you confirmed with a smile.

 Maxwell threw the crystalled whiskey glass to the wall at the memory, his already broken heart shattering into even smaller pieces. He didn't think it was possible, and yet. The amber liquid dripped against the white walls and the glass deflected back at him, cutting his hand. A thin stripe of blood leaked down his arm and he done nothing but simply swallow a curse. It didn't even hurt. He was completely numb.

 He hated what he had become, and there was no one to blame other than himself. Sometimes he would try to hate you. He would take a look at himself in the mirror and feel nauseated at the sight of him. He was a mess, and he couldn't stand to feel any more self hatred. He couldn't take it. He couldn't live like this. He remembered when his schedule at work became a lot more hectic and he was away on business trips a lot. He'd call you, every night without fail from his hotel room. You'd be spread out on his bed, sporting his favourite button down work shirt and pair of shorts. The sight alone would be enough to make Maxwell hurry home quicker than The Flash. But he had work commitments that he simply could not leave behind.

 "How many more business trips?" You tried to keep composed for him, but just hearing his voice and knowing he was hundreds of miles away from you felt like a knife in your heart.

 "It could be like this up until the end of the year. Canada isn't easy to do dealings with. Not even my charm can succumb the president." Maxwell chuckled lightheartedly, and you allowed a small yet pained smile to creep upon your lips. He truly had no idea how much you were hurting without him, but, it sounded like he was doing just fine without you.

 "Max, time for dinner!" You heard an unfamiliar feminine voice call in the background. You froze up, a shiver racing down your spin and goosebumps rising on your arms. 

 Silence.

 "Who was that?" you asked your boyfriend cautiously, your fingers anxiously twiddling on the crystal necklace he had gifted you months prior.

 "Oh, that was my assistant, Barbara," Maxwell explained non-chalantely. "You remember? I had to get a new assistant. Veronica couldn't come to Canada so…"

 "Oh." you replied, voice cold. "She called you Max." you stated matter of factly. You couldn't just let that slide.

 "Well yeah," he chuckled. "That's my name."

 "Everyone at work calls you Mr Lord." you deadpanned. "Or sir."

 "I mean, yeah, that's true I suppose. But Barbara's new and I never specified otherwise. Besides, I'm growing to like the informality. No doubt that's your doing." He laughed. But you weren't sharing the same energy.

 "You're having dinner with her?" You hoped you weren't sounding pushy, or clingy, but you had to know.

 "Yeah, she got us reservations at this fantastic Italian restaurant. We went last night too." Maxwell was smiling on the other end of the line but you felt like screaming at this revelation. "Actually, I think you'd love it there. I hear Canada is beautiful at Christmas time. Maybe I can clear some time off in December and I'll take you?" he suggested. Usually you'd be so excited at this proposal of his, telling him you'd be packing your bags immediately. But not this time.

 You trusted your boyfriend. You really did. But you couldn't stand the fact that he was in a different country with another woman who you'd never even met before. Jealousy riled in your stomach and you wondered what she was like. Not only that, but Maxwell had a long winded history of sleeping with his assistants and you were completely aware of how desperate his sex drive could be. The more you thought about it, the more your stomach churned. But you just couldn't escape the thoughts.

 You wondered what Barbara was like. Maxwell's assistants were always young and beautiful. They wore the nicest clothes to impress him and made such an effort every single day. Of course, this was before you. He'd select his assistants based on looks rather than qualifications. If they couldn't pour him a good cup of coffee, that was okay because they'd be gone after a week anyway. You wondered if he had employed Barbara based on her looks.

 He called your name. "Are you there?" He asked.

 "Uhm, yeah, I should go." You told him hastily, suddenly feeling the urge to hurry to run to the bathroom. You felt like you had to throw up.

 "Oh, okay," Maxwell replied. He often struggled picking up on the little prompts you would make that illustrated you weren't okay. It was no fault of his own, but unless you explicitly stated that something was wrong, the chances were, he would just assume that everything is okay. "Well, can I call you the same time tomorrow?"

 "Okay." you shakily exhaled, praying he didn't notice your growing anxiety. If he noticed, he would confront you about it. That was just his nature.

 "Okay. I love you sweetheart." You could practically hear his grin. A single tear slipped down your cheek.

 "I love you too." You told him before slamming the phone down on the hook.

 Maxwell was taken aback by your abrupt end to the phone call. He sat on the edge of his bed, processing your words. He went to dial your number again because he felt in his heart that there was a chance that something could be wrong.

 "Maaaaaax," Barbara called again, snapping the businessman out of his thoughts. "We're going to be late." Barbara sauntered over to Maxwell, his tie in her hand and placed it around his neck. She went to cross it over when he gently put his hand out to stop her.

 "That's okay," he said. "I can tie it myself."

 Barbara stiffened at his rejection but after a few seconds of awkward silence, she shuffled away.

 That was the very first time Max being away had bothered you to unmeasurable amounts. You struggled to sleep without him anyway, but that night, you were completely restless. Tossing and turning— imagining him with his assistant doing unspeakable things together. You couldn't count the amount of journeys you made to your en-suite bathroom. Not only that, but you were ridden with guilt. If Maxwell found out you were doubting his faithfulness, he would be devastated.

 And it only got worse.

 He spent more time away. Longer business trips. He had to cancel the December trip to Canada that he promised. It felt like he was slipping through your fingers.

 Maxwell fell to his knees when the memory of your break-up hit him like a ton of bricks.

 Maxwell put the phone down with a smile. “Albert has invited Edward and I over for drinks tonight." he announced. You adjusted the red roses he had brought home for you and put the glass vase in different locations around the dining room, trying to gauge where they would look nicest.

 "You said no, right?" You asked, manouvering a rose to one side, being careful not to prick your finger on the stem.

 "Why would I say no?" Maxwell asked.

 You pricked your finger.

 "Shit." you hissed, your blood dripping down your hand. Maxwell grabbed a flannel and wet it under the kitchen tap. He walked over to you and carefully wrapped it around the cut. You winced at his contact.

 "Does it hurt?" Maxwell asked, dabbing at the cut being as careful as he could.

 "That you forgot we had plans tonight and agreed to see Albert and Edward?" you asked, bitterness dripping from your tongue. Maxwell pulled away, knotting his eyebrows together in confusion. "Yeah Max, it hurts."

 "We didn't have plans." Maxwell said, folding his arms over his chest.

 "This is your only night home!" You cried out. All your emotions while he had been gone were pent up inside of you and this was the final straw. "I rented a movie, I got the popcorn maker out!" 

 Maxwell took a peek at his gold wrist watch. "We could watch half the movie and you know, I don't really like popcorn that much anyway." He was actually serious about ditching you on his only night home. You were so angry. "Listen baby, I won't be gone all night. And when I get home, we can have a little fun ourselves. I won't be too late, I promise. Besides, I've missed you-" He suggested, voice low. You let Maxwell's fingers trace your skin, and he meant it in nothing but a comforting way, and yet you had the urge to smack his hand away from you.

 "No!" You folded your arms across your chest and shook your head.

 "No?" Maxwell quizzed, confused. "But baby-"

 "Max how can you be so… so…." you struggled to even find words but you hoped he had picked up on the frustration in your tone of voice.

 "What?" He beckoned you but all you could do was hide your face in your hands. You were so close to tears. You wanted to beg him to stay with you, but the point is, you knew that you shouldn't have to beg. Maxwell awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "You know I was suggesting sex, right?"

 You narrowed your eyes in his direction. "Oblivious." you said. "You're so oblivious." 

 "You're keeping something from me." Maxwell deadpanned.

 "You're keeping something from me." You repeated.

 "No I'm not."

 "Yes you are."

 "No I'm not."

 "And so what if I ask Barbara?" you asked, but regretting the words instantly as they left your mouth.

 Maxwell blinked, completely dumbfounded. "Ask Barbara what?"

 "Ohhh what went on in Canada? What you both get up to on these business trips. You're with her more than you're with me." You accused. But it was the truth.

 "I'm not following." Maxwell said. "Are you trying to accuse me of something?" You couldn't even look at him. Then it dawned on him. "You think I'm cheating on you." His blood ran cold.

 You didn't know what to say. It was true. You had suspected. But gauging by his reaction, and the way his voice cracked, you knew right then and there you had been wrong. And that you had hurt him. Maxwell loosened his tie and leaned against the kitchen counter.

 "Tell me." He urged.

 "Yes," you whispered, looking at your feet in shame. "I thought that… I thought…"

 "Tell me," he repeated. "I want to hear you say it."

 "I thought you were cheating on me with Barbara." you admitted with a sigh, and looked up at your boyfriend with hazy, tear filled eyes. "Max…" you let your voice trail off and put your hand against your raising heart.

 "How could you?" he asked in disbelief.

 "You always slept with your assistants… before me. And you were so secretive about Barbara. You went out to Italian restaurants together. And I just thought-"

 "That I was sleeping with her?!" He raised his voice at you and oh boy, you hated when he shouted at people. He never shouted at you, that's one thing for sure, but when you had first met, he shouted a lot. He shouted at the people he worked with, he shouted at his colleagues, his secretary, his assistants. He definitely had grown out of the habit since he entered his relationship with you but Maxwell was so angry right now...

 "Well can you blame me?!" You yelled at him back feeling defensive.

 "I can't believe you don't trust me." Maxwell shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know Barbara did make advances on me." You felt your fingers curl into a fist. "But I rejected her, obviously. I warned her if she keeps at it she'll have to find another job."

 You laughed and rolled your eyes. "Because you can't resist the temptation of her."

 "What the fuck, no?!" Maxwell bellowed and his voice was so loud your heart dropped. You completely froze up. "Because I didn't want to disrespect you. I'm not going to stand for other women trying to make their move on me when I'm faithful to you!" 

 "Can you please stop yelling." Your voice was quiet— begging, almost.

 But he didn't stop. "I have never ever given you a reason not to trust me." Maxwell felt so hurt. He felt heartbroken. He would've never have second guessed you like this.

 "Will you stop fucking yelling at me?!" You shouted, tears streaming down your face in anger.

 Maxwell stood there in silence, watching you bubble up and cry. Truthfully, he was finding it difficult to keep it together himself. He'd normally come to you, pull you in a hug and wipe your tears away, nursing you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. But he just stood there, frozen and staring. You wiped your tears away yourself and took a deep breath before grabbing your jacket and purse from the coat rack.

 "Where are you going?" Maxwell sighed.

 "I'm leaving." you stated. You knew this was it. And you couldn't even bring yourself to look back at him. If you looked at him one more time, it might be enough to stay. And you couldn't stay. Nothing had ever hurt this much.

 "What? Well when will you be back?" Maxwell questioned.

 "I'm not coming back." You swung your purse over your shoulder and Maxwell followed you to the front door.

 "What the hell do you mean?" he called after you.

 "I'm leaving you." your own words felt like daggers in your heart.

 "What?" Maxwell asked.

 "Please don't come find me." You told him, your fingers tracing the door handle. You opened the door and set foot on the patio, looking up at the setting sun. It reminded you of all the moments you spent with Maxwell, lounging outside waiting for the stars to come out, or the evenings where you'd be tidying up the garden after a barbecue. "You know, I really did love you Max." You whispered, a tear slipping from your eye.

 "Just. Come back inside and we can talk about this. I'm, I'm sorry for yelling. Please." Maxwell begged, his voice cracking. He held his arm out for you and wished so desperately that you would turn around and take his hand. But you didn't.

 "It's not just the yelling Max, you're prioritising your work over our relationship."

 "Baby, you knew it would be this way when you got with me. I told you."

 "I just don't think I can handle it." You sniffed.

 "Come back inside and we can talk about it." Maxwell said but you shook your head.

 "Goodbye Maxwell." 

 Maxwell's grip on the bathroom sink was so tight, his knuckles went white. His own reflection made him sick. This wasn't him. This wasn't Maxwell Lord.

 Maxwell Lord didn't lose. He didn't lose anything. He didn't lose business negotiations, he didn't lose business deals and he certainly wouldn't lose the love of his life. He had to stop moping, he had to make this right.

 He ran to the dining room and swung the phone of the hook, dialing the home number of his driver, Jeeves. "Come on, come onnnn." he mumbled to himself, tapping his foot impatiently. It was the dead of night and Maxwell was aware that Jeeves would be at home with his family, asleep. But this was important and Maxwell paid Jeeves enough to be able to answer the phone at 1:30am, that's for sure.

 "Hello?" A tired Jeeves greeted Maxwell.

 "Where is Y/N staying?" Maxwell asked abruptly. Straight to the point.

 "Mr Lord… with all due respect…"

 "Jeeves I need to know and I need to know now," Maxwell cut him off. "Don't make me come down there."

 "Sir, you should be asleep."

 "Jeeves." Maxwell raised his voice sternly. "I don't have time for games. Where is she?"

 Jeeves sighed. "Last I heard, she was at the Waterfront Hotel." Maxwell scribbled the name down on a torn piece of paper and hurriedly crumpled it into the pocket of his light grey sweatpants.

 "Thank you Jeeves."

 "Will you be needing me to take you there?" Jeeves yawned.

 "No," Maxwell said. "Go back to sleep. I'll take the Porsche. Drive myself."

 "Ah, excellent choice. Okay, goodnight Mr Lord." Jeeves yawned again.

 "Send Elizabeth and the children my love. I'm sorry for bothering you." Maxwell apologised and slammed the phone down on the hook.

 Jeeves’ wife, Elizabeth, rubbed her eyes and shuffled upwards. "Who was calling at this ungodly hour?"

 Her husband hesitated, confusion evident in his face. "It was Maxwell Lord. I think he's going after Y/N."

 Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Oh thank goodness for that."

 "I know… he's really lost it without her," Jeeves admitted, shaking his head. "He told me that he sends you and the kids his love." 

 Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Maxwell Lord said that?" she asked in disbelief and Jeeves shrugged his shoulders.

 "It’s Y/N," He replied. "She just has that effect on him."

 You'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't miss him. You thought about him every second of every day— and you weren't doing too well yourself. You hadn't left the hotel room once. You couldn't bring yourself to eat. You found it difficult to sleep. Your final words to him haunted you.

 "I really did love you."

 Why did you say that? Why would you make him believe that you no longer loved him? You wondered if he had moved on yet, perhaps initiated a relationship with Barbara. You wondered if he had resorted to his old ways and had been fucking and dumping his assistants. You wondered if he still thought about you.

 You were so worried about him because you knew how self destructive Maxwell could become. You knew about his dependency on alcohol and his tendency to lash out and yell at people when you weren't there to call him down. If he was suffering at least half as much as you were, you felt extreme guilt. You hoped he hadn't gotten himself hurt. You weren't happy, but if you had some kind of closure— if you just knew that he was doing okay without you, then maybe you would feel better.

 And yet you couldn't bring yourself to go back home. You had Maxwell's driver bring over your toiletries and clothes and tipped him enough to not tell Maxwell which hotel you were staying at. You didn't know if it was really worth it. He was Maxwell's driver, and if Maxwell asked, you figured the driver would reveal your location anyway. Your mind was racing. What if he did ask? What if Maxwell knew where you were but didn't care enough to come see you. You didn't tell him to not come and find you…

 A sudden loud knock on your hotel room door interrupted your thoughts. You sat frozen in your bed and checked the wall clock. It was almost two in the morning. The knock came again, even harder this time and you clutched your bed sheets tight around you. You took a deep breath and shuffled out of bed, padding to the door. You scoped your hotel room for something blunt that could be used as a weapon if this post-midnight mystery stranger happened to be an intruder. Slowly, you opened the door.

 Your heart sunk when you saw him.

 Dark circles under his eyes, his dark blonde hair messy and sticking up in places. He was literally wearing one of his button down work shirts (the one you used to sleep in), and light grey sweatpants. He looked helpless, and it was like time had frozen. You felt your eyes begin to sting from the brimming tears and you could only bring yourself to whisper his name. "Max…"

 Maxwell took a step forward and pressed a heated kiss into your lips. It took you by surprise, but you soon sank into his chest. This was it. This was everything you had missed. His lips tasted like a mix of whiskey and spirits. His large, ring clad hands gripped your back and pressed you tight into his broad chest. He was finally holding you again, and kissing you— and you were letting him. He couldn't believe it. He pulled away for breath but didn't let go of you for one second. He nudged his nose against yours. "I am so sorry…" Maxwell whispered, a tear falling down his cheek. You cupped your hand around his face and wiped his tear away with your thumb before pressing your forehead against his. "I was so stupid, for everything. I shouldn't have let you go." His voice was sore and it broke your heart. He was taking full accountability and blaming himself.

 "No Max," you sniffed and shook your head. "No. I wasn't thinking straight. I was so mad." 

 "I gave you a reason to be mad." Maxwell soothed you, rubbing circles into your back.

 "No no no," You curled up into his chest again, holding him tight. "I acted irrationally. Please don't blame yourself." You begged him. "This was on me. You were right. You never gave me a reason not to trust you."

 "I was so foolish, planning to go and see Albert and Edward on our only night together." His words brought back a familiar pain and you broke down into a sobbing mess in Maxwell's arms. He continued to rub your back, feeling your tears dampen in his lazily buttoned shirt. He kissed your head gently, the familiar scent of your hair making his knees weak. "I'm really struggling," Maxwell gulped. "I don't think I can live without you. I need you. I need you and your good heart helping me decide between what's right and what's wrong. I need you scolding me for my bad manners and confronting me when I'm in the wrong…" you let out a small chuckle and his heart bloomed. "It's true!" he smiled for the first time into your hair. "You're the only one who can get away with telling me what to do. I miss the way you play with my hair," you dragged your hands up to his hair and Maxwell let out a muffled groan. "Missed your touch," he said, stiffening up as you let your hands roam down his body, touching every bit of skin he had visible. "Missed your kisses," you pressed another kiss against his lips and let your arms rest comfortably around his waist. "Missed you so fucking much."

 "Maaaax," you whimpered out his name as he placed sloppy kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

 "I don't think I can be alone anymore," he said in between kisses. "You don't have to forgive me. I wouldn't forgive me. But please come home with me. And I will spend every day for the rest of my life proving to you how much I love you. You first. You before Edward and Albert and Barbara, you before all work commitments." he promised and you hummed in contentment.

 "I would want nothing more." You told him and he smiled. "No more fights. I'm going to communicate better, I can do better. And Maxwell?"

 "Hm?" Maxwell's voice was soft like velvet.

 "I forgive you. And I never stopped loving you."

 Maxwell sighed and squeezed you tight. "I never want to let go of you." he admitted. "I never want to leave you ever again. Wherever I go, you're coming with me. This has been the worst couple of weeks."

 "You have looked better." you joked with a small smile. You grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him into your hotel room, before locking the door behind you.

 "You…" he smiled, his eyes sparkling. "You always look so beautiful." 

 "You're lying," you shook your head feeling your cheeks heat up at his smooth choice of words. "I haven't slept in days."

 Maxwell cupped your cheeks with both hands, taking in the features he had missed so dearly. "Me neither, but I'll sleep well tonight, I'm sure of it." He said and you grinned, playfully pushing him into the plush hotel bed. He yelped as you clambered on top of him and straddled him.

 "Fuck Max," you whimpered, softly rubbing your hips over his crotch.

 "Shit baby," he mewled, his hands dropping to your hips and grabbing your ass. His eyes were locked on to your body as you lounged on top of him. "Missed this." he admitted with a sheepish smile.

 "It's been so long," you said quietly, popping open the buttons on his shirt and helping him shuffle out of it. There was a real temptation to just curl into his warm naked chest and fall asleep in his arms but you needed more. It had been months without any kind of sexual gratification and now you finally had him. You had been yearning for so long. "Couldn't stop thinking about you," you admitted and Maxwell's heart fluttered in his chest. "Every night I… I could never sleep. So I'd lay here in this bed and just think about you. Think about you holding me… kissing me… touching me…"

 "Where?" He quizzed you, his voice low at the thought of you laying exactly where he was now lying, restless because you were imagining his touch.

 "Everywhere," you breathed shakily.

 "Show me."

 He steadied you as you removed your hands from his chest and pulled off your shirt. Maxwell gasped slightly when he saw you weren't wearing a bra and you began to touch yourself in front of him. You let your fingers grace over your arms, your stomach, and then brought them up to your breasts. You let your thumb graze over your nipples and cupped them, squeezing a few times as you closed your eyes at the blissful sensation. Maxwell watched you touch yourself intently and you began to feel him harden beneath you. Unable to hide the smirk playing on your lips, you continued to softly grind over his length, gaining a gentle moan from him. "Touch me." you begged him. He ran his big hand up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and to your chest, twirling the crystal necklace he had gotten for you way back when you had your first date.

 "You never took the necklace off?" he asked, his chocolate brown eyes looking deep into yours.

 "Never," you told him and he returned your smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

 "Lean into me," his voice was rough but gentle. You obeyed him, slowly sinking forward into his body and he took one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking on your nipple and eliciting a moan from you. With his free hand, he opted to mirror your previous actions and squeezed your other breast. Your knees weakened everytime his teeth grazed your skin and you missed the way he would gently bite at you. All your senses were completely heightened and he felt amazing. You hummed in delight before leaning back, your breast leaving Maxwell's mouth with a pop.

 You climbed off him and took to your knees by his side when you began to palm his length through his grey sweatpants. "You're so cute," you giggled as you stroked him through the soft material.

 Maxwell turned his head slightly and furrowed his eyebrows together. "Cute?" he asked.

 "Mhm," you replied, dipping your hand into his sweats and pulling out his throbbing hard cock. You smiled to yourself— he wasn't wearing underwear either. You slowly began to pump at it and a delicious moan fell from his lips. "You come here in a work shirt and sweatpants," you conceded. "Not your best fashion decision. But I do love these sweats. I love to see you get hard in them, it's so hot. I can really see how big you are," you admired him and let your thumb sweep across the tip of his cock, collecting the precum that had beaded there. You brought your thumb to your mouth and began sucking on it, letting his warm, salty seed settle on your tongue.

 "F-fuck," Maxwell drawled out. "Keep talking like that. You're so- you're so fucking pretty, sucking on your thumb like that. Wish- wish you were suck-"

 "Be patient my love," you whispered, pressing a kiss into his v line and wrapping your hand around his cock once more, repeating the movements. You knew what he wanted, and you wanted it too. "We have all the time in the world."

 "Keep talking like that." he reminded you, watching as your hands graced his length. 

 "I'd lay here," your voice was barely above a whisper. "Just like you are. And I'd imagine you fucking me. Been too long. Missed- missed you so much. I missed your big hands and the way you'd caress me. I missed how good you were at going down on me… best- best I've ever had," you hummed in delight, feeling your cunt begin dampen your shorts. "Most of all, I missed this. I missed your big cock, and the way it fills me perfectly. Feels so amazing. While you were away on those fucking business trips… I’d…I’d..." you took a deep breath.

 "What?" Maxwell prompted you to continue. 

 You took one hand and began to cradle his balls as you kept rubbing up and down the length. "I'd finger myself, rub myself, do everything I could just thinking about you. Usually I-," you exhaled shakily before shooting him an innocent smile. "I'd have to use a dildo because my fingers can't ever compare to your cock. Nothing can, Max." You promised him and he emitted an earthy groan. "Your turn." you smiled at him before licking his tip.

 "Fuuuck. That- that feels so good," Maxwell gritted out, throwing his head back into the pillow. You opened your mouth slightly and started by taking the tip in your mouth, sucking softly. "More, please,"

 "Keep talking." You quoted him cheekily before reattaching your mouth to his hard cock.

 "I took those Polaroids with me," Maxwell admitted bashfully. "The- the ones you took for me on Valentine's day. You wore that lacy red lingerie set I got you and fuck, you looked so stunning that night. Found it so hard to sleep without you by my side so I'd get out the photos and jerk off to them. I- I could never really last long looking at you, you're just so fucking pretty," Maxwell praised and you hollowed your cheeks, sinking your mouth further down on him. "I'd dream about this. Baby, you know how much I love getting blown," You felt his cock twitch in your mouth just as he said that and you tried to suppress a giggle. "Dreamt about this. Your mouth on me. I- I'd cum in your mouth."

 You lifted off him with a pop. "Cum in my mouth then," you urged with a sheepish grin and continued sucking on him, bobbing your head up and down.

 "N-no." Maxwell said, lowering his hands to tug off your head. "Fuck, no. Baby. I have to fuck you." You almost came from his words alone and you could feel the electricity spark in your stomach as excitement filled your core. "I have to feel you. Feel you around me. You always- you always feel like home."

 Your heart blossomed at his words. "Can I ride you?" you asked him, popping off him again. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look into his eyes. They were so dark with lust, you could've mistaked the usual honeyed shade for black.

 "No. I want to fuck you." he growled in your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

 He kicked off his sweats that were pooled around his ankles and you pulled down your silk shorts, discarding them on the floor with the rest of his and your clothes. "Please please please can I ride you." you whimpered, letting your hand fall down to your cunt and you started rubbing your clit as you drunk in the image of Maxwell spread out on the hotel bed, his cock hard and pressed against his stomach.

 "No." he reprimanded you as he got to his knees. He pushed you down onto the bed and you lay there on your tummy, your butt perked in the air.

 "Maaaax," you drew out his name, waiting for him to do something. Max was stroking his length and this time it was his turn to get a good look of your naked body that he had missed so much.

 "Patience." he scolded, giving your ass a spank. You let out a yelp as the coolness of his rings slapped against your warm skin. That was sure to leave a bruise.

 "Fuckkk Max, I need you inside me now," You begged and started to rub yourself against the blankets on the bed, desperate for some kind of friction to ease the overwhelming sensation you were feeling.

 He spanked you again and you let out another yelp. "You will be patient," he warned again. "Are you a good girl?"

 "Yes Max," you sung, sweetness dripping from your tongue.

 "Good girls don't talk back. Now get on all fours." You listened to his instruction, scrambling to your knees and resting on your elbows. "Spread your legs. I want to look at you." You obeyed him, knowing that if you dared to speak up again he'd issue another spanking.

 Maxwell stroked himself while drinking in the sight of you. Your folds glistened under the light and Maxwell couldn't rid himself of the pride he was feeling. "All for me?" He mumbled, and aligned his cock against your entrance. You tossed your head back at the feeling of his tip nudging against you.

 "All for you." you confirmed in a whisper. Maxwell wrapped his arms underneath you and started fondling with your breasts before suddenly, and in one swift movement, thrusting inside of you.

 Your breathing hitched at the sensation of his long thick cock stretching your walls. "Oh shit Max," you moaned in pleasure. "Shit shit shit," you panted as he kept thrusting deep inside you with consistent movements. Tears pricked your eyes as he hit your g-spot with every thrust, not hilting once. He knew exactly how to make you feel good. You begged for him to go harder and he brought his hands up to your head, grabbing your hair and roughly pulling your back into his chest. You let your head fall into his shoulder as he continued fucking you, his arms holding you tight around your stomach.

 You loved hearing the noises Max made. There was something so satisfying about listening to the CEO of one of the biggest and reputable companies in the whole world, fall apart because of you. Because of your body. "Are you- fuck, you're close aren't you? I can feel it." Maxwell groaned and you whimpered back in agreement, letting your head lilt into the crook of his neck. "Baby girl, fuck you feel so good. So tight around me. Fuck."

 "G-gonna cum," you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

 "Me- me too," Maxwell replied through gritted teeth. "Can I, can I cum inside of you?"

 "Fuck Max, you don't need to ask. Please. Please fill me up." You begged.

 With only a few more thrusts, Maxwell came inside you, filling you with warmth and leaving you shuddering as you came down from your own climax. He stayed there for a moment, holding still inside you, wanting to make sure every last drop resided deep within you before he softened and slipped out of you. You moaned at the loss of his length. He turned you over on the bed and positioned his face in between your legs.

 "What are you- what are you doing?" you asked him. Before you could say anything else, you felt him bury his thick index finger inside of you. "Fuck," you gasped. "Maaaaaax."

 Max was watching your pussy intently, and as his cum began to drip out of you, he pushed it back in. "You're so perfect," Max said in admiration, still staring at your glistening wet folds. "You know that?"

 "I can't wait to go home with you." you sighed as relief and contentment washed over you for the first time in forever.

 "Can't wait to start a new life with you," Maxwell smiled and your mind buzzed with confusion. "You're all I need. This. This right here is what I need. My- my job has given me enough wealth to live more than comfortably for the rest of my life. I know that, no matter what, I will be able to provide for you. And for our children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren…" Maxwell trailed off and you couldn't wipe the elated smile from your face.

 "Children?" you asked him, eyes lighting up.

 "Look at you," he grinned, a dimple appearing in his cheek. He pressed a soft, sweet kiss to the inside of your thigh. "I think you'd be the greatest mother in the world. You take care of me well enough, that's for sure. So kind. So gentle. Such a good heart. You make me into a better person. Our kids would be so lucky to have a mother like you. I want a family."

 You sniffed, sitting up and shuffling toward him. "Oh Max, I love you so much." you gave him a teary smile before falling into his chest and curling up on top of him.

 "I love you too, darling."

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