Levitating

Levitating

Summery: You are Charles’ celebrity crush… or are you?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader. (This has nothing to do with my Smau series… it’s just a one shot I couldn’t stop thinking about)

Continua a leggere

sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath. 

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended. 

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?” 

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned. 

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.” 

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements. 

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.” 

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach. 

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply. 

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway. 

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after. 

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet. 

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff. 

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are. 

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?” 

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy. 

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately. 

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

Love and Friendship

Pairing: Max Wolfe x reader (implied black reader or reader with curly hair)

A/N: This was written from a place of boredom because my life is boring,

Warnings: Smut 18+ MDNI/ No proofreading/ shit plot

ENJOY! or don't that's your business

*****

You had been on the upper east side for a mere few months, and it already seemed like your life was flipped around completely. You weren’t sure if you ever really wanted to leave. Sure, there had been way too much drama, many entitled people, and that feeling that you would never quite fit in, but none of that mattered. Not when you could come home from school and feel loved and important. You were staying with the Wolfe family as a foreign exchange student and even though there have been many ups and downs since you arrived, they remained kind and that was important to you.

Also there was Max. Your relationship with him was kind of odd. When you came he welcomed you with open arms, claiming that he could use “a hot little sidekick” for all his misadventures. At first you thought he was weird and pervy, and though he is slightly pervy the weird has definitely grown on you. He feels like the best friend you’ve ever had, you can tell him anything without any judgment, and you feel more relaxed around him than you’ve ever felt around anyone. You’ve spent most of your time following him around, when he wasn’t doing something too outlandish for your taste. And if he was doing something outside of your means, then you would stay at home with his dad, or read, or hang out with a few of the friends you made. None of that compared to the freeing feeling of Max though. 

“What are you doing, nerd?” You suddenly hear at your door, pulling you from your thoughts. There Max stood, only donning his post workout shorts. You knew better than to look, knowing he would catch you and never let you hear the end of it.

“Reading, you ever heard of it?” Max smiles slightly amused by your quip.

“Ha ha” He laughs sarcastically. He pushes his way into your room. Picking things up and putting them back down like he’s never seen them before. He does this often but you quickly learned that he does it when he’s building up to ask you to do something.

“ So peanut,” he leans on your bed tilting his head and giving you the sweetest little grin. “I have a proposition for you.” You sigh knowing his favors always require you to leave your bed. 

“What Maximus?” You try not to look at his face too much because you know it’ll reel you in.

“You know how you were talking about getting out the house more, so you’d have more to say about your time here when you went back home?” He asked you rhetorically. 

“Vaguely.” You squint at him, willing him to get to the point.

“Well I have a photographer friend, and he needs a model, and guess who would be perfect?” His weasley smile grew. 

You groaned sitting up. “Is this another hook up thing? I told you I’m not being your wing man anymore.” 

“Aw come on don’t be like that. Please. He saw you when we went by that bar a couple days ago, said you would be perfect for a shoot. And I thought to myself, who would make a better model than my little peanut.” 

“It’s not sounding like you know your peanut too well. I hate being on camera.” You huffed. For a moment Max pretended like he was taking that into consideration before he went for the kill.

“Well I don’t, and he promised to record us… ya know,” he smirked, making you scoff. “If I get you to do it.” He paused to grab your hand, and pout his lips. “So please, for me.” You cave almost immediately. 

You huff falling back on the bed. “Fine I’ll do it, but you’re funding my next trip to the bookstore.” You say, like that will negatively impact him in any way.

Max silently cheers, and looks a little silly doing it which you have no choice but to smile at.

******

“Max, when you said it was gonna be a photoshoot, I was thinking a loser with a camera. Not all this!” You whisper yelled, as you were pulled into a chair so they could do your hair. You didn’t know why you wouldn’t assume immediately that a friend of Max’s would have this sort of operation, but it just slipped your mind.

“Calm down, peanut. You’re gonna do great.” He bent down slightly reaching to boop your nose. Something he knew irked your usually chill demeanor, just like having all this attention on you would as well. He would deal with that later though. 

“Oh shit, that’s him. Quick, how do I look?” He asked, spreading his arms.

“Rich and arrogant.” You state, which he quickly laughs off knowing you get mean when you’re nervous, and somehow you’re always nervous.

“Max, you look wonderful. And so does the gift you brought me.” The man says, eyeing you. He has very artsy energy surrounding him and everything about him was colorful. When you first met Max you never would have thought that this was his type, but you quickly realized he had absolutely no preferences.

“As do you.” He tells him flirtily, pausing to check him out. “This is my little peanut.” He introduces, to which you give the man a nervous half smile. “She can be a bit shy, but I’m sure when she warms up to you, you’ll see all she can be.” He promises, giving you a sly wink that makes you want to roll your eyes.

“Peanut, this is my friend Marcus.”He finishes.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” You give the man your sweetest smile knowing that you were gonna milk Max’s bank account for all it’s worth later. 

“You as well. You’re a beauty. I’m so grateful this guy managed to convince you to come out here for me.” You blushed, quickly averting your eyes. Right after that Max whisked him away, bringing his flirting up ten notches from what you could tell and soon after your hair and make up was done and you felt like a newer version of yourself. One you hadn’t met yet. You liked her. 

Max had wandered off for a bit, flirting with every person within the building, but he finally started to make his way back to you only to not find you in the space he left you. 

“Max, over here” He heard Marcus call out to him and when he looked at you for a moment he felt like he had been hit by a bus. Flowers adorned your curly hair, that made you look like an angel. The makeup you wore made you look like a vixen, but what really caught his attention was your outfit (or lack of one). You wore nothing but a white one piece lingerie set that had you looking good enough to eat. Literally and Metaphorically.

Max let go of those thoughts as quickly as they came. You were one of the only people who didn’t see him as a sex symbol, or something to pursue and ultimately he felt the same way about you. He knew you were beautiful, but your friendship was not one that needed sex added to the mix. Not when the two of you actually had mutual interest, the same sense of humor, and a foundation of friendship that could last for years, unlike many of his others.

“So what is the theme here?” He asked as casually as possible, walking up to the two of you, and trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on the bare skin you were showing, which was nearly impossible considering you were all skin right now, and that made him realize how much you usually don’t show it. Max quickly realized you might be very uncomfortable, even if you didn’t look that way.

“Garden of Eden. She’s perfect for it, isn’t she?” Marcus asked, while snapping pictures. You hadn’t turned to look at Max yet, trying to stay focused on the camera, but you could feel his eyes on you. It was intense. The way you knew he was dragging them over every inch of your skin. Memorizing every little detail. And he was. He couldn’t help but notice how you looked like you came right out of his earliest fantasies. Your lips, the way they were so full. Your skin, that looked so soft. And every curve that he never checked for before today. 

“That she is. You look divine peanut. Like a goddess who will soon own ten thousand books.” He teased.His smile widening when he saw your lips quirk into a small smirk.

“Don’t distract my model, Max.” Marcus tells him. To which Max surrenders, happy to take the backseat for a moment and let you shine.

When you wrapped up shooting you hurried off the dressing room, leaving Max with Marcus. 

“So, the two of you?” Marcus asks, his curiosity peaking.

“Peanut is just a friend.” Max grins. Marcus scoffs like he knew something Max didn’t.

“You don't just do friends, Max Wolfe.” Marcus smirks. “Not with people who look like that. And not with the way you just looked at her.”

“Is someone jealous?” Max deflected, getting closer to Marcus to lift his chin.

“Not the slightest, I just know these things. I’m usually right.” Max rolled his eyes.

“Not this time, I’m afraid. I’ll see you later.” Max winked. Implying exactly why he would see him later. 

Max walked off to find you slightly thrown off. Lately, many people have been hinting that he wanted something more from you than friendship. Before today, he could deny those claims and have that be the truth, but right now he wasn’t so sure. He waited outside the dressing room trying to brush that off, when he heard a crash from inside.

He didn’t hesitate going in, only to see you standing on something wobbly trying to grab your bag from the top shelf. Still only clad in the white lingerie set. Your entire backside on display for him. If he weren’t so concerned about your safety he would have allowed himself to just stand there.

“One day you’re going to break your neck if I’m not around to catch you.” He tells you pulling you off the wobbly stand and reaching over you to grab the bag. He didn’t think anything of it but you felt every single one of his muscles flex against your back. Max had a way of doing the smallest things that somehow made him seem like the biggest, strongest, protector you would ever know. Maybe that was just your mind playing tricks on you, but you realized that it was a huge turn on for you, and you wished it wasn’t.

“I’m a pro, I could have gotten it without you.” You tell him, which he only rolls his eyes at. Going to sit on the couch while you finish putting your clothes on. You watch Max check his phone, a sly smile etching its way onto his face. 

“I’m guessing my efforts worked in your favor.” You say buttoning your pants.

“Indeed they did, you my sweet angel can have all the books you desire.” 

“Hell yeah, I can.” You say giddily. 

*******

“Where the hell have the two of you been?” Audrey asked upon your late entrance to movie night. 

“Ask peanut.” Max said,walking past her and throwing you under the bus to go mess with Aki.

“Sorry.” You say, sheepishly holding up your bags from the bookstore. To which Audrey huffs at.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, but next time just use a kindle like everyone else in the twenty-first century.” She scolds, stepping aside to let you in. 

“I’ll take that into consideration.” You lie to appease her.

“Good now join the others, so we can start the movie.” She tells you bossily. Which you listen to with ease.

You greet the others, sitting in your designated spot beside Max. You quickly learned that movie night was not really movie night but instead an excuse to gossip, drink, play games, and overall just hang out together. 

You started off watching the movie, then it quickly progressed to drinks. Which you didn’t care to partake in, knowing that Max was a lush and you’d have to get him home later.

Your head was laying in Max’s lap as you scrolled on your phone. His hand stroking your curls absentmindedly. His other hand plastered on your bare stomach and under your slightly raised graphic tee. You tried not to think too much of it, considering that Max was very touchy, but his hand was warm and it sent a feeling through your whole body.

Everyone’s phone started to chime but yours and everyone got quiet. You figured it was gossip girl because this happened five times a day at this point, you just never got around to following her. 

“It seems you have an admirer, peanut.”

You look up at Max in confusion only for him to hand you his phone. It was you, in a freaking gossip girl post. Well more like you and Max. First it was one of him holding the door open for you at the bookstore for you with a wide smile plastered on your face. Then one of you on the met steps where he was booping your nose, much to your dismay. Then there was one of you from the photoshoot, which a ton of ppl were at, where he was looking at you, with a strange look in his eye. Then another one where you were tucked into his side, looking very sleepy. The last one however was just of you, it was one of the photos from the shoot.

“How did she even get that?” You ask, feeling slightly nauseous at the thought that people were watching you during all those moments and you had no idea.

“I have no idea but you look super hot in it!” Julien stated. To which Audrey agreed.

“Don’t worry about it, angel. Gossip girl is just a bitter old lady, taking her misery out on today's youth.” Audrey comforted the best way she knew how. “Plus she didn’t even say anything too bad considering.” She said, throwing a not so subtle glance at Max. Which he promptly scoffs at. 

“We need to take that bitch down.” Monet said. She wasn’t the least bit welcoming to you, but she had started warming up to you being around and she took a very protective stance on the people around her. 

“You know if we damage her credibility, she will no longer be relevant.” Luna stated. “And this is how we get her, because it’s not true.” She waved her phone.

Monet and Luna looked at each other like they were having thoughts no one else was and you were slightly confused on what they could be plotting. You were broken out of any thoughts you were having when you felt a boop on your nose, which made you quickly throw an irritated glance at Max who was sorta drunk. 

“Don’t stress about it. Leave the minions to their dirty work, and you just relax, have a drink.” He tried to convince you.

“If I have a drink, how will we get home later.” You ask.

“We’ll call an uber, silly girl.” He answered like it was right there in your face.

“We drove, silly boy.” You say back to him, watching as realization dawned on his face above you. 

“We can have someone pick up the car tomorrow.” He offers. His hand lazily stroked your side.

“Or I can just drive it back tonight, and remain sober.” To which he pouted at, making you grin, In that moment a camera flash went off. And thirty seconds later everyone’s phone was going off again.

Monet and Luna grinned in triumph. “Great now you two just have to keep up appearances until your date on friday.”

“Appearances?” You ask. The same time Max says “date?” Which you purposefully hadn’t told him about. You weren’t sure why, you just didn’t want him to know.

“If we nail gossip girl for incorrect info, she’ll totally lose followers and plummet to irrelevance.” Luna tells you. “So all you have to do is pretend to be in a relationship with Max until Friday, nothing too obvious, just keep doing what you’re doing.” Which you raise your eyebrows at because you and Max were definitely just friends. 

“Don’t pull her into one of your schemes.” Obie interjected, which had Zoya agreeing immediately. 

“You’re going on a date?” Max asks again, his eyes watching you intently, so you couldn’t act like you didn’t hear him.

“Sorta.” You answer, uncomfortable for some reason .

“Sorta? Don’t be so modest, that guy is totally into you.” Audrey said.

“Why am I the last to know?” He looks slightly offended but only in the way that he allows people to see. The one where he hides his actual feelings. “We don’t keep secrets, peanut.” 

“You know why, Max.” To which he tsks at which has you sitting up to give him a deadpan look.

“Are you still not over that? It was forever ago, only once, and he was a loser.” He defends. 

“He was cute, and you were being way too protective over something I could have handled myself.”

“He was being too touchy. You didn’t know him.” He was more than proud of himself for telling that guy to fuck off. 

“Says you!” You exclaim, incredulously, laughing. He was the touchiest person you knew.

 “Yeah, well everyone here knows that you like it when I touch you angel.” He leans back watching you absorb the innuendo, and the absolute silence that has taken over the room waiting for your comeback, reply, anything. But you could only gawk at him, all words leaving your brain for many unnecessary images. If he wasn’t so attractive right now the smirk on his face would be absolutely repulsive.

“Who is he?” Max asks you. His eyes casting over your easily flushed face.

“Oh you’re going to love this.” Audrey chimes in. “You remember Rachel, that girl you used to like in middle school?” 

“Vaguely. I liked plenty of girls in middle school.” Max huffed.

“I bet you remember the guy that she got with instead.” JC added with a smile. And you knew he did, Max had a hell of an ego on him, even if he wouldn’t admit, though he probably would. This seemed to get his attention.

“You’re going out with that dick?!” Shock filling his features. 

“What’s wrong with him? He’s nice to me and he’s cute.” You state.

“Jack Wright is the furthest thing from nice, and why are you encouraging her to date him?” He directed at Audrey.

“Because I knew you would hate it.” She teased, poking him. “Plus he’s totally cute for her. He brought her flowers.” 

“Are you talking about those dusty roses that are in the kitchen right now?” He says, like someone told him there was an intruder in his home.

“I like him, Max. How about you be my wingman for a change?” You try to reason, nudging him lightly with your elbow. Which makes him huff like a child, throwing his head back on the sofa cushion, knowing he had no valid reasoning for why you shouldn’t date him. 

“Fine but I don’t like this, or him.” He tells you.

“It’s okay Maxibear, you’ll get over it.” You joke, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

******

“Open the door, peanut!” Max said, banging heavily on the door. Stress and worry was clawing at his chest. 

You had just got home from your date, and instead of stopping and checking on Max and his dad, like you usually do, you ran straight to your room. 

“Maybe she just needs a minute, honey.” Gideon tried to reassure his son. “I’m sure everything is fine.” He seemed unsure the moment he said it. He never knew you to act emotionally over much, most of your reactions had been calm and rationalized, even when things were bad. 

“Something’s not right.” Max persists knocking on the door again, before stopping when he hears the sound of you crying.

“Fuck.” He mutters to himself, pulling out his phone.

“Who are you calling?” Gideon asked, getting more worried.

“The girls, so they can… I don’t even know.” Max ran a hand through his hair, wondering if you didn’t even want his company would you want someone else's. 

Audrey and JC arrive in record time with Aki in tow. Max wasn’t even sure if you’d let them in but he needed to do something. 

Audrey knocked on your door softly. “It’s Audrey, do you wanna talk?” It was silent for a moment. 

“I can just come in by myself, everyone else can stay out here.” She gave everyone a sharp pointed look. Audrey and you had become great friends despite her no new friends rule in the beginning. You connected quickly even though you had your differences and she knew that you were probably more embarrassed of whatever happened than anything.

“Just you.” You say quietly, but loud enough so that she heard you. Max couldn’t help but feel a little hurt behind his worry and relief. You were closer with him than anyone, including Audrey. 

“Okay sweetie.” Maternal friend instincts kicking up ten notches for Audrey.

Max felt someone defeated as the door opened and closed so quickly he couldn’t even catch a glimpse of you.

“Okay let’s go downstairs, for now everyone.” Gideon said, ushering the others away from the door.

Max couldn’t stop pacing waiting for anything. The door to open, a text, a call, he might even settle for a voicemail. Everyone was practically silent, worry adorning everyone at the thought that their friend might be in distress.

Thirty minutes later you emerged from the staircase. Max’s pacing had ceased but there was a never ending bounce in his leg. When he saw you it stilled, but the tension remained and he was sure it would stay until the issue was really fixed. You had come down in a shirt that was Max’s and a pair of lounge shorts. Which was not what you wore to your date. Your eyes were puffy and slightly swollen from crying,which was the first time Max had seen you like that.

“Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to worry you.I’m fine.” A fucking lie if he ever heard one. Max thought, seething silently. “I just overreacted to some stupid dating stuff.” You tried to wave off. He tried to pretend he wasn‘t getting upset but he was. You stressed communication with your friends all the time, and when it was finally your turn you wouldn’t do the same. He had never known you to be a hypocrite so he figured whatever happened was so bad that you felt like you had to become one.

“Sweetie, it's okay, you know you can talk to us.” Gideon told you, pulling you into a tight hug. You let out a shaky breath, attempting not to cry again, settling for a low hum. You fought not to make eye contact with Max, knowing you would cry in front of everyone the moment you reached him. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine really.” You lied. Max looked to Audrey to see if she wrangled any sort of information out of you, but she only shook her head. Max got up before he could think about it, pulling you into the next room without a word. You let out a huff when he stopped, looking at you expectantly, but you had yet to make any sort of eye contact.

“What happened?” You ignored his question like you didn’t hear it, trying your hardest to gather your emotions but all that ended when he put his hands on the sides of your face, so you’d have no where to look but him. 

“I’m trying really hard to avoid crying to you every time I have an issue like this.” You try to somewhat joke. He knew you meant it though because your eyes started watering. You were afraid of relying on him emotionally because you knew there would be no going back.

“Um… so you know how gossip girl posted about us like we were dating…” You start your voice kinda shaking. “And then Luna and Monet ‘confirmed’.” You airquoted. “Well Jack didn’t find that funny.” You drifted off like that was all you were gonna say but Max knew there was more. 

“What did he do ?” He moved to grab your waist and pull you closer to him but as soon as he touched you, you winced, making Max drop his hand immediately and a feeling almost like terror run up his spine. He was lifting your (his) shirt up before he really put much thought into it, anger gripping him like a vice. An angry red mark stretched on your skin, the beginning of an ugly bruise. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” You say.

“You weren’t going to tell anyone he did this to you?” He asked you almost angrily. 

“I wasn’t going to tell you.” It took you a moment to realize how that sounded when the hurt flashed across his eyes. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to make this right for me, and I know you. I know that;s the first place your mind went.” Max took a deep breath even though it didn’t help.

“Aren’t you mad?” He asked, eyes boring into yours.

“Of course I am!” You exclaimed, tears following right after. “But I would never get away with it if I went after him.” Your voice raised a few octaves and you were pretty sure everyone could hear you. “His dad owns a fucking law firm, his mom is fucking rich. If I said something it would be turned on me!” Max quickly understood, and he was just as quickly reminded of his privilege. He pulled you in tight. “I’m sorry, peanut.”

******

Max felt you before he saw you. His sleep was interrupted by the weight of you on his chest. “Did you do this?” You ask, while he tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes, and squinting at your bright phone. There was a gossip girl post about Jack being expelled from school for having steroids in his locker, with the intent to sell. One of Max’s favorite revenge plots. A sleepy smirk draws on his face and you immediately know he did. “I never scheme and tell.” You couldn’t help but place a quick, very chaste kiss on his lips. A grandma kiss really. If it weren’t for the fact that you were practically straddling him. “Thank you.” You had managed to shock him and yourself. you quickly hightailed it out of his room. 

You avoided him pretty much for the rest of the morning, catching a ride with Audrey as soon as the opportunity presented itself. By the time it was your lunch hour Audrey caught wind of your behavior. “What’s up with you? Is it about last night?” She asked, concerned. She gave you a very pointed look when you looked at her confused.

“You know what I’m talking about. You and Max are usually all up under each other and today, you haven’t so much as looked at him.” She points out.

“That’s not true.” You defend. Because technically it wasn’t. You had looked at him at some point.

“Is it because of what he did to Jack?” Audrey asked, Max may not have told her it was him but he definitely didn’t need to. 

“I guess you could say that.” Your face started to heat up at your mindless action earlier.

“He just did it because he cares about you-” Audrey started to defend, because she thought you were avoiding him because you were mad.

“I kissed him.” You interrupt her, watching her face go from confused and serious to absolutely delighted in a second.

“I knew it! You like him.” She nudged your arm with a smile. 

“No” You shush her because of how loud she was. “It was a thank you kiss. Nothing more.” Audrey gave you a pointed look, knowing very well you don’t just hand out thank you kisses. 

“Whatever you say.”She tells you in a sing-songy voice.

“Change the subject, please.” You groan, not wanting to experience another full body cringe. 

“Okay fine, I  let you avoid the topic all day because you’d been acting off and I didn’t want to trigger you but, what really happened?” You knew immediately she was referring to the bruise on your abdomen. You sighed knowing this was coming. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, I just think you should.”

“It’s fine,” You tell her knowing she meant well. “We left the movies, everything had been going okay and then…” You pause trying to gather your words. “He started to touch me in a way I didn’t want from him…. When I pushed him away he got mad and pushed me hard and I collided into the railing, stomach first.” You finish.

“It’s really not that dramatic-” You try to stir away once you see the big pitying eyes she’s giving you.

“Stop,” She interrupted. “Don’t take away from something bad that happened to you and make it seem like you reacting was an overreaction. That’s awful.” Her validation made you feel a little better and eased a lot of the tension you felt over last night.

Audrey didn’t tell you that Max was right behind you, listening. She figured you weren’t gonna tell him and that he needed to hear. You needed him to hear it. She knew how much the two of you meant to each other and what you would be when you both were ready. And as much as she wanted to trust fate every once in a while she gave you a push to speed up the process.

Max felt himself getting angry after the seemingly good day he had after you kissing him. He knew you were avoiding him but he was okay with that because he knew it was just embarrassment that would wear off. But now he felt like he didn’t deserve that kiss and that he should have done more to get revenge on Jack. Yes, he was expelled and you’d never have to see him in school again but his parents would just find him another school. Jack deserved damage that would last him a lifetime. Max was off before you saw him, plotting again. 

*****

Max’s head was fuzzy as he sat, bloodied knuckles and the black eye that was forming making his head swirl. The pain was dulling, as was the anger he earlier felt. Max had found Jack’s location (posted on his story because people just do that for some reason) and he went to him, picking a fight. The fight was pretty even, but ultimately Max won and he’d left feeling pretty good about that until he got home. Gideon was not happy to find videos of his son being violent going viral. Now Max sat in his room after a long lecture waiting for the room to stop spinning.

His door clicked open and there you stood finally (not that he was waiting for you). “I didn’t want you to get in a fight over me.” You whisper not wanting to alert Gideon to you being in Max’s room, while he was supposed to reflect on who he wanted to be. Your heart skipped a beat when a lazy and slightly pained smile reached his face. You cross the room to inspect his eye, ice in hand. 

“I’d get into a thousand fights for you, angel.” He reassured,pushing your hair out of your face which only alerted you to his bloody knuckles. 

“Well I don’t want you to. You've got a bruise here.” Max leaned into your gentle touch under his eye even though it hurt.

“We’ll have matching bruises then.” He quips.

“I think that only works if they’re in the same place, not if they are given by the same person.” You tell him, keeping the ice pressed to his eye, but yet never giving him eye contact. You wanted to avoid everything unspoken until the timing was better, but you knew he wouldn’t have that for much longer.

“Well that’s good for him, if he did something to damage the masterpiece that is your face I would have had to kill him.” He tells you have joking, but mostly sincere in a way that only Max could be. And even though it was cheesy you couldn’t help but blush because you knew he meant it. 

“I don’t like seeing you be violent.” You whisper to him. “It’s not the Max I know.” He was quiet as he took this in, not really knowing what to say, so instead he just placed a kiss on your forehead and did the thing he’d been dying to do since last night. He held you. Everything felt alright after that and before you knew it, you were both asleep.

*****

It had been weeks after the Jack incident and everything had been changing. Max was more possessive than ever, not that you minded, and school had been kicking your ass because of finals. When you;d finally finished exams you wanted nothing more than to rest but Max and your friends had other ideas. They wanted to go to the club to blow off some steam and you started to find yourself appealed to the idea of doing so. 

You decided to get ready at Audrey’s, much to Max’s dismay, not wanting anyone to steal your attention away from him, until he decided the more the merrier. You were aware of Audrey, Aki, and Max’s past. You knew they loved each other romantically once, until it just didn’t work out anymore. You knew that they had a pact to all break up if they broke up with Max and that Audrey and Aki broke it, and you knew how that betrayal had hurt Max, but you also have seen the way the friendship has healed. Max admitted that the relationship was hard for him and he seems happy and so do Audrey and Aki. 

“You would be so hot in this, please try it on.” Audrey begged, pulling you out of your thoughts. The sparkly, mini dress she was shoving at you, catching your attention. 

“I haven’t really worn anything like that before.” You tell her, hesitancy laced in your voice. 

“Tonight would be the perfect time to change that!” She tells you, pushing you into the bathroom while you huff.

Audrey watched as Max stared at you until the door was closed. He never seemed to be able to take his eyes off you. “She’s not gonna disappear, ya know.” She tells him,wanting some kind of reaction, only to get a roll of the eyes.

“Well she might if you keep taking so long to make a move.”Aki comments.

“I'm not going to do this with the two of you.” Max specifies. He knew it was coming with the way Audrey couldn’t mind her own business if someone paid her, but he also knew it was an unavoidable conversation, considering everyone he knew had been wondering what was up with them. Including his own dad. 

“Um, ouch” Audrey says, slightly offended but also understanding of where he was coming from. 

“We’re just saying, man.” Aki starts, excited to give out some unsolicited advice. “You’re not exactly subtle and we all see where this is going, so what’s stopping you?” He asked, dripping with sincerity. 

“She’s my friend. No need to ruin more of my friendships for unnecessary relationships.” Max comments, in the hopes of hurting/ guilting them enough to end this conversation. Which seems to work perfectly. For about five seconds. 

“That's a load of shit.” Audrey tells him, not wanting to argue but also knowing Max well enough to know he was trying to guilt them into silence, Max groans. “You care about her, I might even say that you love her and you’re just too much of a coward to do anything that might put you at risk of having to be vulnerable.” Audrey finished. Max ignored her, he knew how he felt about you and he certainly didn’t need it spelled out for him like he was a child. But Max also knew himself, he knew that he’s done a lot and that if he were looking at this from a religious person's viewpoint he would be the sinner and you would be the saint he was trying to corrupt. His sweet angel. That’s not what he wanted to do, so he’d sucked it up and kept his feelings to himself.

You opened the door, unaware of the tension in the room. Max looked stiff and uncomfortable and then he looked at you and his eyes swept over you a few times, the tension left the room and entered his body in seconds. You looked-

Audrey’s squeal interrupted his thoughts. “Omg you look absolutely gorgeous. I could just eat you. What about you, Max? Couldn’t you just eat her?” Audrey targeted, her tone teasing and her innuendo not going over anyone’s head but yours. You were too eager to hear his input to think about what she had said, though you would never admit it. 

Max saw the way you looked at him, like you only trusted his opinion on a matter so simple as if you looked beautiful in your dress. “I’d devour her.” Max told Audrey, watching the tiny glimpse of relief on your face and he was pleased with his answer. As was Audrey. Max stood ready to leave the room before any more Audrey initiated complimenting took place. 

“I have a very specific plan for the evening, the details of which I’ll spare you if we can all leave before I miss step one.” Max rushes, much to Audrey’s dismay.

********

Max watched you down your next shot, a worried feeling settling in his stomach. He’d been chatting up some girl when he’d caught wind of your drinking. He figured you would babysit all your drinks tonight but he was quickly proven wrong. He was starting to get frustrated because he couldn’t focus on anyone else if he was worried about you, which meant another night of not getting laid because you were on his mind. He found himself beside you and pulled the drink out of your hand before he really thought about it. 

“I didn’t know you were planning to get black out drunk tonight, angel.” Max sipped from your glass surprised to find the familiar burn of tequila when you'd been drinking it like it was juice all night. 

“Hey, that was mine!” You pouted, before giving Max a loopy smile when he gave the drink back.

“Come on, let's go sit with our friends.” Max said, helping you out of your chair and away from the creepy bar men.

“Yesss, I missed my friends.” You say excitedly, tripping slightly. Max smiled at how cute you were right now.

“Hi, beautiful.” JC greeted you as you made your way near her and the others. When you finally got to the table you sat beside Max as closely as possible, not that he minded and mindlessly engaged with the others.

Max hadn’t said much being that he was lost in thought and he hadn’t realized he’d been staring at you. Not until you turned completely to him. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, your eyes low but still curious. 

“You’re jus’ so pretty.” He tells you, making you beam. He ignores the looks the two of you are receiving like always.

“You’re pretty too, Maxipad.” Max tries not to pay much attention to the warm feeling in his chest, especially when you reach up to peck his cheek. He knew you were only being outwardly affectionate because you were drunk, because he was usually the one to initiate touch of any kind.

“Thank you, Angel.” He smiles brushing your cheek.

“You know… I like it when you call me angel.” You start. “I hate it when you call me peanut, it was kinda cute at first but it has such little sister vibes, and the last thing that I want to be to you is your little sister.” You ramble. “I mean I get it, I’m probably like this random chick that you’re living with in your mind, so sure I guess, but I would really hate it if you saw me as a little sister, actually I would probably throw up, because my thoughts about you… well they aren’t exactly sisterly, if you know what I mean, and well you’re you so I’m sure you do.” You finish, holding your drink up and downing the rest.

Max was… surprised by your rant. Pleasantly so. It wasn’t very subtle and didn’t leave much room for questions but he was going to ask them anyway.

“What kind of thoughts?” He asks you mischievously, but definitely not expecting the answer you give him. 

“The ones I touch myself to.” You whisper to him, completely unbothered by your newfound boldness, even though it would come back to bite you in the ass tomorrow  morning. Max visibly choked, barely able to contain his coughing. Audrey patted him on the back pretending she didn’t just overhear the very private conversation the two of you just had.

“You okay Max?” Audrey asked, biting back her grin. “Yeah, just great.” Max told her, knowing she knew. You seemed distracted again, like that whole conversation hadn’t happened, but Max definitely knew he would save that for the morning. And despite his coughing fit, he felt he could breathe a little easier, knowing you weren’t some innocent little saint that he would corrupt. You just didn’t share those thoughts with him. He wouldn’t wait to change that.

******

Your head was pounding and the sun was bright, shining through the curtains. You turned the other way trying to get away from the sunlight only to feel something blocking you. Reluctantly, you opened your eyes.There Max was in all his glory, watching you, and smiling when you jumped. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” Max was practically brimming with excitement, to ask a newly sober you about the things you had said and being able to do it with a clear conscience, knowing he had a serious intent on pursuing you, though with what you said it didn’t seem like that would be a hard thing. 

You rub your eyes. “Why am I in your room?” You ask quickly understanding why all that light was coming through the window, instead of your black out curtains. Sometimes Max was a sociopath and this was one of those times. 

“That was your doing. You practically begged me.” Max informs you with a smile on his face. You roll your eyes doubting that to be true.

You sat up to look for your phone, when you noticed the black lacy bra you wore last night being exposed. You look at your chest for a moment then look at him, with your eyebrow raised. 

“Also your doing.” He informs you, the smirk never leaving his lips.

“What happened last night?” Your silent question hanging in the air.

“Not that much to your disappointment.Though, I have to say, you are one handsy drunk, Angel.” Max tells you. “And you have a dirty little mouth on you.” You cringed as memories came slamming down at once.

“Shut up.” You mutter, getting off the bed. You were fully aware that your entire body was on display for him considering you were only wearing a bra and cheeky underwear.

Max let out a low whistle from behind you, sitting up on the headboard to get a better look. When you glanced at him you quickly regretted it because he looked like something right out of your fantasies. His eyes, his lips, his chest, his abs, and that goddamn happy trail. Fuck. 

“Wow, you are not subtle at all.” Max laughs, watching the way you checked him out and how quickly you tried to pretend you weren’t. You huff stealing one of his shirts out the drawer before throwing it over your head.

“So I take it you’re not ready to talk about last night.” Max teased you.

“Stop being a dick.” You say throwing a pillow at him and walking out the room to go to yours, hearing his laughter as you closed the door.

*********

After multiple days of endless teasing from Max. Mix in flirtatious comments, him finding any reason to be shirtless, and touching you endlessly it was safe to say you were on edge. So when Audrey casually suggested that you sit on his lap because there were no more seats in the car to Obie’s cabin, you felt like you might lose it. You tried your best to ignore how warm he was, the hard muscles under his shirt and the way he smelled, so fucking good, but it was hopeless. You pulled out a book( one of the ones he brought you) and distracted yourself.

“You know I can feel that, right?” Max whispered about thirty minutes into your reading. Pretty much everyone, but Obie who was driving, had fallen asleep. 

You give him a confused look. “What?” You whisper back.

“The way you’re throbbing on my fucking thigh.” You felt the hair on the back of your neck raise, as his breath tickled it. Your face, warming in embarrassment, that he could feel that.

“I mean I can feel just how turned on you are right now, princess.” He brushes your hair over your shoulder so that he can get a better look at your face. He watched you exhale at the new nickname, and he could feel how it was affecting you. He knew that he would be using it again soon.

“Oh, you like that.” He stated, his hand skimming up the side of your exposed thigh and nearing the edge of your skirt.

“You know, when you tell me what your books are about, you always manage to leave out the dirty little tidbits. A good girl would have told me it all.” And fuck if that didn’t have you wanting to apologize. 

“Sorry.” What the Fuck? You question yourself unsure of where that came from, and if Max wasn’t hard before he definitely was now. He let out a low hum, removing the book from your hands completely. 

“It’s okay princess, I’ll just read it myself.” You were too shocked for any words or thoughts to form in your brain. He moved his other hand that was on the outside of your thigh to the inside, stroking softy. You felt your brain turn to mush at his actions. 

For the rest of the ride the two of you were quiet, just like that, him reading probably one of the dirtiest books you own, and his hand practically up your skirt. You were basically turning into a puddle by the time Obie parked.

“Okay so everyone knows where their room is, and you’ll have to double up with someone pipsqueak.” Obie said, referring to you. Just as JC was about to volunteer her room Max beat her to the punch. 

“She’ll be with me.” He said his eyes never leave the page he was on.

“Oh- kayyy” Obie said awkwardly, moving to scratch his neck.

You didn’t miss the look of triumph on Audreys face, and the knowing looks being exchanged through the group, but you decided to ignore them.

You stared in awe once you got into the amazing cabin, but it didn’t last long once you felt Max’s hand on the small of your back pushing you up the stairs, to what you assumed was the direction of his bedroom.

“Let’s meet back here in an hour,” Audrey told everyone, as she went to her own room.

As soon as you and Max reach his room he quickly shut the door and caged you into it. Your faces were inches away, but all of his body was pressing into you. “I’m thinking I should spank you.” Max told you his lips hovering over yours. You tried to ignore that tingling sensation that went down your spine at the thought.

“‘Why?” You ask, knowing you haven’t done anything to deserve it, yet. 

“For no reason, other than having a feeling you would love it.” He tells you pointing his head at the book you had been reading, and what was for sure that kind of scene, when he took it. 

“Right.” You breathe out, trying to get your hormones under control slightly.

“What do you think, princess?” He asks, tracing your neckline with his index finger.

“I think…I’d like you to kiss me before anything else.” Your wish was granted in an instant. Finally a real kiss. He’d grabbed both sides of your face, pulling you to him like a starving man. His hands were everywhere after a few seconds, in your hair on your neck but soon they were on your ass then under it, then lifting you up. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this, and you realized he probably had. 

Max pushed your body into the door while still holding you up. You lost any grip on reality that you previously had when he started grinding into you. He swallowed up all your whimpers and moans.

When he finally broke away from your mouth, and began kissing down your necks, all your sounds broke free from you. Some of them were loud, and you wished you cared enough to be embarrassed. Max clamped a hand over your mouth, to silence you. 

“You gotta be quiet, baby.” A particularly rough thrust against your panties, making you inhale sharply trying to stay quiet for him. His voice was deeper and gravelly, and overall stern, putting you in a headspace where you wanted to listen to every word he said, but that was okay because you trusted him.

Max moved you to the bed, never letting go of you, until you were under him.

“Now tell me,” Max started, pulling himself up enough to take off your shoes. “When you touch yourself, and you’re imagining me,” a grin spread on his face. “How am I usually servicing you?” Max asked. Flinging his jacket somewhere in the room.

“Max.” You said a sudden feeling of shyness taking over. Embarrassment wracking through your bones. Then your brain is too empty to answer when he takes his shirt off next. 

“Eye’s up here, angel.” Your eyes snap to face much to his amusement. “There’s no need to be shy.” He tells you, crawling between your legs and kissing your inner thigh. “Just tell me.”

“I don’t know, it's always different.” You tell him, which wasn’t completely a lie.

“That often, huh?” He smirked, to which you mindlessly nodded as he kissed his way up your thigh. “Well how about this, until you’re ready to tell me how you want it, you can touch yourself for me. Maybe that'll help you remember.” He teased, placing a quick unhelpful kiss on top of your panties. 

“Max” you draw out. You could see how much he was enjoying this, knowing how embarrassed you were. More frustration bloomed in you when he leaned back and you got a good look at that godforsaken happy trail.  

“What, princess?” He asked, tilting his head like he didn’t really know, enjoying seeing you squirm way too much for your liking.

“I want you to touch me.” You’re practically whining, and you hate yourself for it. “Please.”

“Oh we’re getting somewhere now. So you do know how to voice your wants and needs outside of being drunk, you just have to be desperate for it don’t you sweet girl?” He asked leaning back over you, his hand swooping into your underwear, but not yet taking them off. The way he was talking to you had your head absolutely spinning, you heard the condescending tone but you would be lying if you acted like you didn’t fucking love it. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”His finger pressed on your clit and you realized how edged you were because that was almost enough for you to cum right then and there.

“Max!” you cry out as he rubs your clit repeatedly. “I know, angel. You’re doing so good.” He praised. “I didn’t even have to do much. Your poor little cunts’ been waiting for me.”

Just as you’re about to come he thrust his middle finger into you, and your orgasm hit you simultaneously. Your back arching off the bed, as your core convulses.  

You damn near died, when you open your eyes to see Max sticking his fingers in his mouth, licking your juices off of them. He moaned at the taste leaving you speechless, not that there was much going on in your brain after that orgasm.

“Fuck, you taste so good, need it from the source.” He said the last part more to himself than to you.

He was pulling your underwear off like you were about to be his first meal in months. He took a second to admire, like he was taking a mental image of your pussy, before he quite literally dived in.

“Oh fuck…” You curse, already feeling slightly overstimulated. Max flattened his tongue and licked a stripe up your pussy, before taking your clit into his mouth and sucking on it harshly. 

Max hummed against you, sending a vibration through your entire body. You gasped when Max put two fingers inside of you, pumping them quickly. Your second orgasm was approaching quickly and your hands tangled in his hair pulling slightly, which ripped a groan from his throat, which officially had you shattering so hard you couldn’t see or hear for a moment.

“Such a good girl.” Max tells you, which has you feeling warm and fuzzy in the head, probably because he really meant it. Placing a kiss on your lips that tastes of you. His hand was placed on your stomach, and he got ready to pull your shirt off. He was interrupted by a knock on the door, which had the both of you groaning.

“You guys, we're about to play games, and we need you down here.” Julien called, much to your dismay. 

“We’ll be down in a second.” You call back, ignoring the way Max rolled his eyes and dropped his head on your stomach, which you kiss the top of.

Taglists

Henry Cavill and characters taglist: @xxxkatxo @mansaaay @thorins-queen-of-erebor @maan24 @grounded-in-light @omgkatinka @xprettyqueenx @marytudorbrandon @kebabgirl67 @narnianaos

The one with the one night stand taglist: @coldmuffinpartycloud @stephartrave @regalbadass @lharrietg @helenaellie @vivien-1211 @sassy-pelican @marantha @cavillsim @blueberrychanel @maan24 @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @persony-pepper @nefri-black @summersong69 @amortentiaaa @margauxmargaux07 @xprettyqueenx @anitababi @wayward-gypsy @freyathehuntress @a--1--1--3 @marytudorbrandon @zealoushound @kebabgirl67 @supermamabear123 @colicovision @eldarwen333 @ms-betsy-fangirl @bilsaisgold @fanfictionaddiction99 @starlightofsolaria @healanette @loudkidhorseflap @ladyyaya22 @pinkhippo44 @leothecat97 @0secrecy0 @doveygirlkay-blog @ohbarracuda @angelmather1 @harrystylesandthegoobs @seasonswinter​ @katamcauley 

One Chicago taglist:   @freyathehuntress @iamasimpingh0e

Then I met you taglist: @bestillmystuckyheart @slytherinambitious @graniairish @nocturnalherb16 @puddinsqueen @freyathehuntress  @notsooperfect @iamasimpingh0e @anxious-diabetic

Charles Leclerc taglist:

CL-Social media au: @buendiabebeta 

Winter taglist: @stockholmdolly @lethallyprotected @mjaudrey @jessyballet @nalny5 

911 taglist:

All around taglist: @jwspiter

if your name is crossed it’s because I wasn’t able to tagged you. 

If you want to be added or removed from a taglist let me know. If I have put you in the wrong taglist or I forgot about you please let me know and I’ll add/switch you.

If you are still waiting for my unfinihed stories, thank you for your patience, I promise I’ll update them sooner or later 

Ahhh I’ve just found all your stories and I absolutely love them! could I be added to your Henry Cavill tag list please?? I can’t wait to read everything you’ve wrote

Thank you so much. I hope you’ll enjoy them, I’ll be sure to add you to it

Just wanna say that, I don’t when but I may write a second part of this, I have an idea already

Feeding the U.S Army

summery: You’re a Masterchef contestant, and during the team challenge you and your team have to cook for 100 army men. Easy right?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x reader

Warning: very bad english, no proof-read. ENGLISH IS NOY MY FIRST LANGUAGE SO IF THERE ARE ANY MISTAKES I’M SORRY.

I don’t even know what this is but I hope you like it

Continua a leggere