#max fried imagine

[volpeenthusiast]

dorothea ⚾︎ m. fried

you know you'll always know max. sorry this may be self indulgent bc i'm a tennis player but we move

The charity gala is stuffy.

You're wearing a dress designed by a stylist you'd never met, and the sleeves are rubbing rashes into your arm. It's too hot for what you're wearing, and there's apparently no water at the bar.

You scan the room for your manager, anxiety swirling in your stomach when you don't see her. She'd disappeared a solid five seconds into the event, leaving you to mingle with the other athletes around you.

The only memorable interaction you had was with Katie Ledecky. You'd nearly screamed when she introduced herself to you and promised that she'd be watching you at Roland Garros.

You murmur apologies as you walk through the crowd, ignoring the weird feeling that settles on your shoulders as they part for you. You have to realize that you're not some kid winning your local city park invite anymore.

You exit the ballroom in search of a place to sit and contemplate. You know you don't fit in with those people, though you should. More than anything, you just want a friend by your side.

You peek your head into an abandoned conference room, exhaling the weight of the evening as you step out of your heels. You shut the door behind you, sinking into the nearest chair.

You let your eyes fall shut, contemplating your evening. Maybe you could DoorDash something to your apartment that your dietician wouldn't be too mad at. McDonald's, you decide.

The door swings open, and you shoot up out of the chair. The last thing you need is some random intern finding you hiding with no shoes in a conference room.

You freeze when you see who walks in. He seems just as surprised to see you.

"Max?" you breathe out, unsure of how to process him standing in front of you.

Not that you'd admit it to anyone, but you quietly kept up with his career after his move to Atlanta and yours to New York. He was a great pitcher (one of the best, actually,) and you were happy to see him thriving on the Yankees.

"Hey," he says, face breaking into a smile. You can't help but return it, smoothing your hands down your dress anxiously.

He's breathtaking, but he always has been. He's dressed in a really nice suit, and his hair is styled perfectly, like he's a Ken doll. You silently mourn when it was long, remembering how perpetually soft it was when he'd let you run your fingers through it.

"What're you doing here?" you ask, then blink at how weird your question sounds. "Not here, like here. I mean... away from the- why are you at the gala?"

Max smiles at you stumbling over your words, sliding his suit jacket off and tossing it on the floor next to your heels. "My manager knows a guy. Thought it'd be good for me to come."

You nod, looking down to your feet. You haven't been around Max in years. It shouldn't be uncomfortable- he's seen so much of you, but it's like reopening an old wound that's scabbing.

"You looked like you were gonna pass out when you met Katie Ledecky."

You laugh at his teasing, and then everything is back to normal. You two end up sitting on the floor, shoes off, splitting a crushed Snickers bar that you found at the bottom of your purse.

"I watched you play against that one person," Max says, and you raise a brow as he licks caramel from his fingers. "Forgot her name."

"Sabalenka?" you guess, and he nods. He pauses for a moment, like he's trying to find the right words to say. The way he's looking at you makes your stomach hurt.

"She was good, but you were just..."

In the silence that follows, Max can't find a single word good enough to describe you.

You're everything. You make him smile, you give him life, you make him proud, you make him want.

Is he allowed to feel that way anymore? The breakup was mutual, you both agreed, but it wasn't because you fell out of love. Distance was making it harder to be a good boyfriend to you, and he knew it.

Never once in those years that he was in Atlanta did he stop loving you.

"Just?" you question, voice teasing though there's a hint of fondness in your tone. "Just what? Annoying? Loud? Double-faulting way too many times for a pro?"

Max shakes his head, and your smile wavers slightly when you see how serious he looks. "No. You're just captivating."

You're not sure how to respond. It's a compliment, but Max looks like he's struggling to admit it.

"Watching you play is like being hypnotized. I just feel enamored watching you hit. It's like it's effortless, and you're immediately bouncing back for the return. You're incredible."

You fight the giddy smile that threatens to overtake your lips, gently crossing your legs as you think of what to say. You could admit that you watch him pitch on nights when you're particularly lonely.

When you're at a tennis open miles away from home, locked up in some hotel without any friends or family, he's what grounds you. You watch him pitch, and it's like something inside you clicks. No matter who you might know, Max is the only person you've ever cared to know.

"I know it's over," you say, not needing to specify what 'it' is, "but I'll always love you, Max. I want you to know that."

You stop, blinking back tears you didn't know were coming. "I just really care about you. Before either of us were somebody, we were each other's somebody. I don't know if that makes sense."

He nods, frustratingly good and knowing just what you mean. "I know. I feel it."

A comfortable silence drapes over the conversation, and while you desperately want to find something else to say, this is okay too. You try to calm your heartbeat down when you hear footsteps storming down the hallway.

You and Max both jump when the door slams open, revealing both your manager and his standing side by side.

"I knew it," your manager nearly shouts, and you cringe at her volume.

She slaps twenty dollars in Max's manager's hand, and you raise an eyebrow.

"Put two star-crossed lovers in a ballroom, and they're bound to sneak away together," she snaps. Your cheeks warm with embarrassment, but before you can scold her she's hauling you to your feet.

"Hurry up. Put your heels on, the organizers want photos of you and Shelton."

Her and Max's manager are apparently in a tizzy, but they leave you alone to gather yourselves. Max helps you fumble into your heels with a hand on your back that nearly makes you see stars.

You ignore the weight of the moment, turning to face him fully. You give him a sad, longing sort of smile. "I don't want this to be over."

He nods, looking anxious. You feel it too. It's like you two will never get another moment like this if you don't do something with it now.

"You'll always know me," he says, voice gentle, "if you're looking for a friend in the crowd."

You smile, forcing away the misery that's eating at your heart. You rise on your tiptoes, accidentally sliding out of your heels as you press a kiss to his cheek.

"I'll look for you in every single one," you promise.

Months later, when you're playing Coco in the semifinals at Roland Garros, you just know that Max is waiting for you in the crowd.

-

robin's notes: do we fw tennis player reader...... bc i am indeed a tennis player and like writing about it but i know it can be boring.... gimme ur thoughts taglist: @benarroz @maudesgf @chuppachuus @dearveras

[cowboylikefried]

OBESSION | M. FRIED

summary: no context max just loves your tits

warning(s): nipple play??? is that a thing?? titty sucking, fluff, max is a dork and i love him, not specified how big your boobs are—he loves every type of titty

"think you have an obsession with my tits."

your voice is soft—groggy if anyone payed attention, the warmth of both the blankets surrounding you and max's body slurring your words with oncoming sleep.

max—6'4 and lanky with a bit of muscle—doesn't seem to get the concept of personal space, his body sprawled out over you, long arms curled firmly around your waist, face resting in between the plush of your chest.

your shirt is bunched up, fabric resting just above your collarbones, chest exposed, max's mouth trailing along the edge of one of your nipples.

"that's not an obsession," he huffs, lips pulling into his usual soft grin. giving your nipple a soft suck, tongue running over the pebbled flesh. he moved his mouth down momentarily, soft kisses pressed against the skin of your sternum before moving towards the underside of your left breast. "it's a fixation. big difference."

you roll your eyes. what a romantic.

max's pauses for dramatic effect, shifting up on the bed so he was hovering over you, an arm on either side of your head.

"i just appreciate them," he muttered, tone low as his gaze flickered over the shape of of your exposed chest, cupping one in his hands and squeezing gently. "they're pretty."

his eyes—emerald green and oh so soft—hold your gaze, flicking over every mark and blemish, smiling a little at the sight of the pillows making a small indent into your right cheek. "like you."

you give a small huff, eyes rolling back again despite the smile creeping onto your lips. "such a sap." you mumble.

max hummed in agreement, lightly pinching your nipple in response. "your sap."

he leaned down, lips just barely brushing over the skin of your neck, placing a few kisses there before nipping gently. his hand cupped the other side of your breast, kneading absentmindedly, before pressing a gentler kiss to your shoulder.

"you're never gonna get off of me, are you?"

"nope."

____

hi i need him BAD oml

surprised im not ovulating rn

[lukeevangelista]

New Teammates Sister - Max Fried x Olson!Sister

Hehe, the gif just so happens to have Olson AND Fried in it.

Max isn’t a Brave anymore, but in my timeline (for now), he still is. Mainly bc these were written like.. going on almost 2 years ago

———————————————————————————-

“That’s Olson’s sister?” Ozzie asked as his mouth dropped, “How did I not put this together?”

“It is.” Max sighed.

He watched you as you bounced towards him and his teammate, a bright smile that closely resembled Matt’s on your face as you stood in front of your boyfriend of a little over a year. You had been doing a paid internship that would turn into a full time job after six months with the Braves after graduating from University of Tennessee. You were now almost a year and a half into that full time job with them. The Braves organization knew you had been dating Max for some time after your internship had ended, but still chose you to come on board with them.

You and Max had been close since the beginning of your career with the Braves. He was the first friend you had made during your internship, it leading to more than just friends.

Word had broken out in the community that Matt Olson with the Oakland Athletic’s was being traded to Atlanta.

A hometown boy was coming home.

And that just so happened to be the team your boyfriend played for.

The boyfriend your brother still didn’t know really existed.

His now teammate.

Matt knew you were dating someone, but he never pushed to figure it out as he knew you’d tell him when you felt ready.

And with this news, you sort of didn’t have a choice.

“Did you hear?” You grinned as you pressed a soft kiss to Max’s cheek, a few more teammates gathering around.

“Hear what?” Austin Riley asked as he walked closer to where you two, Ozzie, Austin’s wife Anna, Dansby, and his fiancé were currently standing. It was spring training family day so all the wives and girlfriends and their kids were at the park for the day.

“My brother is coming home!” You grinned, “He’ll be in in just a few hours from what mom said.”

Max and Dansby played like they didn’t know, Dansby knowing your brother from many years ago. Dansby knew you and your brother, but chose not to say anything as it wasn’t his place to interfere.

Max always knew who your brother was, but he has never had an actual encounter with him as your boyfriend- just as the pitcher from the opposing team.

“That’s exciting!” Austin grinned, “What does he do?”

You gave Austin a weird look, “You really don’t know, do you?” You asked.

Austin shook his head as his eyes bounced between the, now, Max’s pale face and your excited one.

“My older brother is Matt. Matt Olson, first base for Oakland- well now Atlanta.”

Austin’s eyes widened at your confession before he barked out a laugh. His eyes stayed on Max, “Good luck. You’re going to need it.” He patted his pitched on the shoulder before walking away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You looked towards Max, who just offered a shrug.

“C’mon, let’s go get our photo taken.” Max guided you away as he tried to change the subject.

**

“Matt.” You grinned as you wrapped your arms around the neck of your older brother, “I missed you so much.” You admitted as you felt his body rumble.

“Missed you too, kiddo.” You felt him press a kiss to the side of your head, “Really missed you.”

You and Matt were extremely close, despite the small age gap between you two.

Not saying you were an accident, but you were an accident.

Matt being gone to the west coast took a toll on you, but never hurt your relationship. You two were closer than ever.

Matt had just finished his presser for his new contract. You were lucky enough to get to see it in person as he had arrived nearly a hour ago to Florida.

You both pulled away from the hug as Snit walked over to greet his newest player before asking you to show him around the ST clubhouse.

With there being female staff around, the guys didn’t walk around half dressed anymore so you didn’t have to worry about that as you brought Matt into the locker room.

You introduced him to his new teammates, them accepting him with open arms.

He was finally introduced properly to Max, them quickly bro hugging before Max continued getting ready.

You handed Matt his jersey, him setting on the rack in his stall.

He turned around to face you, a smile on his face, “Think I’m gonna like it here.” He grinned as he pulled you back in for a hug.

***

It was almost a week later since Matt had been traded and almost all of the organization had went out for dinner, except you and Max, plus a few others. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you and Max not to go, so when Matt started asking questions, Ozzie was the first to jump in and talk about how it was normal for you two to hang it up early.

“I should probably get going.” You whispered next to Max in his hotel room, “before everyone gets back.”

“Don’t go.” He said between kisses, “Please. Stay tonight.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea Max,” you admitted once he pulled away, “Not with Matt not knowing just yet.”

“But you’re here.” He said, “So just spend the night with me? I don’t want you to leave just yet.”

You let out a conflicted sigh before grabbing one of Max’s shirts from his suitcase.

“Fine, but if he finds out, it’s your head he’s coming after.”

Max grinned as he accepted that.

It wasn’t long after the sun had risen that there was a knock on the door.

It wasn’t loud and honestly if you hadn’t been dozing in and out of sleep, you wouldn’t have heard it.

“Max?” You heard your older brothers voice from outside the door.

“Fuck.” Your eyes widened, “Max. Wake up.” You shook your sleeping boyfriend causing him to raise his head in a panic, “Matt is outside.”

Max let his head drop onto the pillow before letting out a groan.

“Max, I can hear you in there.” Matt sighed, “I cant find Y/N. No one has seen her since last night.” He continued, “You’re the last one that was seen with her..”

The desperation in his voice pulled at your heart; he was just worried about you.

“Hold on a minute.” Max said loud enough for him to hear as you tugged on a pair of Max’s sweatpants.

Max walked over to the door, seeing a frazzled Matt standing there, “Come in.”

You were sitting on the bed in Max’s t-shirt that very clearly read “Property of Atlanta” with a 54 on the right shoulder.

Matt started putting the pieces together. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out, especially after what Ozzie had told Matt the night before and now the scene before him.

“Don’t be mad.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want you to be mad.” You said, “It’s too early for this, Matt.” You ran your hand over your face.

Matt let out a frustrated sigh, “I’m not mad at you for dating Max- I’m mad because you didn’t tell me,” he admitted, “I thought we were closer than that.”

You pulled your lips between your teeth as you heard the hurt in his voice, “I’m sorry.”

Matt just nodded before he patted your shoulder, “Well talk later.. alone.” He said, hurt still lacing his voice, before retreating out of the room, announcing to the few that had been trying to help ‘find’ you that he had, indeed, found you.

“Well there’s that.” Max softly spoke as you flopped back on the bed, a groan leaving your lips, “It could be worse,” he added, “He could be mad you’re dating me and hate my guts.”

“You’re not helping, Max.”

“Let’s go back to bed and you can talk to him later.” He said as he crawled back into bed, you scooting up the bed before curling into his chest, “He won’t be mad at you long, baby.” He added.

***

Boy, was Max wrong.

It had been almost three weeks since Matt was traded and two weeks since Matt had last spoken to you, only speaking when he absolutely had to. Matt was still speaking to Max, joking around, and just overall having a good time with him; which only made this situation hurt worse for you.

You had texted Matt a few times outside of work, only to not get a response.

“Anything new?” Max asked as he walked next to you.

You shook your head, fearing your voice would crack and cause you to lose it. You hadn’t said anything about Matt to Max so you knew sooner or later he was going to bring it up.

Max didn’t know what to say so you two just walked to the coffee bar in silence.

It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t awkward either. It was just silent.

“I’m sorry.” He admitted once you two sat at the table, “Had I known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have let him in.”

“But you didn’t and neither did I so it’s okay.” You admitted as you slumped back in your seat in the facility dining hall, “It’s just him being protective. It’ll blow over sooner or later.” You stated as a comfortable silence fell over the two of you.

A few other players and staff had filed in, them saying their usual good mornings to you both, them finding you in the corner of the room with two coffees wasn’t an unusual sight for them. This was practically routine for you and Max since the beginning of of your first Spring Training, almost two years ago.

Matt and Austin entered the room, yours and Max’s conversation almost stopping immediately as you and Matt made eye contact before nodded his head towards the door.

You pointed at yourself, Matt giving you a nod causing you to scramble to get up.

If he was willing to talk to you, you were going to jump on that chance before he went cold again.

Tears were already starting to prick at your eyes as Matt held a conference room door open for you two to talk in.

You turned around to face him as he shut the door, tears already starting to stream down your cheeks.

“No- don’t cry.” He whispered as his heart started to break, seeing his little sister crying, “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t find the right words to say.”

“So you just shut me out?” You cried into his chest, “That hurt worse than you being mad. I would have much rather you been mad at me and speaking than being cold towards me.”

“I know- please stop crying.” He swayed you both back and forth as he spoke, “I just didn’t know how to take that my new teammate was dating my only little sister.” He admitted as he rested his head on yours, “and I’m not mad about you and Max because if you’re happy, I’m happy. I was hurt about you keeping it from me. That’s what bothered me.” He continued, “I figured you’d tell me eventually, but I hate I had to find out the way I did.”

“Trust me, I do too.” You whispered into his chest as you felt his arms squeeze you tighter, “I never want to feel like this again. I don’t want you to not be speaking to me, Matt.”

Knowing how much his cold shoulder had affected you really was pulling at his heart and was causing guilt to run through him.

“I know you didn’t mean any harm in keeping it from me.” He added, “I’m sorry for how I acted.”

“I’m sorry for keeping it from you.”

You two rocked back and forth as you continued to calm down, wrapped in your big brothers arms.

“Are we okay?” You sheepishly asked, your voice cracking, your head still buried in his chest.

“We were never not okay, Y/N.” He said as he pressed a gentle kiss to your head, “I was just being a jerk. I was scared of you getting hurt by him. I was upset you kept it from me, which I understand why.” He chuckled, “i would have kept it from me too.”

“He’s not going to do that.” You whispered, “Max would never.”

“I know.” He agreed, “He looks at you how dad looks at mom.”

“And how’s that?”

“Like she hung the moon and the stars.”

Tears flooded again as you tightened your grip on him.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to make you cry again.” He chuckled as he reciprocated your tight hug.

“They’re happy tears, Matt.” You sniffled, “All I wanted was for something like what they have or something like you and Nicole and I think I finally found it.”

“I think you did too, kiddo.”

[judgepilled]

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ be as you wish to seem.

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[mattsunsdollie]

fixating on how max fried would love a pillow princess. he was more of a giver than a receiver anyway. just lay your pretty head and let him do all the work.

there’s nothing that he loves more than seeing your sprawled out on his bed, begging him to continue to please you.

whether that be through his mouth or his dick, all he wants to do is please you. he wants to hear the moans come out of your mouth. or when you’re so close your ears are ringing and he sees your legs shaking.

it doesn’t just boost his ego but it motivates him to continue. he doesn’t care if his jaw is aching from lapping your cunt up for hours- you’ll never hear him complain.

he never understood the locker room talk about how his teammates were irritated with doing all of the work. he’d put in the work til the day his back gave out.

all you need to worry about is spreading those pretty legs for him.

you don’t even need to ask for sex, he’s always ready for you. like when he gets home from a game, and you spent the last 3 hours watching him. the way his muscles flexed, his body- everything.

you would grow needy, but since you were so used to max pleasing you- it didn’t feel the same. the second he would close the front door you’d pounce on him.

you’d tell him how eager you were for him. how you need him right then and there. that could end in two ways, with him going down on you in the kitchen or him carrying you to the bed.

he’d know exactly what to do, how to touch you and when. he wouldn’t brag that he’s experienced, but he knew how to turn you into putty in his hands.

like when his long fingers are deep inside you, hitting a spot you could never alone. he would curl his fingers, causing you the gush and clench around him.

or his absolute favorite, when you let him manhandle you into any position he wants. one minute you’re in missionary, watching how his eyes close shut momentarily from how wet and tight you are.

then the next thing you know you’re staring the the pillows, back arched as he thrust into you from behind.

he doesn’t care how he’s pleasuring you. as long as you don’t lift a finger and moan his name he’s in heaven. he loves showing you that a real man puts in the work.

he knows that he’s spoiled you rotten, completely ruined you for any man. although, you won’t need another since max is intending to stay- forever.

[pucksandpower]

Order Up

chef!Max Verstappen x vegan!Reader

Summary: in which an unstoppable force (the stubborn Michelin-starred chef of a glitzy steakhouse) meets an immovable object (the vegan just looking for something she can actually eat) … and the rest, as they say, is history

The steakhouse is packed, the ambient light just dim enough to cast a flattering glow over everyone at the long wooden table. Glasses clink together in a chorus of celebration, laughter, and conversation filling the air as your friends lean in close to chat. The table is filled with shared appetizers — charred octopus, beef tallow truffle fries, the occasional bacon-wrapped date — but you’re preoccupied with the thick menu in your hand.

“What’s good here?” You ask, keeping your voice casual. But inside, you’re already scanning for the little green leaf symbols that typically offer you some respite. There’s not a single one. It’s all meat, meat, meat.

“Everything,” someone pipes up. “But definitely the steak.”

You give them a polite smile, already sensing the dilemma growing in your chest. You could’ve sworn someone mentioned the place had plant-based options. But this is a Michelin-starred steakhouse — it seems like steak is the only thing anyone’s interested in tonight.

“Anything catching your eye?” You friend across the table asks, eyes bright with excitement.

“Not exactly.” You chew on your lip, setting the menu down. “I’m, uh, vegan.”

A silence falls over your corner of the table, the chatter continuing elsewhere as your friends stare at you. You feel your cheeks heat up, the familiar twinge of anxiety flaring up as you mentally prepare for the usual questions.

“Vegan? Seriously?” One of them finally says, brow furrowing. “You’re in the wrong place for that.”

“Yeah, it’s just ... it’s my thing, you know?” You laugh lightly, hoping to defuse the situation. “I’m sure they can whip something up in the kitchen, right?”

“I don’t know, this place is pretty strict,” another friend comments, glancing towards the kitchen doors as if expecting a sous-chef to pop out and reprimand you. “But you could ask.”

You take a breath, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll ask.”

The waiter approaches, a polished smile on his face as he sets down more drinks and asks if you’ve made any decisions. You tilt your head, giving him a hopeful look.

“I was wondering if the kitchen could prepare something vegan?” You say, your voice steady but polite. “I didn’t see anything on the menu, and-”

“I’ll ask the chef,” he cuts in smoothly, though there’s a slight twitch in his jaw as he scribbles something in his notepad. “One moment.”

As he disappears towards the back, your friends exchange wary glances. You try to brush it off with another easy smile, though your nerves are prickling beneath the surface.

“This could be interesting,” someone says, raising their eyebrows. “Michelin-starred chefs aren’t exactly known for accommodating special requests.”

“Yeah, well, I’m hoping this one’s different,” you say, half-joking, though you can’t shake the knot in your stomach.

The seconds tick by, each one dragging out longer than the last. You sip at your water, making small talk, but your mind is already in the kitchen, imagining what kind of chef you’re dealing with. When the kitchen doors finally swing open, you feel a flutter of anxiety — and maybe a little curiosity.

He’s not what you expect.

Max Verstappen storms out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel with an intensity that makes the air crackle around him. His blue eyes are sharp, his jaw tight, and there’s a heat in his expression that has nothing to do with the stoves behind him. He’s annoyed. No, more than annoyed — he’s furious.

And when he locks eyes with you, you feel like the world narrows down to just the two of you.

“Who asked for vegan?” His voice is clipped, Dutch accent thick, and it’s obvious he’s not here to make friends. Your friends glance between the two of you, sensing the impending storm, but you lift your chin, refusing to be intimidated.

“I did,” you say, matching his intensity with your own steady gaze. “Is that a problem?”

Max narrows his eyes, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “This is a steakhouse,” he says slowly, as if explaining something very simple to a child. “A Michelin-starred steakhouse. I don’t make rabbit food.”

“Then maybe tonight you could make an exception,” you reply, keeping your tone even but firm. “I’m sure a chef of your caliber could whip something up.”

A scoff escapes him, and for a moment, you think he’s about to walk away. But instead, he steps closer, the heat of his presence almost tangible. “You think I’m going to ruin my kitchen with tofu or whatever it is you people eat?”

You blink at him, thrown off balance for a second by the sheer force of his disdain. But you gather yourself quickly, leaning forward slightly. “So you’re saying you can’t do it? That it’s too much for you?”

The challenge hangs in the air between you, thick with tension. Max’s jaw clenches, his eyes sparking with something dangerous. But then, to your surprise, he laughs — a short, harsh sound that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m not making you anything,” he says, finality in his voice. “You should’ve picked a different restaurant.”

“Maybe I would have, if I’d known the chef had such limited skills,” you retort, not backing down.

His eyes darken, and for a moment, you think you’ve gone too far. But then, something shifts. The anger in his expression falters, replaced by something else — something almost amused.

“You’re really pushing it,” he mutters, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You feel a strange thrill at that, your pulse quickening. “I’m just asking you to do your job. Isn’t a good chef supposed to cater to all his customers?”

“A good chef is supposed to maintain the integrity of his menu,” he shoots back. “Not cater to every whim that walks through the door.”

“Maybe a great chef can do both,” you say quietly, watching him closely.

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his gaze intense and unreadable. You’re not sure what you expect him to do next — yell, walk away, maybe call security to kick you out — but what happens is the last thing you expect.

He leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“Not particularly,” you reply, heart pounding. “I just know what I want.”

Max holds your gaze for a moment longer, then straightens up, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “You’re not going to win this,” he says, but there’s a hint of something in his voice — a challenge, maybe.

“We’ll see about that,” you reply, giving him a small, almost defiant smile.

He doesn’t smile back, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. Without another word, he turns on his heel and heads back to the kitchen, the doors swinging shut behind him with a decisive thud.

The table is silent for a moment, everyone exchanging wide-eyed looks as if they can’t believe what just happened. Your heart is still racing, your mind replaying the exchange over and over, analyzing every word, every glance.

“Did you just ...” one of your friends starts, trailing off in disbelief.

“I think I did,” you reply, a bit dazed yourself. But beneath the shock, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction. You’re not sure what it is — maybe the fact that you stood your ground, or maybe it’s something else, something about the way Max looked at you in those final moments.

Whatever it is, it leaves you feeling more alive than you have in a long time.

“Okay, that was intense,” someone else says, still staring at the kitchen doors. “Are you sure you want to keep pushing him?”

You take a breath, letting the adrenaline course through you. “Yeah. I think I do.”

“Good luck with that,” another friend mutters, though there’s a hint of admiration in their voice.

You don’t need luck, though. Not with this. There’s something about Max — something infuriating and fascinating all at once — that makes you want to see how far you can push him, how much he can take before he cracks. You’re not even sure what you’re aiming for — his respect, his irritation, or something else entirely — but you know you’re not backing down.

The minutes pass, and the chatter around the table picks up again, though you can tell everyone’s still on edge, waiting to see if Max will come back. You sip your water, trying to calm the lingering buzz of energy in your veins. Part of you wonders if you’ve made a mistake, if you’ve pushed too far, but another part — a bigger part — knows that this is exactly where you need to be.

When the kitchen doors finally swing open again, the table falls silent once more. Max strides out, his expression unreadable, and heads straight for you. He doesn’t have a plate in his hands, and for a moment, your heart sinks, thinking he’s come out just to reiterate his refusal.

But instead, he stops in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” you say, meeting his gaze steadily. “I’m not.”

He studies you for a long moment, his blue eyes piercing. Then, to your surprise, he sighs — a heavy, resigned sound.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly.

“So I’ve been told,” you reply, lifting an eyebrow.

He lets out a low, frustrated growl, but you can see the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. The tension between you is still palpable, but it’s shifted — softened in a way that neither of you acknowledges.

“All right,” he finally says, his tone somewhere between exasperation and something almost like admiration. “I’ll make you something.”

Your friends exchange surprised glances, but you keep your gaze locked on Max, not letting yourself get too excited just yet. “You don’t have to,” you say, though the look in your eyes says otherwise.

“I’m doing this once,” he warns, pointing a finger at you like it’s some kind of punishment. “And if you don’t like it, you’re not getting a refund.”

You bite back a smile. “Deal.”

He narrows his eyes at you one last time before turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen. The doors swing shut behind him, and this time, the silence at the table is charged with something new — something like disbelief, mingled with anticipation.

“What just happened?” Someone finally asks, breaking the spell.

“I think Max Verstappen just agreed to make a vegan dish,” you say, a touch of incredulity in your own voice.

“That’s got to be a first,” another friend chimes in, shaking their head. “You’ve got some kind of magic power.”

You laugh, the sound lighter than it’s been all night. “I don’t know about that. I think he just likes a challenge.”

“Or maybe he just likes you,” one of them says, waggling their eyebrows suggestively.

You roll your eyes, though a part of you wonders. There was something in the way he looked at you — something beyond just irritation. But you push the thought aside. Whatever this is, it’s not something you can figure out in the middle of a crowded steakhouse.

The minutes tick by, and though the conversation at the table picks up again, you can feel the undercurrent of curiosity running through your friends. They’re all waiting to see what Max will come up with, and honestly, so are you. The anticipation builds, your mind racing with possibilities — what could a Michelin-starred chef possibly make that’s both vegan and up to his standards?

When Max finally reappears, he’s carrying a single plate in his hands. He walks with purpose, his expression serious, but there’s a glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. As he approaches, the table falls silent again, everyone leaning in to see what he’s brought.

He stops in front of you, holding out the plate with a sort of grudging respect. “Here,” he says simply.

You look down at the dish and feel your breath catch. It’s stunning — an artful arrangement of roasted vegetables, grains, and a vibrant sauce that you can’t quite place. It’s clear that he didn’t just throw something together — he put thought into this. Care, even.

“This looks amazing,” you say, genuine awe in your voice.

Max shrugs, though you can see the faintest hint of pride in his expression. “I told you — just this once. Don’t get used to it.”

You give him a small smile, something warm blooming in your chest. “Thank you.”

He nods, but before he can turn away, you add, “I’m serious. It really means a lot that you did this.”

For a moment, his eyes soften, and you see a flicker of something vulnerable beneath his tough exterior. But then he smirks, the mask slipping back into place. “You’re just lucky I’m in a good mood.”

“Is that what this is?” You tease, raising an eyebrow.

He doesn’t answer, just gives you a look that says more than words ever could. Then, with a final nod, he heads back to the kitchen, leaving you with the dish in front of you and the lingering feeling that something significant just happened.

You take a bite, and it’s even better than it looks. The flavors burst on your tongue, rich and complex, and you can’t help but smile. This is more than just food — it’s a statement, a challenge met and won.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur. Your friends order their steaks, and while they rave about their meals, you’re completely absorbed in your own, savoring every bite. You can’t help but steal glances towards the kitchen every now and then, wondering if Max is watching, if he’s thinking about you as much as you’re thinking about him.

By the time dessert rolls around, you’re almost too full to eat another bite. But when the waiter places a plate in front of you, you freeze.

It’s a small, delicate dessert — something that looks like a cross between a tart and a cake, with a perfectly smooth layer of chocolate ganache on top. But that’s not what catches your attention. Written in dark chocolate sauce across the edge of the plate, in neat, precise handwriting, is a phone number.

You blink, staring at it, your heart skipping a beat. Your friends lean in, catching sight of it as well, and their reactions range from gasps to stifled laughter.

“No way,” someone whispers, eyes wide with disbelief.

You can hardly believe it yourself. But there it is — clear as day, an unmistakable invitation.

You glance towards the kitchen, and just as you do, the doors swing open again. Max steps out, catching your eye from across the room. For a moment, the world seems to narrow down to just the two of you again, the noise and bustle of the restaurant fading into the background.

He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod — an acknowledgment, a dare. Then, without waiting for a response, he turns and disappears back into the kitchen, leaving you with your friends and the plate in front of you.

“Are you going to call him?” One of them asks, their voice tinged with excitement.

You stare at the number, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “I don’t know,” you admit, though a smile is already spreading across your face.

But deep down, you do know. Because this — this little gesture, this playful challenge — feels like the start of something. Something you’re not quite ready to let go of.

You pick up your fork, take a bite of the dessert, and let the sweetness melt on your tongue. It’s perfect — just like everything else he’s made tonight. And as you savor the taste, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something far more interesting than you ever expected.

***

The kitchen is filled with the scent of something sweet and savory, a blend of spices and roasted vegetables that wafts through the house and wraps around you like a warm blanket. You’re perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, one hand absentmindedly resting on your growing belly, the other holding a glass of freshly squeezed juice that Max insisted you drink, despite your protests that you were perfectly fine with water.

“You need the vitamins,” he had said, the Dutch accent that once made you bristle now soothing in its familiarity.

“Max, it’s fine,” you replied, but he had just given you that look — the one that says he’s not backing down — and you relented with a sigh, knowing there was no point in arguing.

Now, you watch as he moves around the kitchen with a practiced ease, his hands deftly chopping, stirring, and seasoning. It’s a sight you’ve grown accustomed to over the years, but it never fails to fill you with a mix of awe and gratitude. He’s changed so much since that night at the steakhouse, when he’d been all sharp edges and stubborn pride. Now, those edges have softened, replaced by a quiet determination to make you happy in every way he can.

“How’s it coming along?” You ask, taking another sip of juice and trying to ignore the flutter of excitement in your stomach that has nothing to do with the baby.

“Almost done,” Max replies, glancing up at you with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Patience, liefje.”

“You know I’m not good at that,” you tease, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of what he’s cooking.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he continues to stir the pot on the stove. “I know. That’s why I’m hurrying.”

You can’t help but smile at that, the warmth of his words spreading through you like a comforting embrace. It’s moments like this that make you realize just how lucky you are — how much you’ve both grown together, built a life together. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been worth it.

“What are you making, anyway?” You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.

He gives you a sly look, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’ll see.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he retorts, his voice full of playful confidence.

“Unfortunately, yes,” you admit with a mock sigh, though the smile on your face gives you away.

He laughs softly, the sound deep and full of affection. “Good thing, too.”

You watch him for a moment longer, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and contentment. He’s wearing an apron over his casual clothes, his hair slightly tousled from the steam rising off the stove. There’s something almost domestic about the whole scene, but it’s more than that—it’s the intimacy of knowing someone so well, of sharing your life with them in all its messy, beautiful complexity.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” You ask, your voice softening.

Max glances at you, his expression tender. “Not today.”

“Well, you are,” you say, feeling a sudden rush of emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He pauses, the spoon in his hand hovering over the pot as he looks at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. “You won’t ever have to find out,” he says quietly, his voice laced with a promise.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. It’s not the first time he’s said something like that, but it never fails to hit you with the same force, the same certainty that you’ve found something rare and precious in each other.

Before you can respond, he turns back to the stove, breaking the moment with a casualness that belies the depth of what was just said. “Besides,” he adds, a hint of mischief creeping into his tone, “I’m pretty sure you’d starve without me.”

You laugh, the sound a little shaky as you try to regain your composure. “You’re probably right. But I’d find a way.”

“Not as well as I do,” he counters, his voice filled with mock arrogance.

“True,” you admit, watching him with a smile. “You’ve ruined me for all other chefs.”

“Good,” he says, the pride in his voice unmistakable. “That was the plan.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you. He’s always been confident, sometimes to the point of being infuriating, but there’s a sincerity to it now that wasn’t there before—a genuine desire to take care of you, to be there for you in every way.

“Are you going to let me taste whatever masterpiece you’re working on, or do I have to wait until it’s perfect?” You ask, trying to peek over the counter again.

“Patience,” he repeats, though there’s a glint in his eye that tells you he’s enjoying this far too much.

“Max,” you whine, drawing out the syllable in a way that you know he can’t resist.

He sighs dramatically, as if you’ve just asked him to perform some Herculean task, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But just a taste.”

He picks up a small spoon and dips it into the pot, then turns and walks over to you, holding it out with a flourish. “Here.”

You take the spoon from him, your curiosity piqued. The aroma is intoxicating, and when you bring the spoon to your lips, the flavors explode on your tongue — rich, savory, with a hint of sweetness that lingers just long enough to make you want more.

“Oh my god,” you say around the mouthful, your eyes widening in surprise. “This is amazing.”

“I know,” he says, clearly pleased with himself as he leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. “I had to do something special for my girls.”

You swallow, the warmth of his words spreading through you like a soft, gentle wave. “Girls, huh?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re still convinced it’s a girl?”

He shrugs, but there’s a softness in his expression that makes your heart swell. “Just a feeling.”

You smile, resting a hand on your belly. “Well, I’m sure she’ll love whatever you cook for her.”

“She better,” he replies, though his voice is teasing. “Or I’m sending her back.”

You laugh, the sound filling the kitchen and easing the last remnants of tension in the air. “Too late for that.”

“Damn,” he mutters, but there’s a smile on his face as he turns back to the stove, stirring the pot with practiced ease. “Guess we’ll just have to keep trying.”

You watch him for a moment, your heart full to bursting with affection. He’s taken to this whole thing — pregnancy, impending fatherhood — with a kind of devotion that you never expected, but that somehow doesn’t surprise you at all. He’s always been all in, whether it’s in the kitchen or in your relationship. It’s one of the things you love most about him — that relentless drive to be the best, to give his all, no matter what.

“You’re going to be a great dad,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Max pauses, his hand stilling on the spoon. For a moment, he just stands there, his back to you, and you wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing, if maybe it’s too soon, too much. But then he turns, and the look on his face — full of vulnerability and determination — takes your breath away.

“I’m going to try,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I promise.”

You nod, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you reach out, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it gently. He squeezes back, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture that’s so simple, so familiar, and yet it says everything you need to hear.

“Okay,” he says after a moment, clearing his throat and breaking the spell. “I’ve got something else for you.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”

He smirks, pulling his hand away and turning back to the counter. “Just wait.”

You watch as he opens the fridge and pulls out a small tray, carefully covered with a cloth. He sets it on the counter and, with a dramatic flourish, pulls the cloth away to reveal ... a plate of beautifully arranged pastries, each one delicately shaped and glistening with a light dusting of powdered sugar.

“Vegan croissants,” he says, a note of pride in his voice. “Made from scratch.”

Your jaw drops, and you stare at the pastries in disbelief. “You made these?”

“Of course,” he replies, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I told you I’d figure it out.”

You’re speechless, the effort and care he’s put into this gesture rendering you momentarily stunned. You know how much work goes into making croissants, and the fact that he’s done it just to satisfy your cravings — it’s almost too much.

“Max,” you say, your voice thick with emotion, “you didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugs, though there’s a hint of bashfulness in his expression. “I wanted to.”

You reach out, picking up one of the croissants and holding it in your hands like it’s something precious. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“I try,” he says with a smirk, watching as you take a tentative bite of the croissant.

The layers are perfectly flaky, the pastry light and buttery despite being vegan. It melts in your mouth, and you close your eyes, savoring the taste. “This is ... incredible,” you murmur, barely able to believe how good it is.

Max’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

You take another bite, unable to stop yourself from grinning. “I don’t just like it, Max. I love it.”

He chuckles, leaning against the counter with an air of satisfaction. “Good. But don’t go telling anyone, okay? You’re still the only person I’d cook vegan for.”

You laugh, a sound full of love and warmth. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He winks, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Better be. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know.”

You shake your head, your heart full as you look at the man you married — the man who, despite all his bravado, has always made you feel like the most important person in his world. “You’re impossible,” you say fondly.

“And you love it,” he replies, his voice softening as he reaches out to gently cup your cheek.

“I really do,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.

Max leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. When he pulls back, there’s a softness in his eyes that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world.

“I love you,” he says, his voice steady and sure.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion.

And as you sit there together, the scent of freshly baked croissants filling the air, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Life might not always be easy, but with Max by your side — cooking for you, joking with you, loving you — you know you’ll always have a reason to smile, no matter what comes your way.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Little surprise

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Max one-shot inspired by the recent news, you should have seen my face yesterday when the first thing I saw was the photo on insta, I just know that Max is going to be the best dad :) If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

You’d been carrying the secret for days now, and it felt as though your heart could burst every time you looked at him. Max, with his carefree smile and bright, sparkling eyes, had no idea that your world had shifted entirely. Every night, you’d lie next to him, your hand resting protectively over your stomach, wondering how you’d tell him that the two of you were about to become three.

It had to be perfect.

The idea came to you one quiet morning while watching a race replay. Max had barely opened his eyes when he muttered something about karting, his first love, before pulling you close and falling back asleep. That was it. You’d tell him in a way that connected to the thing he loved most—apart from you.

For days, you planned in secret. You found the tiniest little kart online and had it shipped as quickly as possible. When it arrived, you giggled as you placed it carefully in the living room, tying a big red bow around it for effect. It was perfect.

The hard part was waiting for the right moment. You wanted it to be a day when you were both relaxed, away from the chaos of the world, just the two of you. So, one sunny afternoon, you suggested lunch at your favorite café.

The day was as perfect as you could have hoped. Max was in an especially good mood, teasing you about how you always ordered the same thing and stealing fries from your plate like a mischievous child. He talked about an upcoming race, his plans, and how much he missed the simpler days of karting.

“You’re quiet today,” he noted, nudging your arm gently as the two of you walked back to the car.

“Just enjoying the moment,” you said, slipping your hand into his.

He grinned, lifting your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “I like that.”

The drive home was filled with soft music and the kind of comfortable silence you loved. As you neared your apartment, your nerves kicked in. Was this the right way to tell him? What if he didn’t react the way you imagined? What if—

“Hey, you okay?” Max’s voice pulled you from your spiral. He parked the car and turned to look at you, his blue eyes filled with concern.

You nodded quickly, plastering on a reassuring smile. “Yeah, just tired.”

Inside the apartment, you stayed a step behind him, your heart pounding. As he kicked off his shoes and walked into the living room, he froze.

“Uh…” His head tilted, his gaze locking on the tiny kart in the middle of the room. “Did you… buy a toy kart?”

You stepped closer, biting your lip to keep from laughing at his confusion. He circled the kart, inspecting it like it might suddenly explain itself.

“Why is there a bow on it? Did someone send this to you?” He turned to look at you, his brows furrowed.

You took a deep breath, feeling your chest tighten with anticipation. “No, it’s for you.”

“For me?” He looked even more puzzled now. “What am I supposed to do with this? It’s tiny!”

“It’s not for now,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you struggled to contain your emotions. “It’s for later.”

Max’s confusion deepened. He stared at you, the kart, then back at you. “Later?”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “Max… I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. His mouth fell open, his eyes wide as he tried to process your words.

“What?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“I’m pregnant,” you repeated, a tear slipping down your cheek as you smiled at him. “We’re going to have a baby.”

The shock on his face slowly melted into something softer, more tender. His eyes glistened, and a disbelieving smile spread across his lips.

“You’re serious?” he asked, stepping closer to you, his voice filled with awe.

You nodded, unable to speak as emotions overwhelmed you.

He let out a soft, breathless laugh before pulling you into his arms, holding you so tightly you thought you might break. “A baby,” he murmured against your hair. “We’re having a baby.”

When he pulled back, his hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “I can’t believe it. You… you’re incredible. How long have you known?”

“A few days,” you admitted with a small laugh. “I wanted to find the perfect way to tell you.”

He glanced back at the kart and chuckled, shaking his head. “This is perfect. It’s… amazing. You’re amazing.”

His hands dropped to your stomach, his fingers splaying over the fabric of your dress. “There’s really a baby in there?” he asked, his voice full of wonder.

“There really is,” you confirmed, placing your hands over his.

He was quiet for a moment, just staring at you, before a grin broke across his face. “I can’t wait to meet them. I can’t wait to be a dad.”

His excitement was contagious. You laughed as he scooped you up and spun you around, his joy filling the room like sunlight.

The rest of the day was spent talking about everything—the future, names, the nursery, and all the ways he wanted to be the best dad in the world. Max couldn’t stop touching your stomach, even though he knew it was too soon to feel anything.

That night, as you lay in bed, his arms wrapped protectively around you, he whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” you asked, your voice sleepy.

“For giving me this,” he said, his hand resting gently over your stomach. “For making me the happiest guy in the world.”

You smiled, feeling his love radiating around you. “You’re going to be an amazing dad, Max.”

“And you’re going to be the best mom,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

As you drifted off to sleep, you knew that your little family was already filled with so much love, and you couldn’t wait for the journey ahead.

[secretbigboylover]

Buffet Date

CW: Weight gain, rapid weight gain, teasing.

Trevor was trying to ignore how full his belly was and how good it felt. His big belly spilled over his lap and pushed his favorite button up shirt to its limit. It was a sky-blue shirt with yellow rubber duckies dotted all around it. His boyfriend, Max, had picked it out as a gift when they first moved in together. The same Max that confided in him that he liked his men chunky, the same Max that kept buying Trevor’s favorite snacks even though Trevor was on a diet. The same Max that innocently suggested a buffet for their date night.

Trevor knew he’d over eat, but couldn’t help himself and he was sure Max did too. The food just smelled amazing. There were so many options from pizza to pasta, stakes to hotdogs, every fried savory food he could think of, and the desserts were so mouthwatering. Trevor didn’t used to be a big guy, but boy did he have a big appetite. He had played football in high school and in college. Trevor had a wide build that made him the first pick on any team. He even had the good looks to make any man swoon or at least he used to. Now, thanks in part to dating Max, Trevor felt he had lost some of that. He was still broad and tried to be athletic, but had started developing a bit of a gut. Sure, some of his gym buddies when through bulking phases and got a bit chunky before getting ripped, but Trevor didn’t do any body building stuff. He liked to keep a lean muscle look. Now staring at an orb of a gut he groaned. He was so full and the food was so good. Rubbing his taught stomach only showed just how much of a pig he made of himself, but it also felt good. He didn’t want to admit it, but a part of Trevor really liked this feeling of being over stuffed. It was a good excuse to let Max dote on him while he just digested. He knew he should be more active, but Max always looked so happy when Trevor ate too much. Maybe it was time to give in? That though vanished when he looked down at the sad state of his favorite shirt.

The day he had gotten the shirt Max had taken him on a magical date to the winter fare. They had gone ice-skating, Trevor had tried to win Max a stuffed animal, they had hot chocolate, and road the Faris wheel. They had stopped by a little boutique before going home. It was filled with all kinds of crazy and goofy shirts. When Trevor saw the rubber ducky shirt he fell in love and he was over joyed when Max bought it for him. They took it home right away. Trevor was so swept up by how cute it was that he didn’t realize it was a size too big. Max had ensured him that he still looked cute in it and the bigger size only gave him room to grow.

Now diamonds of doughy flesh poked between the buttons. Trevor leaned back and stroke his belly. He couldn’t imagen taking another bite. He had already stuffed himself with four full plates. Trevor vowed this would be the last buffet date for the year. He would get back on his fitness grind and fit back into his favorite shirt. Once Max came back, he would tell him his master plan about getting his summer beach bod ready.

Max came back with three plates, one with a few slices of pizza, one with a slice of cheesecake, and the other stacked with two slices of strawberry cheesecake and warm brownies.

          “Sorry for the wait. I heard they were bringing out a fresh batch of brownies and I know how you love them.” Max said.

Trevor completely forgot about his aching belly the second he smelled the brownies. They were so rich. He could smell the semi-sweet chocolate and could almost taste it. His summer body forgotten he chowed down on the brownies. They were even better than he imagined. So dark and rich, with the perfect smooth fudge texture. They practically melted in his mouth. Trevor inhaled the last few and the cheesecake. Without a second thought he got up and raced towards the brownie station.

They had set out two massive sheets, still steaming. Like a child possessed, he quickly loaded his plate high with brownies. As he walked back to his table he had to peak over the mountain of brownies and had missed Max’s massive grin. Max was full on laughing by the time Trevor came back to the table.

“What, did I take too many?” Trevor said.

“No baby, your shirt.” Max said as he tried, and failed, to keep in his laughter.

Trevor looked down and saw two buttons in the middle of his shirt had popped off, his soft belly exposed to the air. He turned the deepest shade of crimson and hid behind his tower of brownies.

“Aw baby, no need to be embarrassed. I think you look very sexy with that soft belly.” Max said.

“Then why were you laughing?” Treavor said.

“Because I got an email that your new shirt had arrived.” Max said.

This did not quite answer Trevor’s confusion and Max recognized that and continued.

“I know how much you love that shirt and I know it has been fitting a little snug recently. So, I found out that store had a webpage and, on a whim, bought it the next size up. I’m just laughing because right as I got the email your buttons flew off.” Max said.

Trevor was still embarrassed but touched. He looked down at the plate and a had a wicked idea.

“Well let’s see if you can pop the rest of my button’s off.” Trevor said.

Now it was Max’s turn to be flustered.

“Wait what?” Max said.

Trevor wasn’t sure what came over him. He still wanted his lean summer bod, but loved seeming Max flustered and new this would do the trick.

“Yea, just feed me till I pop.” Trevor said as he pushed the plate of brownies towards Max.

Still flustered, but now definitely horny, Max picked up a brownie and popped it in Trevor’s mouth. Instantly Trevor was in heaven. The brownie was still as good, but the extra edge of having his sexy boyfriend feed them too him was doing wonders. Trevor knew in that moment his new shirt wouldn’t last very long.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hurricane - Part 5

{“I bought some from here last week. They were so good. The vendor said they were picked this morning. Can you imagine these with some fresh cream and a bit of sugar? Oh my goodness.” “Buy three cartons.” Max said, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket without hesitation. He wanted multiples of anything that made Emma smile like that.}

notes: no warnings. just vibes. max being soft for emma. thank you to my own personal writing therapist who routinely talks me off a ledge when i'm convinced this entire thing is trash @lestapiastrisgirl <3 pairing: max verstappen x emma meyer (female oc) word count: 6k

hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

Emma didn’t make it to her planned 9am pilates class the next morning, much to absolutely no one’s surprise. The headache that pounded behind her eyes the moment her alarm went off much too early had her silencing her phone. 

“Who did I think I was last night? Why in the world did you allow me to think I’d be human enough to make a 9am class, Verstappen?” Emma moans as she pads out into the kitchen a few hours later. She collapses theatrically into a chair at the kitchen counter, her head immediately falling forward, forehead resting against the cool marble. 

Max chuckles from his spot at the stove where he stands frying up some eggs. The breakfast this morning wasn’t exceptionally fancy, but the thought behind it was the same. “I tried to turn your alarm off in the car last night but you yelled at me. Something about how you’d need to sweat out all the alcohol you’d drank.” 

“I’m never drinking ever again.” She groans, tapping her forehead against the counter a few times. 

Max snorts, sliding two of the fried eggs onto a plate before sliding them over to Emma along with a fork. “How many times have you said that before?” 

Emma lifts her head off the counter to glare at Max, “More than five, less than ten.” 

Max pushed the eggs further towards her, encouraging her to eat. “I’m going to go on a run after I eat, do you want to come with me? Sweat out that alcohol like you wanted to last night?” 

“Don’t you use my words against me, I’m injured.” 

“You’re hungover.” 

“Same thing.” Emma snaps but there’s no bite behind her words. “You don’t have to hang out with me all the time during an off week, Max. I’m just your assistant.” Her face softens into something more serious, her voice dropping. 

“You are not just my assistant, Sunshine.” Max corrects, eyes serious. He was unwilling to allow Emma to self-deprecate like that, even this early in the morning. “You’re my friend who just happens to run my life with military precision. Besides, I like hanging out with you.” 

Emma grins, not bothering to hide her pleasure at his words. “Okay, fine but I if I pass out, you’re responsible for making sure I get home safe.” 

“Of course. Now eat, you need something in your stomach before you do any sort of cardio.” 

She shakes her head before popping a forkful of egg into her mouth, a satisfied hum scratching at the back of her throat. Max swallows thickly at the sound. “These are perfect. If this whole racing thing doesn’t work out, you should consider opening up a fried egg restaurant.” 

Max chuckles, cracking another few eggs into the pan for himself. He slots a few pieces of bread into the toaster before pulling out the butter and Emma’s favorite jam. The sheer domesticity of the moment has something deep in his chest aching with familiarity. Emma eating quietly as she scrolls through her social media feeds, Max standing at the stove watching over his own eggs. It was a silent glimpse into something he’d never known was possible for him. 

“Are you volunteering to be my taste tester?” 

“Just add it to my many different job titles: Emotional Support Assistant, Professional Egg Taster. My resume is going to be stacked after working for you.” 

The thought of Emma not working for him anymore sends a strange trill of anxiety through him. He sways at the stove a bit when the thought races through his mind. Between the way she’d leaned into him while he steadied her in the elevator last night and the way her hug had lingered a little longer than necessary when he finally was able to get Emma into bed, the way she’d become such a solid fixture in his life so quickly made Max’s head spin. 

When his eggs are ready, he slides them onto a plate before sitting next to Emma at the counter. They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, the quiet only broken by the sounds of toast crunching and forks clinking against porcelain. 

“Okay, I think I can do a short run without regretting my entire existence.” Emma says after popping the last bits of egg into her mouth, fork scraping against the now empty plate. “How long did you want to go for?” 

“Ten miles?” 

Emma nearly spits out the sip of orange juice. When Max doesn’t laugh, she shakes her head. “Oh, you’re serious?” 

Max chuckles. “Miami is next weekend. It’s hot and humid as fuck down there, I need to make sure my endurance is better than it was in Jeddah. I was dying after.” 

Emma’s mind flickers back to after the race in Jeddah. He’d been flushed such a deep scarlet, sweat making his blond hair stick haphazardly to his forehead. After the post-race celebrations, it had been straight into the ice bath for him, a little tradition that Emma didn’t mind being present for in the least. 

“Ten miles sounds ambitious for someone who’s main form of exercise last night was lifting my drink to my lips over and over…and over.” 

“You don’t have to come with me, you can stay here on the couch with Jimmy and Sassy. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” 

Emma shakes her head, waving her hand dismissively. “No, drunk me was right. I need to sweat out all of my bad decisions from last night.” 

“You can spend the rest of the afternoon rotting on the couch. Crane wanted to stream some iRacing later, if that’s okay with you.” 

Emma shrugs as she moves towards the hallway. “Fine with me as long as you don’t start yelling at him again when he runs you into the wall.” 

“He did it on purpose!” Max protests, laugh rumbling in the back of his throat. 

“It’s a video game!” Emma argues back with a laugh before walking down the hall to get changed. 

Max just rolls his eyes before turning back to the dishes that need washing before they can leave. He tosses everything in the sink before filling it with hot water and soap, letting them soak so he can let them be this afternoon’s chores. 

It doesn’t take long and before Max is even finished wiping off the counter, Emma is back in the kitchen, dressed in a matching set of mint green leggings and sports bra. When he turns towards the sounds of her shuffling down the hall, he has to lean against the counter for support. There were several inches of bare skin between the bottom of the top she had on and her leggings. He swallowed thickly at the sight of her navy blue and red jeweled belly button ring. That was new, he thought idly, not minding one bit how it matched his colors. 

“Max, are you okay?” Emma interrupted his perusal of her body, eyebrow arched in quiet question. 

Max clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh..” He shakes his head, the thoughts springing up in his mind a bit spicy for this early in the morning. “Yeah. Yep, totally fine. You ready?” 

Emma reaches up, pulling her ponytail a bit tighter. “No, but lets go anyway.” 

With a chuckle, Max’s hand finds the small of Emma’s back as he leads her out of the apartment, happy to be moving towards the door so the temptation of doing other cardio activities with her doesn’t get a chance to take hold. “I’ll go easy on you, Sunshine.” 

Emma rolls her eyes, “Yeah. I’m sure you will.” 

Twitter user918 - anyone else see Max this morning in Monaco with that blonde? Who is she? >>> user000 - It looked like it was Emma, his new assistant.  >>>user0209 - he’s hanging out with his assistant on non-race weeks???  >>>user090 have you SEEN Emma??? If I were Max I’d never let her leave. User938 Are we sure they’re not actually dating? I swear I saw them flirting in the background of the most recent Red Bull video Yuki was doing.  >>>user102 can we normalize accepting that sometimes a man and woman are literally just FRIENDS. Besides, she’s his EMPLOYEE, that would be so weird.  >>>user999 idk about you but I don’t look at MY coworkers like Max looks at Emma.  >>>user019 @/user999 IKR??? Did you see the way he looked at her the last time he was streaming with Red Line? She handed him food during a break they had and he looked up at her with the most obvious heart eyes I’ve ever seen.  >>>user001 ya’ll are nuts user112 I hope she makes an appearance on stream this afternoon. Max always seems happier when she’s around.  

The familiar sounds of Max’s sim rig filled the quiet of the apartment later that afternoon. Emma scrolled on her phone as she listened idly to the hum of the computer fan, the click of the paddle shifters, and the focused murmur of Max’s voice as he chatted back and forth with the other guys that were on the stream. On the largest monitor, his virtual car navigated a challenging corner on the digital rendition of the track in Spa. 

Unseen by the thousands of viewers that were glued to the Twitch stream, Emma was sprawled out comfortable on the large sectional sofa behind his setup, Sassy curled up on her lap purring away happily. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat forgotten on the coffee table, the comforting voices of President Barlet and his staff softly filtered though the air from her laptop screen as she lost herself in an episode of The West Wing. 

The afternoon sun, now slung lower in the sky, cast a warm glow over the scene, a calm picture of relaxed domesticity that had begun to define the way Emma and Max existed together in their off-time. 

Suddenly, Max’s focused concentration seemed to waver for just a beat as a second, feminine voice was picked up by his sensitive microphone. He briefly muted, finger darting over the red button as his eyes flickered off-screen towards Emma, a small, private smily tugging at his lips as he spoke. 

The chat immediately exploded. 

user200 wait, who is he talking to??? User0990 I swear I just heard a girl’s voice in the background??? User009 spill the tea Max! Who’s the mystery woman that’s got you blushing like that???

Crane saw the comments flooding in as he watched Max’s video instead of the race he should have been paying attention to. “Oi! Max! No distractions, focus on the apex!” 

Max’s cheeks flushed slightly, a fact not lost on the chat, as he shook his head. “I am focused!” He argued after he unmuted himself. 

“You are not.” Emma called from the couch, hitting the pause button on her show. “He is not focused, Crane!” She called, enjoying the way Max’s head snapped back in her direction. 

Chat exploded when they heard Emma’s voice. 

User099 I HEARD HER AGAIN.  User334 who is it Max?! Come on, spill!!  User000 we’re not going to let this go until we see her.  User009 she even SOUNDS pretty.  User982 I bet its the same blonde that he was seen with this morning running in the marina.  >>>user334 he was WHAT??? 

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Relax guys, it’s just Emma. You know, my assistant? She’s just chilling on the couch.”

The chat went wild again, a flurry of new messages flooding the screen. 

User333 EMMA??? THEEEEEE EMMA??? The only one on Red Bull’s payroll that can tame the lion???  user003 oh to be a personal assistant to THE Max Verstappen and live in Monaco.  User020 wait, isn’t it sort of weird for his assistant to be at his apartment on a Saturday afternoon?  >>>user000 yeah, seems a bit unprofessional, no?  >>>user222 adults can be friends outside of work guys.  User100 COME SAY HI EMMA!!! >>>user888 yeah, we want to see the girl that’s got Max behaving in the media pen the last few races.  User928 idk guys. The way he looks at her is giving ‘I have the biggest crush on you’ instead of ‘I am very much your boss’ 

Max’s reluctance was palpable. He liked having this space, his online racing world, separate from his very really and increasingly complicated life with Emma. Sharing her with the outside world felt…intrusive. Like he was revealing a piece of him that he’d rather keep away from the prying eyes of the public. So much of his life was already fodder for public consumption. His relationship with Emma felt…different. Like it was something that needed to be protected. 

He muted again briefly before turning his head. “They want to say hi.” 

Emma’s brows knit together, “Who?” 

Max swept a hand towards his monitors. “Everyone.” 

“Is that cool?” 

Max nodded, eyes flicking back to where the chat was losing their mind. Crane and the rest of the guys were quiet, knowing not to push Max into revealing more of his private life than he was comfortable with. They were respectful with his boundaries even if the general public could be a little intense sometimes. “Only if you’re comfortable with it.” 

Emma contemplated her options for a moment before grinning. She’d chatted with Crane and the other guys before when they had played COD the other night off stream so she was comfortable with them. Her social media had been getting more and more popular since she’d started being spotted with Max in the paddock and on TV feeds during race weekends. While the attention was a little overwhelming, she admired the enthusiasm of the fans and knew they were important to Max. 

Emma surprised herself when she stood from the couch, pulling at the hem of the crewneck sweatshirt she’d pulled on over her bike shorts earlier after her shower. Leaning into the camera frame, she grinned at the lens, her gaze finding the stream as she waved at Crane and the rest of the crew. Her blond hair, freshly washed and hanging loose around her face, fell over her shoulder in a sheet of gold. Max didn’t move when it tumbled low over his shoulder when she got closer to where he was sitting. 

“Hi guys!” She waggled her fingers at the camera, smirk tugging at her full lips. 

Max sucked in a breath, the scent of her vanilla and honey shampoo wrapping itself around his senses. 

The chat exploded. 

User738 oh my GOD she’s gorgeous.  User928 no wonder Max was distracted  >>>user9298 If I were Max I’d never get ANYTHING done.  User0021 where is your crewneck from??? That color is perfection on you!!  User300 someone start a petition for Emma to become a regular on these. I’d watch anything she’s on.  User928 we need a hair tutorial PLEASE, your curls are perfection.  User918 No because why is Emma the best part of this entire stream tho???

Emma watched as the compliments flooded in, pink tinging the apples of her cheeks. She hadn’t expected to be so warmly welcomed by his fans. Max smirked too, secretly liking the chaos playing out in front of him after all. The reluctance to share Emma with the world was quickly replaced with a mixture of pride and inflated ego. 

“You guys are so sweet, thank you! The crewneck is ancient but I think I got it from Aritzia a few seasons ago!” She answered a few other questions quickly as the timer for the team’s break wound down. 

Eventually though, it was time for the next heat to start so Crane had to attempt to reign the chat back in before the next race began. Emma stood up straight, her hand resting on Max’s shoulder in comforting and surprisingly possessive gesture that not a single person on the stream missed or ignored. More than a few comments called out the way her fingers flexed ever so slightly into the soft fabric of Max’s old t-shirt.

“Crane, if you need me to keep Max in line from here, let me know. I’m right over there, three episodes deep in season seven of West Wing.”   

The chat continued to buzz with excitement long after Emma disappeared and the next race had begun. Max, though still thoroughly flustered, couldn’t help the small smile that lingered on his face. They liked her. Seeing her so easily win over this part of his world, a part he usually kept separate from his personal life was…nice. Really nice. He glanced over at Emma a few times while there was a pause in the action, watching her now that she was thoroughly engrossed in the episode that was playing on her laptop, a prickle of warmth and something that felt a lot like pride, swelled in his chest. 

Maybe sharing her wasn’t so bad after all. 

Maybe. 

If there was one thing Emma loved about living full-time in Monaco, it was the farmer’s market that set up shop every Sunday morning down the street from Max’s apartment. It was a touch on the touristy side but there were so many vendors that had local produce grown just over the border in France and Italy along with fresh seafood and other proteins from farmers and butchers. If she was home on a Sunday morning, you’d always find Emma down the street wandering through the stalls. 

This Sunday was no different. Emma was up before the sun had fully chased away the inky darkness of night, a quiet confidence in her movements as she pulled on a comfortable sweater and jeans. Her large tote bag, already filled with a few reusable shopping bags, sat waiting for her by the door. The apartment was still quiet, the only sounds keeping her company this early were the hum of the refrigerator and the distant lapping of waves against the harbor wall. Max was likely still fast asleep after his late-night streaming session with Red Line the night before. 

She didn’t mind though, going to the market alone. In fact, she embraced the quiet stillness that leaving the apartment this early afforded her. Miami was coming up and they were leaving early Wednesday morning to head to the States, so Emma was eager to have a bit more quiet time before she was catapulted into the chaos of a race weekend. 

As she reached for the door, the quiet was broken by the sound of Max’s bedroom door creaking open. He appeared in the hallway, hair adorably rumpled and sticking out haphazardly every which way, eyes still half closed as he squatted over at Emma. 

“Where are you sneaking off to?” He mumbled, voice thick with sleep. 

Emma turned, a soft smile on her face. “Just off to the farmers market, sleepyhead. Don’t worry, I’ll make you a proper breakfast when I get back. I shouldn’t be gone long. Any special requests? There was this spectacular little bakery there for the first time a few weeks ago, the croissants were half butter I swear. I can get a few? You liked the almond ones I got last time, didn’t you?” 

Max looked at her curiously, a bit stunned that she remembered how he’d preferred the almond filled pastries over the plain ones. He leaned against the doorframe, still slightly disoriented, as he considered her question for a moment. “Forget the list, Sunshine.” He murmured, pushing himself off the wall and shuffling back towards his bedroom. “Give me a minute and I’ll come with you.” 

Emma blinked after him, her mouth forming a perfect little O of surprise. “You don’t have to! I can go by myself.” 

“Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready. You’re always gushing about this market, I want to see what all the fuss is about myself.” 

Emma chuckled, shaking her head. “Okay, okay but hurry! If I miss those peaches from the farmer in Nice like I did last week, I’m going to be cranky.” 

Max shook his head before ducking into his room. “I’ll be quick. I don’t want to have a grumpy Emma on my hands all day.” 

***

The early morning air at the market was cool and crisp, a gentle breeze carrying the mingled scents of freshly picked fruit, flowers, and the salty sea air blowing in off the water. Sunlight dappled through the canvas awnings of the stalls, casting a golden glow on the colorful displays of produce and freshly cut flowers. Emma, with her tote bag slung casually over her shoulder, moved with a comfortable familiarity through the early crowd, her eyes bright as she examined plump tomatoes and fragrant bunches of herbs. 

Max followed dutifully behind, still blinking sleepily every once in a while. He’d stayed up much too late last night but the cool air but watching Emma duck between stalls without a care in the world was enough to pull him out of his tired haze. 

Emma stoped at a stall overflowing with vibrant strawberries, their sweet scent intoxicating. She carefully picked through the small baskets that held quarts and pints of the ruby red fruit, her brow furrowed in concentration as she made sure she was guaranteed to pick the best of the bunch. Max, who had been idly watching her from a few meters away, wandered over to see what she was concentrating so hard at. 

“Those look good.” He murmured, peering over her shoulder. 

Emma felt his presence before she noticed him standing behind her. He smelled faintly of his body wash she had bought him last week at the pharmacy, his warmth radiating off of him as he stood closely examining the strawberries Emma had clutched in her hands. She tipped her head up slightly to catch his eye, surprised that he was already looking down at her with a soft smile on his lips. The way her stomach flipped at the way Max was looking at her was something she couldn’t ignore, despite her every effort to do exactly that. She should not be liking the way Max’s blue eyes had been watching her all morning, the way he tracked her no matter where she was. 

The way she felt under his watch was dangerous. 

“I bought some from here last week. They were so good. The vendor said they were picked this morning. Can you imagine these with some fresh cream and a bit of sugar? Oh my goodness.” 

“Buy three cartons.” Max said, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket without hesitation. 

He wanted multiples of anything that made Emma smile like that. 

He paid the vendor and turned away from the stall at the same time Emma did, her shoulder brushing his with a casual tenderness that had his heart aching. She reached into the bag where the cartons of strawberries were, plucking a small one off the top of the pile. Emma paused before raising it towards Max’s lips. “Here, try. I swear, these are the best thing you’ve ever tasted.” 

Max struggled to keep the surprise off his face, feeling the way the tips of his ears turned pink at the casually intimate gesture. He obediently opened his mouth, sinking into the way the Emma’s dove-gray eyes sparkled as his lips closed around the proffered strawberry. The sweetness that burst across his tongue as he bit into the flesh of the fruit had Max’s eyes fluttering closed, a satisfied groan rumbling at the back of his throat. He was quiet for a moment, enjoying how closely Emma’s body was to his. 

“So good.” He murmured, his eyes never leaving hers in a way that had Emma’s stomach fluttering. The way he said it had her wondering if he was just talking about the strawberry though. 

After a few moments, Emma took a slight step away, unable to come up with any more excuses to remain so close to Max. She wandered away, towards a flower vendor, as Max watched after her. Something in his chest squeezed at the casual way she glanced over her shoulder, as if she was checking to make sure he was following her. He joined her a few beats later, watching as she examined a colorful bunch of tulips. 

“They remind me of home.” She murmured, plucking out a particularly stunning bouquet of pink and yellow blooms. 

Max was surprised at her comment, considering how she felt about going home and her parents attitude but he supposed even he could be nostalgic about the place that raised him, even if their hometown held painful memories for him as well. 

“Are you going to buy your girlfriend the tulips or will you just let her make heart-eyes at you until she purchases them herself?” The merchant teases from his place behind his table. 

Emma huffs a small laugh but doesn’t bother correcting the elderly man. Her head simply swiveled around and up to glance back at Max. “Yeah, do I have buy my own flowers today, Maxie?” She teased, grin stretching across her face. 

Max simply rolled his eyes, casual move belying the storm of butterflies creating a tornado in his stomach at the man’s assumption and the way Emma was playing along. “Who am I to say no to such a pretty woman?” 

The way Emma bit her lip in delight had Max stifling a groan as he reached back into his wallet, not for the first time that morning. The old man chuckled as he took Max’s credit card from him before turning away to wrap up the bundle of tulips that Emma had picked out.  

Twitter User928 I SWEAR TO GOD I JUST SAW A RANDOM BLONDE HAND FEEDING MAX VERSTAPPEN A STRAWBERRY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MONACO FARMERS MARKET. I REFUSE TO BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS.  >>>user2008 random blonde? Was it Emma tho??? >>>User928 OH MY GOD IT WAS  >>>user2008 no FUCKING way 

Max never usually woke up to thunderstorms. The loud clash of titans in the sky was never quite enough to rouse him from his sleep. It wasn’t that he was a deep sleeper. It was just that the loud and bright storms that blew into Monaco in the spring never bothered him enough to be a burden. 

Until the night before him and Emma were due to leave for Miami. 

He didn’t realize what woke him up at first. It had been several hours since he’d turned in, leaving Emma alone at the piano while she worked out her last bits of nervous tension before heading to bed herself. Max had been deep asleep for a while, so when he was pulled from the deep, pristine lake of his dreams, the cobwebs of sleep took a bit longer to shake themselves from his brain. 

He blinked awake, sleep blurring at the edge of his vision as he reached for his bearings. 

His bed. 

At night. 

Rain beating against the windows, flashes of lighting streaking across the sky. 

Light shining under the gap in the doorway. 

That caught Max’s attention. He glanced at his phone: 2:24 am. There was no way Emma was still awake, right? He listened carefully, expecting to hear the now-familiar strains of the piano. She hadn’t seemed upset when he’d left her earlier in the evening, or else he would’ve stayed up with her. 

He sat and listened but was met with only the sound of the rain whispering against the windows and a distant crack of thunder. 

But the lights. There was a least one hall light on outside, maybe more judging by the stark brightness that crawled across the carpet in his bedroom. Max tugged on a shirt as he stumbled his way towards the door, limbs still stiff with sleep. 

The door creaked open and Max paused again. There wasn’t any sound of the piano but he did hear the gentle clinks and sounds of movement softly floating out of the kitchen. Surely no burglar would be making themselves at home in the light, preparing a sandwich, Max thought as he padded down the hallway towards the sounds. 

“Sunshine?” His voice was thicker than his vision, rough with exhaustion. 

Near the stove, Emma startled so suddenly she nearly dropped the baking sheet she held in her hands. “Max! Oh my God!” She gasps, clutching at her throat with a oven-mitt clad hand. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

Max’s eyes took in the scene before him. Every single inch of counter space was taken up by sacks of flour and sugar, mixing bowls of several different sizes, dozens of muffins and a few loaves of freshly baked bread. It was then that the smell of what was going on hit Max’s nose. Bread. Freshly baked from the smell of it. Yeasty and warm, slightly sweet at the end when you swallowed. Something sweet too, cinnamon like the perfume Emma wore. Spicy with a touch of earth. 

“Are you…baking at 2 in the morning?” 

Emma looked like a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Ummm…” Her eyes swung comically from left to right before flickering back to Max. “Yeah?” 

Max scrubbed at his face with his hands, struggling to figure out if he should be concerned or if this was normal behavior from the blonde. “Why?” 

Emma worried at her lip, the tips of her ears going pink. “You’re going to make fun of me.” 

Max walked towards the counter, the chair whispering against the tile as he pulled it out to sit. “I won’t make fun of you, I promise. Is everything okay? You were fine when I went to bed.” 

Emma’s gaze swung from Max’s towards the storm that beat against the apartment’s windows. “I really hate thunderstorms. I’m terrified of them, really.” Her cheeks heats at the confession, memories of being made fun of for being scared flickering through her mind. “And when one happens, the only thing that can calm me down is to bake. It helps me focus on something that I have total control over. The tunnel vision is…soothing.” 

Emma chewed at the bottom of her lip. She’d never told anyone that before. She’d always assumed her fear of thunderstorms was irrational. That’s what her mother had told her when she was little. There was nothing to be afraid of and she was being silly. Any big feelings she had were always minimized into ‘Oh, Emma’s being a drama queen today’ to discount her experience. So she’d learned to push them down, learned to cope the best way she knew how so she didn’t bother anyone else with her problems. And that coping ended up being baking.

Max watched from across the kitchen as Emma went somewhere in her head for a few moments. He could tell the way her eyes went unfocused and she paused as if a memory had taken hold and she couldn’t shake it. 

“Why would I make fun of you for being scared of something or figuring out a way to cope with that fear?” Max narrowed his eyes at Emma like he was trying to understand a piece of art. 

“Why wouldn’t you?” There was no sarcasm behind her question. It was genuine and that fact shattered Max’s heart into jagged splinters. 

Max rose slowly before rounding the counter, stopping right in front of Emma. He gently took the pan she held in her hand and set it on the stove before turning back to her. Max was so close, Emma could feel the heat of his breath skate over the top of her head. “It is not normal to make the people you care about feel insignificant and small at the expense of a joke, Sunshine. You do know that, don’t you?” 

Logically, Emma knew this was true. Knew that the way she was brought up, with it’s veiled bullying and penchant for sweeping things under the rug, was not normal but she couldn’t help feeling tied to that way of looking at the world. 

When she doesn’t say anything, Max continues. “I think that you finding a way to cope with your fear in a productive way is worthy of praise, Sunshine. This storm is loud and anxiety is valid.” Max pauses, a slight grin playing at the edge of his lips. He watched Emma’s eyes track the movement before they returned back to his. “And why the hell would I make fun of something that results in me having freshly baked bread for the rest of my life?” 

The implication hung heavy in the air as the atmosphere shifted into something close to snapping. The scent of warm bread and cinnamon seemed to become heavier, mingling with the electric charge of the storm that was baring down on them outside. Max’s gaze softened, his earlier teasing replaced by raw sincerity that made Emma’s breath catch in her throat. He saw the lingering hurt in her eyes, the ingrained expectation of ridicule. A wave of fierce protectiveness welled up in his chest, his only desire in that moment was making sure she understood how serious he was about her. 

Max shifted even closer towards Emma, closing the final distance between them. She tipped her head back slightly, her gaze locked on his, vulnerability shining in her eyes as she looked up at him. The rhythmic drumming of the rain against the windows faded into a distant buzz, the sound of her own heartbeat hammering against her ribcage the only sound echoing in her ears. 

Max’s eyes drifted down, almost against his will, to her lips. They were slightly parted, the dim light of the kitchen highlighting the delicate curve of the cupids bow Max often found himself starting at. He hadn’t intended to, hadn’t even consciously thought about what he was doing, but that undeniable pull, the magnetic force that both of them seemed powerless to resist, took over. 

He leaned in, the movement so slow it was almost imperceptible, his breath warm against her cheek. Max’s lips just barely brushed against hers, a feather light touch that sent a jolt of pure electricity zinging through Emma’s veins. It was a fleeting graze, a silent test of the waters that had been swirling into a hurricane since the moment he rescued her all those weeks ago. 

Before either of them could react, before the significance of what was happening could fully register, a deafening CRACK of thunder, closer and more violent than any that had shook the house that night, reverberated through the apartment. The lights flickered violently, and Emma gasped, instinctively jumping back as if she’d been physically struck. The fragile intimacy shattered as Max blew out a long breath, carding his fingers through his hair. 

Neither of them spoke for several moments, each contemplating what had nearly just happened. Tension thrummed in the air as Emma’s gaze fell to the floor. She lifted her fingers to touch her lips, almost as if she wanted to remember what the press of Max’s lips had felt like moments before. 

Max cleared his throat after a beat, fighting the suffocating heat that had blanketed the kitchen. “It’s late, Sunshine and we have a big weekend ahead of us. Is everything out of the oven?” 

Emma nodded, flinching slightly as another loud thunderclap rattled the windows. “Yeah. You go to bed, I won’t be able to sleep for hours anyway. I’ll stay away from the oven though, I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“You should just try to get some rest…” 

Tears prick at the back of her eyes, the overwhelming situation in front of her almost too much to take. “I can’t…” She whispered, shame turning her neck red. 

“Do you want to lay down with me?” 

The question hangs the air and for a brief, terrifying moment, Max thinks he’s taken things just a step too far. 

“In your bed?” Emma asks, eyes wide. 

Max only nods.

Waits. 

“Okay.” She nods too. 

“Okay.” He repeats before reaching out to twine his fingers with Emma’s slender ones, tugging her out of the kitchen and towards his darkened bedroom. 

tag list: @alessioayla @addy-lol @changetyre @obxstiles @tvdtw4ever @joaofelixml @vickykazuya @47chickens @magnusstan @joannaln4 @nicooolsstuff @wakasays @slutforcoffein @ajordan2020 @widow-cevans @isagrace22 @simp4f1 @chertik-007vvv @mayax2o07 @scenesofobx @a-beaverhausen @glitteryturtledeer @halleest @sltwins @doesgekouwe @unknownmystery22 @honethatty12 @chaoswithus @sarahsobsession @liz140569 @sinfully-yoursss @ilove-tswizzle @lilbitchfromfaraway @irisesinthegarden @anayaverse @mynameisangeloflife @i-survived-a-shark-attack @smithieandy @fastandcurious16 @angelluv16 @sinfully-yoursss

[volpeenthusiast]

filling in ⚾︎ m. fried

max cements himself into your daughter's life on an early morning. everybody cheer for domestic dad max fried

Your apartment is bright as the mid-morning sun filters in through the windows, your back to the stove as you cut up fresh fruit for your daughter.

You'd checked on her after you slipped out of bed, seeing her peacefully asleep in her bed. Max was still asleep in yours, and the domesticity of it all made your heart warm.

You and your daughter, Elodie, had had a late night watching the game at Yankee Stadium last night for one reason and one reason only: Max was pitching.

When you first started dating Max, you'd been hesitant to let him into your life. Not because you didn't trust or care about him, but because of Elodie. Introducing her to your boyfriend who you weren't sure would stick around didn't seem like the best choice for her or you.

Her dad had never been in the picture, and false hope was the last thing you needed to expose your girl to. When you'd admitted that to Max, he made a promise not to rush you into doing anything you didn't want. So you started off slow. Before the season started, you and Max took her everywhere together. The park, the movies, even daycare if you two wanted a getaway. You introduced Max to her as a friend, and your incredibly perceptive daughter agreed, likely to placate you.

When you felt like the time was right, you gently explained to Elodie that Max was more than a friend. She'd understood, and immediately began on a family portrait of the three of you that was still hanging on your fridge.

Max stayed over more frequently, and your anxieties were quelled by how good he was with her. He watched YouTube videos to learn how to do her hair, bought her souvenirs when he went away, and did everything that a dad should.

For the first time since Elodie was born, you felt like you were finally able to give her a life that was somewhat normal. You and Max had talked about it one night- him being her dad.

"I don't want to force her to call me anything," he'd said, and you'd nodded in agreement. "I love her, you know that. But I'm not her dad if she doesn't want me to be."

Your heart had broken a little at his admission, but you understood where he was coming from too. Elodie had settled on calling him "Maxie" instead of "daddy," and you both agreed that it was perfect for now.

Your attention is pulled away from the strawberries you're slicing when you hear footsteps entering the kitchen. You grin at the scene in front of you: a very obviously sleepy Max, holding Elodie on his hip as she yawns. Your heart jumps with fondness when you see their matching sleepy expressions and messy hair.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think she was his.

"Did you wake Maxie up?" you laugh, pressing a kiss to Elodie's forehead as her eyes fix on the bowl of fruit. You follow her gaze, then look towards Max.

"How do pancakes sound?"

You sit Elodie at the kitchen island, letting her eat the fruit as you and Max make the pancake mix and heat up a skillet on the stove. You pour little pancakes for Elodie first, smiling at Max as leans into you.

Some naive part of you hopes it's like this all the time. Max at your side as you cook breakfast, Elodie telling the two of you about her day, and a little New York apartment filled with enough love for the rest of the city.

Elodie murmurs something, her little hands smacking against the kitchen island. You look over your shoulder as Max flips a pancake, raising a brow. "What'd you say, baby?"

Elodie huffs as you turn back towards the stove, smacking her hands against the granite harder. "Daddy."

You don't say anything at first, padding to the fridge to retrieve orange juice to offer to Elodie. You spare a glance at her, pausing when you see how distressed she looks.

"Daddy?" she repeats, leaning forward in her chair. You glance between her and Max, and it suddenly clicks.

"Maxie?" you ask, pointing to your boyfriend who's attempting to make heart-shaped pancakes, and Elodie nods.

"Daddy!"

Max finally turns, spatula in hand, gaze softening when he sees Elodie's waiting expression. He smiles, something sweet and proud, and you think you see a shine in his eyes.

"Me? You talking to me, El?" he asks, and Elodie nods. Strawberry sticky hands reach out for Max, but he picks her up all the same. You bite your lip to try and stave off your own tears as Max tucks her against his chest.

Elodie's eyes focus on the pancakes, and her legs kick excitedly. "Lemme try?"

Max offers her one of the only completed pancakes, which she munches on happily. You move to stand at his side as he discreetly swipes at a tear tracking down his cheek.

You smile softly, squeezing Max's shoulder as he smiles at you like you're the only person on earth, brushing Elodie's loose hair out of her eyes.

-

robin's notes: can u guys tell i have a soft spot for kids based on my last few fics.... laugh out loud. anyways max fried is pookie and he pitched SO well today

[cowboylikefried]

OOH BABY BABY | M. FRIED

summary: having a competitive boyfriend isn't for the weak—especially when he stays up late reviewing pitches [1.08k word count]

warning(s): fluff, a bit of making out but i wrote this at 3AM so its all veryyyy sleepy, lowercase intended because I said so, this is written with sleepy quinn in mind so idk what you're gonna get sorry, not proofread we die like men over here

a/n: hi I am back 🧍🏻‍♀️

it wasn’t a secret that your boyfriend was competitive.

especially now—the fact that he’s not max fried, underrated gem from the braves. he’s max fried, new york yankees new ace. and you can easily tell that it’s been messing with his brain a bit more than usual.

max always liked looking back at the tape before bed—analyzing anything he could by himself; what pitch wasn’t used enough and what was used too much. the little things like that.

this game in particular, though, a 12-3 win in his favor, was something he kept analyzing over and over. and if there was one thing you love more than your boyfriend—it was sleep.

max didn’t mind, as long as you were there, as long as he could feel your skin against his. that was it.

he could tell you were sleepy, lids drooped and body going lax in his hold, soft lips curled into a small pout.

he didn’t resist kissing the corner of your mouth with a small grin, warm green eyes illuminated by the glow of the tv. “you sleepy?” max murmured, one of his hands patting at your hip gently, the other brushing your hair back absently.

you let out a small hum, shifting slightly, your head tucked into the crook of his neck comfortably. "'m awake." you slurred, but with the way you were sprawled against him, both of you could tell it was a lie.

max grinned, a soft huff of amusement passing through his lips. he shifted, burying himself further into the couch, arms wrapped around you firmly, one of his hands running down your back.

"yeah, you're so awake." he muttered, lips pressing against your temple, sealing it with a gentle kiss. he knew once the recap ended, and a few more kisses from him, you'd be out like a light. it had been routine by now.

"super awake."

"suuuuuper awake," max echoed, his voice a soft hum against your skin. his arm curled around you tighter, holding you snugly against him. your warmth made his own eyes a bit droopy, lavender and something else filling his senses.

he pressed another kiss to your temple, just because—also because you looked too cute not to. "stay awake for me, baby." a hand slipped under the fabric of your shirt, tracing the skin of your hip lightly.

no response.

max huffed, pressing another kiss—the shell of your ear this time. "baby," he murmured, "you're supposed to stay awake, not fall asleep on me." the hand on your hip pinched gently, not enough to hurt but to tickle.

you inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering open weakly, lips still etched into the same pout. "i'm awake," you repeated, lifting your head and pressing a lazy kiss to his cheek. "i'm awake, honey."

max couldn't resist, turning his head and capturing your pouting lips in a chaste kiss. "you're a bad liar." he whispered, slightly muffled against your mouth, teeth gently nipping at the plump skin of your bottom lip.

"i'm not lying." you shot back, giving a soft peck in response, forehead resting against his.

"yeah you are," he chuckled, hands smoothing over your sides reverently, thumbs brushing against the skin of your belly. "you're very sleepy." he added, nipping at your lip again, taking it into his mouth and giving a small suck.

"nuh uh." you mumbled, lips parting instinctively, eyes lidded and sleepy despite your contradictions.

"yeah?" max whispered, a small grin stretching onto his lips at the sight of you, tongue running along your bottom lip, the tip flicking against the seam before pressing forward. he let his head tip to the side, tongue sliding against yours slowly, his actions more lazy and affection more than arousing.

he could feel your exhaustion—the way your body dipped further into his, your mouth moving against his slowly and uncoordinated. tired, but still so warm and sweet.

max coaxed you to reposition, rolling all of your body onto him slowly, arms wrapped around your waist loosely to keep you close. his lips brushed against the crown of your head once more, brushing softly before he rested his chin atop of your head.

"go to sleep, baby." he murmured, voice low and now carrying a hint of grogginess.

you frowned, lidded eyes now doe-eyed and wide. "i can't now," you huffed, an underlying whine making itself present.

"oh no," max drawled, voice hushed but still coated in a thin line of sarcasm. "why not?"

his hands made themselves comfortable underneath your shirt, calloused fingers running along your spine with a gentleness that made you shiver.

"give me another kiss." you demanded, lifting your head fully now, staring into amused green eyes.

max smiled, something wide and soft that made the corner of his eyes crinkle. "another kiss?" he murmured, hand moving up to cradle your jaw.

his lips pressed against the corner of your mouth, drifting across to the other side of your cheek, unable to stop the soft snort that escaped him when you moved with him, chasing after his kisses. "greedy."

"one more," you mumbled, a hint of pleading in your tone. "and then I'll go to bed."

max gave a long sigh, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance, before pressing another kiss to your lips—firmer and longer this time, a little bit rough in the way nipped at your lip again.

when he pulled away, he pecked both of your cheeks, before brushing his lips against the edge of your jaw. "there," he stated, leaning back with a small grunt. "two more. now go to sleep, baby."

"'kay," you sighed, settling your face back into the crook of his neck, pressing one last kiss to the curve of his shoulder.

"finally." max mumbled, sliding his hands back under your shirt, keeping your body molded to his, responding to your kiss with a gentle peck to your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, calming him instantly.

max's eyes fluttered back open, his gaze catching onto the tv.

he didn't even know what was playing anymore.

Q SPEAKS!

hi tumblr.............im lowkey scared rn idk

been on wattpad because I like their aesthetic more idk its /cowboylikerizzo if you wanna follow (i ACTUALLY completed imgonnagetyouback over there LMAO)

okay bye ily

[lukeevangelista]

Honestly is the Best Policy - Max Fried

I’ve debated on whether I wanted to post these or not. But it’s my writing and I love him so much and even if it doesn’t do as well as my hockey stuff, I’m fine with it

**I’m also starting a Max Fried x Olson!Sister series as well and have about 8 imagines written for it so 😈** <—- this fic isn’t associated with it. Stand alone imagine

*********************************************************

“You know, things would be so much easier if we were honest with each other!“ Max shouted at you, “Fucking hell, Y/N.” He continued, “You sit here and deny and deny, but you know damn good and well you’re sitting there lying to yourself. About me.” He paused, “about us.”

Max had been one of your best friends since you moved to Atlanta, you running into him in a coffee shop. He though you were pretty and you held the door open for you, which not many people in Atlanta do, so he offered to buy your order; which you gladly accepted.

You two had remained close for the last few years, the two of you remaining just friends. The topic of anything more hadn’t came up until recently and you were thankful for that.

You couldn’t risk losing Max.

But as time went on the dating subject came up more and more, but not by you or Max.

By your families.

Friends.

Teammates.

Hell, even by standers at parties that were just trying to make conversation.

But the more it came up, the more it started to damage your relationship with the pitcher.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You whispered as you avoided eye contact with him.

“You cant even look at me, Y/N.” He clicked his younger as he shook his head, “This was pointless.”

You scoffed at his comment, which happened to just ignite the fire even more that was already surging throughout his body.

“Why can’t you be honest with me? With yourself?”

“I don’t know what you-“

“I want you to tell me you love me, dammit!” He shouted, “Cant you see I’ve been in love with you for the last year?” He continued as his breathing got heavier and heavier, his heart continuing to race as he realized he just admitted something he told himself he’d never tell you- not at least in this lifetime.

Your face went ghostly pale and your mouth went dry as you watched Max pace the room.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that.” He finally broke the silence, “I-“

“Just shut up.” You cut him off causing him to whip his head up, but the only thing he could see was you crossing over to him. Your hands grabbed his head as you tugged him down to your lips, his hands instantly going to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for a long time.”

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time too.” He grinned at your confession as he brought one hand up to tuck a piece of hair that came out behind your ear.

“You know, had we had this conversation just a little sooner, we could have been doing that for a little longer, right?” You chuckled.

“Only took one final question from Matt about our relationship for us to snap.” You chuckled as you cuddled your head against his chest, his hand cupping the back of it.

“So where does this leave us?” He asked the question that had been dancing in the air.

“I’m not sure.” You admitted, “but I know I don’t want to be just friends anymore, Max.”

[judgepilled]

max fried and a girlfriend who’s just as into the game as he is—watching highlights of his, sprawled against him with sleepy eyes. you give him pointers anyway, mumbling stats about curveballs into the skin of his neck.

max fried with a girlfriend who’s a bit of a wildcard, wearing some weird ass shirts like “i ❤️ my twink” whenever it’s his day on the bump—giggling softly when you both get home, his hands pushing your shirt up with a grumble, murmuring something about how you’re “bad luck” before his mouth finds your chest.

max fried who always manages to get you a present from every road games you can’t make—resulting in a desk full of trinkets over the years.

max fried who always checks his phone after games, smiling softly when he sees several texts from you during the game—wether that be you praising him on what pitch he threw or the fact that he just looked really good on the mound.

max fried, who everyone always says it the ‘quietest’ of the bunch, getting clingy during late night dinners or postseason (🙏🏼) celebrations, resting his chin in the dip between your neck and shoulder, cheeks rosy and eyes glassy as he presses slow kisses to your face, not caring about the teases he gets from his bullpen mates.

max fried, who isn’t too over the top with his pet names for you, a simple “baby” passing his lips when he needs something, “sweetheart” when he’s irritated but still not wanting to yell at you because he’s aware that his anger is dedicated towards himself and not you.

max fried, who never once has you straying away from him at events, hand curled tightly around your hip as he speaks to his teammates and other players from the league.

max fried, who’s biggest win isn’t the world series or cy young, it’s you, his beautifully weird but caring girlfriend <3

[gainercontent]

Max's Body Transformation Part 3

Check out my blog for parts 1 and 2

The day Tyler suggested meeting in person, Max felt a nervous excitement stir within him. They had talked online for months now, exchanged pictures, shared stories of their gains, their routines, and their challenges. Tyler was someone Max admired—not just for his own impressive physique, but for the way he always pushed Max, encouraged him, and validated his decisions. Now, Tyler wanted to meet up, in real life. The idea felt surreal, but Max couldn’t deny that part of him was eager to see him, to finally step out from behind the screen and experience the connection in person.

Tyler suggested the Jade Buffet, a well-known spot in the city where all-you-can-eat was the name of the game. It felt fitting—Max could already feel the excitement of all the food he would consume, the possibility of pushing his limits even further. He imagined all the plates he would pile up, the satisfaction of devouring everything in sight. And Tyler would be there, right by his side, encouraging him just like he always did.

When they met at the restaurant, Max was struck by Tyler’s appearance. Tyler was even more handsome in person—fit, chiseled, with broad shoulders and a confident, easy smile. He greeted Max with a firm handshake and a friendly hug, sizing him up with a quick glance. Max, on the other hand, was now well over 220 pounds, his body soft and full, a clear reflection of his choices in recent months. But despite the slight self-consciousness, he felt a rush of excitement seeing Tyler in person.

“Looking good, Max,” Tyler said with a grin. “I’ve seen your progress pics, but in person? Damn, you’ve really packed on the pounds.”

Max chuckled, feeling a mix of pride and discomfort. “Thanks, man. It’s been… a journey, for sure. Been eating a lot.”

Tyler slapped him on the back, hard enough to make Max’s stomach jolt. “You’ve earned it. That’s what it’s all about, right? But hey, let’s see how much you can put away tonight. Jade Buffet has everything we need, man.”

They sat down at a large table, and Max immediately felt his stomach stir with anticipation. The waitstaff brought them both water, and Tyler ordered a small plate of sushi and some dim sum. Max, however, was already planning his first trip to the buffet. He stood up, eager to fill his plate. But as he walked toward the buffet, he could feel Tyler’s eyes on him. There was a sense of expectation, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

When Max returned with an enormous plate piled high with various dishes—fried rice, spring rolls, dumplings, and even a few plates of noodles—Tyler raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Max dug in immediately, eager to fill the void, his stomach already rumbling.

As Max ate, Tyler seemed completely content with his tiny portion. He nibbled at his sushi, took a few bites of the dim sum, and occasionally looked up, watching Max’s progress. Max couldn’t help but feel the pressure, the push to continue eating. The more he ate, the more the voice in his head began to cheer him on, just like Tyler’s quiet encouragement.

“You’re doing great, Max,” the voice murmured. “This is what you wanted. Keep going. You can eat more. There’s no stopping now. Tyler’s proud of you. You can’t back down now. You’re bigger, stronger, more powerful.”

Tyler, sensing Max’s growing hunger, leaned in, his voice calm but insistent. “You’ve got this, bro. Just keep going. You’re pushing yourself, and it’s paying off. Just think about how much fatter you ca get. This is what you’ve been working for.”

Max nodded, the words hitting him in the same way they always did. He could feel his stomach beginning to stretch, but the thrill of the challenge kept him going. He piled more food onto his plate and ate with abandon. He could feel Tyler’s eyes on him, a quiet approval in the way Tyler watched him devour the meal.

“You’re doing great, Max. You can feel it, can’t you? The power of all those calories. The satisfaction of feeding yourself, of growing bigger. Keep it going.”

The voice, ever-present in his mind, echoed Tyler’s words, reinforcing every action Max took. Each bite felt like a victory. The fullness in his stomach began to swell, but there was a strange sense of pleasure in that sensation. Tyler leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with a quiet, knowing look. He wasn’t eating much, but he was enjoying watching Max indulge.

“Man, you’re making me look bad,” Tyler joked with a laugh, but it was clear his admiration was genuine. “I could never eat like that. But you’re doing great. Keep going, Max. You’re unstoppable.”

Max’s chest swelled with pride. Unstoppable. The word reverberated in his mind, his confidence growing as he shoved more food into his mouth. The voice seemed to grow louder with every bite, louder with every plate of food that disappeared.

“You’re getting bigger. You’re becoming something else. This is just the beginning.”

By the time Max finished his third plate of food, his stomach was stretched tight, his face flushed from the effort. But he couldn’t stop. He looked at Tyler, who was nursing a glass of water, still looking pleased but not pushing himself like Max was.

“Feeling good?” Tyler asked, watching him closely.

Max nodded, a small smile forming on his face as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. He felt full, overstuffed, but there was a sense of thrill in knowing that he could keep going. That he could push himself further. This is who you are now, the voice whispered. You’re a machine. You’re capable of so much more.

“Yeah, I feel great,” Max said, his voice a little strained from the amount of food he had already eaten. “But I could go for one more round.”

Tyler chuckled. “I knew you were going to say that. You’ve got the hunger, man. You’ve got the drive. But remember, it’s all about control. You’re in control of your body.”

Max paused, staring at his plate. The voice echoed Tyler’s words, urging him to keep eating, to never stop. He could feel the weight of his choices, the pull of his indulgence. He wasn’t just eating for the calories anymore. He was eating to fill something deeper—a hunger for validation, for power, for the rush that came with growing, becoming bigger.

As the night went on, Max kept eating. Tyler’s small, supportive remarks continued, but it was the voice in Max’s head that truly pushed him to the limit. With every bite, Max grew bigger, more swollen, and the power of it made him feel invincible.

Eventually, the meal ended, and Tyler paid for their food. They left the restaurant together, and as Max felt the discomfort of his bloated stomach, he couldn’t help but think about what Tyler had said—how he could keep going, how he could keep feeding himself, keep growing.

Max didn’t know what the future held, but he knew one thing for sure: he was on a path now. The voice was louder than ever, and Tyler—his guide and encourager—had made him feel like he was unstoppable.

And in that moment, Max believed it.

*****

Max felt a warm buzz of satisfaction as they left the Jade Buffet, the evening’s indulgence weighing heavily on his stomach. He was beyond full—his stomach stretched to its absolute limit, and he had that familiar, almost painful sense of fullness, but with it came the thrill of pushing his body to its boundaries. He had eaten more than he had in weeks, and the sense of accomplishment was intoxicating.

They reached the parking lot, and Tyler stopped at his car, giving Max a knowing smile. Max glanced at the car, a small part of him uncertain what was about to happen next, but the voice inside his head had him feeling invincible, unafraid of what might come.

Tyler leaned against the hood of his car, casually waiting for Max to catch up. “You’re really killing it tonight,” Tyler said with a grin. “You did great. But I can tell you’re feeling it, huh?”

Max chuckled, a bit breathless from the meal. “Yeah, I’m absolutely stuffed.” His stomach felt heavy, stretched tight under his shirt. It was hard to even stand without feeling like he might burst. “I’ve never eaten so much in my life.”

Tyler’s eyes sparkled with a mix of admiration and something deeper, something Max couldn’t quite place. “I can tell, man. But that’s what it’s all about. Pushing yourself, going beyond what you think you’re capable of. You did an amazing job.”

Max felt a rush of pride at the praise, his chest swelling with the recognition. He had worked hard for this—he had given in to every craving, every urge, and now his body was proof of it. But despite the pride, he could feel the weight in his belly, the fullness that made every step feel slower.

“Come on, man,” Tyler said, stepping closer, his voice lower now, like he was sharing a secret. “Why don’t you come sit in the car for a minute? We can chill, you look like you could use some rest after all that food.”

Max hesitated for a second, then nodded, feeling that familiar pull, the sense that something was about to shift. He followed Tyler toward the car, the voice whispering, “You deserve this. This is just another step. Let yourself enjoy it. Let yourself go.”

Once inside the car, Max sank into the seat, his stomach protesting the movement, but he didn’t care. He wanted to be closer to Tyler, to feel the comfort of his presence after the indulgence. Tyler closed the door gently behind him, then slid into the driver’s seat, facing Max.

Tyler looked at him with an intensity that made Max’s heart beat faster. “I know you’re full, Max. But you did a hell of a job. I want to make sure you feel good. You deserve a reward for that effort.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “What kind of reward?”

Tyler’s smile widened, and without another word, he leaned toward Max, his hands gently resting on the sides of his stomach. Max sucked in a breath at the touch, feeling a jolt of warmth spread through him. His belly was so full, it almost felt strange to have someone touching it, but Tyler’s hands were gentle, soothing.

Max felt Tyler’s fingers work in small, firm circles around his bloated stomach. The pressure, the way Tyler massaged him with such care—it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He let out a soft sigh, his body relaxing into the touch. It wasn’t just about the physical relief; it was the sense of comfort, the way Tyler’s presence seemed to ease the discomfort that had been building in his gut.

“That’s it. Let go,” the voice in his head murmured. “You’ve earned this. He’s rewarding you. Let him help you.”

Tyler’s hands continued to knead his stomach, the pressure easing the fullness and giving him a sense of release. He felt lightheaded, almost intoxicated by the sensation of Tyler’s touch and the flood of positive reinforcement from the voice in his mind.

“You did so well tonight, Max,” Tyler whispered, his voice low and almost hypnotic. “You’re really growing. I can see it in you. Your body—everything about you is becoming fatter, chubbier.”

Max could feel the heat rising in his face, a flush spreading across his cheeks. The words, the praise, felt good. They felt right. They made him feel like he was on the right path, like he was becoming exactly what he was meant to be.

Tyler’s hands stopped for a moment, and he leaned closer, his lips hovering near Max’s ear. “You’re getting fat, Max,” Tyler murmured, his breath warm against Max’s skin. “You’ve done such a great job. I’m proud of you.”

Max’s breath caught in his throat, the words sinking deep within him. He was proud of himself too, for pushing his limits, for surrendering to the hunger. And Tyler was there, right beside him, validating every choice, every step he had taken.

Before Max could respond, Tyler turned his face toward him, his lips brushing against Max’s. It was a soft, tentative kiss at first, but it deepened as Max leaned into it, his body still aching with fullness but overwhelmed by the sensation of being desired, of being accepted. The kiss was slow, exploratory, and the tension in Max’s body melted away as he let himself sink into it. He could feel Tyler’s hands still on his stomach, a gentle reminder of the relief, of the connection they shared.

The kiss broke, and Tyler pulled back just enough to look into Max’s eyes, his expression soft and sincere. “You’re amazing,” he whispered again.

Max felt a swell of gratitude and excitement. He had never felt so accepted, so seen, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. The voice in his head had led him here, and now Tyler was here too, guiding him, encouraging him, making him feel invincible.

Max leaned back, resting his hand on his stomach as he closed his eyes. “Thanks, Tyler. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

The night felt like a new beginning—Max wasn’t just growing physically, but in ways he hadn’t anticipated. And with Tyler by his side, he knew he could keep pushing forward, embracing every moment, every change. The road ahead was wide open, and for the first time, Max felt ready to walk it.

*****

Max leaned back into the seat, feeling the weight of the evening press into his body. The fullness in his stomach was a constant, heavy presence, and he was floating in that space between satisfied and overwhelmed. The weight was intense, but there was something about being with Tyler that made him feel safe, like he could just surrender to the moment and everything would fall into place.

Tyler's voice cut through the haze of Max's thoughts, pulling him from the comfortable daze he'd slipped into. “I’ve got something special for you,” Tyler said, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. He opened the back door of the car, reaching into a small cooler nestled behind the passenger seat. Max couldn’t help but watch him, curious.

Tyler pulled out two cases of Boost VHC, the high-calorie drink that had become a staple for Max’s increasing appetite. He could already feel the weight of the cases, the promise of calories that would push him further, expand him even more. Max’s eyes widened at the sight.

“Tyler…” Max murmured, his voice tinged with hesitation. He was already so full. The thought of drinking more seemed almost impossible, but there was a part of him that knew—he couldn’t say no.

“You’ve done so well, Max,” Tyler said, his tone coaxing, encouraging. “You’ve eaten all that food, you’ve made amazing progress. Now, we just take it one step further. You’re going to feel incredible after this. You deserve it.” His voice was warm, full of care, but it carried an unmistakable edge—one that Max had come to recognize. Tyler wasn’t just supporting him; he was guiding him, pushing him forward, just like the voice in his head.

Max was so full he could barely move, his body already stretched to its limits. He felt sluggish, bloated, but the weight in his stomach was strangely comforting. He let his eyes flutter closed for a moment, unsure of how he could possibly drink more.

But then, Tyler’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts. “Max, you’ve got this. Don’t worry about how much you’ve eaten. It’s about the obese piggy you’re going to become. Drink it, and feel how much bigger you get. Just trust me.”

Max didn’t respond, just nodded weakly, feeling the pull of Tyler’s words, the authority in his tone that seemed to fill every corner of his mind. Tyler opened the first case and pulled out a cold bottle, twisting off the cap with ease.

“You’re going to drink this down for me, okay tubby?” Tyler asked, his voice low and soothing. Max could feel a strange warmth spreading through him at the command. He was so full, but part of him couldn’t resist.

Tyler gently lifted the bottle to Max’s lips, helping him drink as he massaged his swollen stomach, his touch comforting, guiding him. Max felt himself relax into the sensation, allowing Tyler to feed him. The liquid was thick and creamy, more like a treat than a drink. The voice in Max’s head swirled with Tyler’s words, and for a moment, they seemed to blend together into a single, undeniable force.

“Drink it, Max,” the voice inside him urged, louder now than ever. “You’ve come this far. You’ve worked so hard. Let go. Let it fill you. You’re not weak—you’re strong. You’re in control. You need this. You need to grow.”

Max took another gulp, his stomach tightening as the liquid slid down his throat, but the voice continued, urging him on. “You’re becoming exactly what you were meant to be. Bigger. Stronger. More. Drink it all, Max. You deserve it. Tyler believes in you. I believe in you. Keep going.”

Tyler’s voice merged with the internal voice in Max’s head, creating a constant rhythm of encouragement that drowned out any doubt or discomfort. “That’s it, fat boy. Drink it. You’re doing amazing. This is what you’ve worked for. This is what it’s all about. You’re pushing your limits, and it’s worth it.”

Max could feel the pull—his body protesting, but his mind lost in the harmony of Tyler’s praise and the voice inside him, both pushing him, urging him to consume, to keep going. As the bottle emptied, Tyler grabbed another, twisting the cap off with practiced ease.

“You’re incredible, Max. You’ve got this. You’re not stopping here. Drink more.”

The combination of Tyler’s encouragement, the sweet, thick drink, and the insistent, now unified voice in his head created a powerful force that drowned out the discomfort. Max drank, his stomach stretching further, his body shuddering slightly with each swallow, but the voice inside him seemed to smooth over the resistance, giving him no choice but to keep drinking.

“Yes,” the voice whispered, now one with Tyler’s. “Keep going. There’s no limit now. There’s only growth. You’re doing what you’ve always wanted. This is who you are. This is who you’re meant to be.”

By the time Max had finished the second bottle, his stomach was so swollen it was almost painful to move. He was breathing heavily, his shirt tight against his skin, but his body felt oddly light, despite the pressure. His chest heaved with each breath, but his mind was buzzing with satisfaction, with the certainty that this was exactly where he needed to be.

Tyler gently cupped Max’s face, guiding him into a kiss, soft and slow at first, but with an undeniable intensity. Max felt everything in that kiss—the praise, the encouragement, the weight of the moment, and the undeniable pull of the voice that had been with him all along, now seamlessly merged with Tyler’s presence. It was more than a kiss. It was the affirmation that he was on the right path, that he was exactly where he needed to be.

As they pulled back, Tyler’s eyes searched Max’s face, a deep understanding between them. “You’re a real piggy, Max. I knew you had it in you.”

Max could only nod, his mind swirling with a mix of pride, fullness, and a strange sense of peace. He had done it. He had given in, and now, in this moment, it felt like everything had fallen into place. The voice inside him, the pressure to grow, to feed himself, to be more—Tyler had helped him reach a place where it all made sense.

Max was no longer fighting it. He was embracing it.

And in that moment, he felt like he was ready for whatever came next.

*****

Max sat back in the car, his stomach a bloated, heavy mass as he processed everything that had just happened. He was beyond full, feeling like he couldn’t move, but also strangely at peace in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. The warmth from the Boost VHC drinks still sat in his gut, settling comfortably, and the voice in his head whispered contentedly. The moment felt surreal.

Tyler’s eyes locked onto Max, that same intense, guiding look he had seen before. He smiled, a slow, knowing grin that seemed to hold secrets Max hadn’t yet discovered.

“You’ve done a good job tonight, Max,” Tyler said, his voice low and soothing, yet charged with an unshakable confidence. “But I know you’ve got more in you. You’re not done gaining yet. This is just the beginning.”

Max blinked, feeling the full weight of the words as they hit him, a strange mix of satisfaction and something deeper—something that stirred deep inside him, something that yearned for more. The voice, now a part of his thoughts, echoed in time with Tyler’s words.

“You can do it. You know you can. You’ve always wanted more. You’ve always been meant for this. You need it. 230. That’s where you need to be.”

Max's heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. The idea was absurd, and yet it felt right. 230… The number felt like a promise. A place of validation, of reaching his peak. The voice pushed him, urged him, made him feel like there was nothing standing in his way.

Tyler leaned in closer, his hand resting gently on Max’s bloated stomach, and Max could feel that familiar pressure build in his chest—the hunger, the longing, a sense that he couldn’t turn back, that he was already too deep into this to stop now.

“You’ve made amazing progress, but 230, Max…” Tyler’s voice was almost a whisper, yet every word felt like it was imprinted directly into Max’s mind. “That’s where the real magic happens. You’ll feel incredible when you get there. You know it. I know it. We both know it.”

Max could feel it now—the pull of Tyler’s words, the soothing yet insistent force of the voice in his mind, both merging, becoming a part of him. He couldn’t escape it. It felt like a cycle he couldn’t break, like each step forward led to a greater sense of purpose, a deeper connection to this version of himself that had been growing and changing over time.

“Yes,” the voice in his mind urged, coaxing him forward. “230. You deserve it. You were meant for it. Give in. Let go. Let yourself grow. You know what you need to do.”

Max let out a shaky breath, his body both exhausted and yet strangely energized by the promise of what was to come. He looked up at Tyler, a mix of uncertainty and excitement swirling in his gut.

“230…” Max repeated, his voice soft but resolute. He didn’t feel like he was in control anymore, but somehow, it didn’t matter. The decision was made. He was committed.

Tyler’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up with pride and approval. “I knew you’d get it. I knew you’d say yes.”

Max felt a rush of exhilaration, his body tingling with excitement, the pressure in his stomach only adding to the thrill of it all. He felt alive, connected to something bigger than himself. And as the voice echoed in his mind, it no longer felt like a choice—it felt like destiny.

“Now,” Tyler continued, his voice almost a whisper as he leaned closer, “I’ve got a gift for you. Something that’ll help you get to 230 faster. You’re going to love it.”

Max didn’t ask questions. He was beyond that now, fully immersed in the moment. Tyler opened the trunk of the car with a satisfying click, and Max glanced over, his curiosity piqued. Tyler reached inside, pulling out a large, insulated bag that seemed to be packed with something heavy.

With a grin, Tyler handed the bag to Max. “This,” he said with a wink, “is your next step. It’s going to take you further. You’re going to feel unstoppable with this.”

Max opened the bag carefully, excitement bubbling up inside him. Inside were several more cases of Boost VHC—enough to keep him going for days. Along with the drink, there were a few extra surprises: high-calorie snacks, protein bars, and a few other indulgences Max hadn’t even thought of. Tyler had thought of everything.

“Now, you’re all set for the journey,” Tyler said, his voice full of pride. “Drink up, fat boy. Keep pushing. I know you’re going to hit 230 in no time. Your stomach is bigger than you think.”

The voice in Max’s head buzzed with energy, affirming every word Tyler spoke. “230 is your destiny. Keep drinking. Keep growing. This is who you are.”

Max’s hands shook slightly as he reached for another bottle, his mind racing with the thought of what was to come. He didn’t hesitate. With Tyler’s voice in his ear, guiding him, and the echo of the inner voice filling him with resolve, he unscrewed the cap and took another long drink, the liquid slipping down his throat, bringing him closer to what he had agreed to.

Tyler’s touch was gentle on his shoulder, a constant source of reassurance as Max felt the weight of the decision settle into his body. He was committed now. 230 was just the beginning.

And with that thought, Max felt something inside him snap into place, like all the pieces of the puzzle were finally falling together. The cycle was complete. He was on his way to becoming something bigger, and there was no turning back now.

Max smiled to himself as he finished the bottle, feeling both powerful and content in the moment, ready for whatever would come next.

Part 4 will be posted next Wednesday

[mattsunsdollie]

which guys do u think would be so proud when like girls hit on their gf cause like, he knows she's hot and that he bagged a baddie, and which guys would be soooo jealous cause now even his fans want to steal his girl, like why are you asking if I can fight? I definitely would for my girl??? 🤨

AHHHH I LOVE THIS

okay so the men i think would be proud/ it would boost their ego

1. BEN RICE, my unbothered king. he knows you’re hot, and he thanks the universe everyday that you picked him. he loves when people shower you with compliments because it’s all true. and it’s even better when you run back to him and tell him. plus everyone knows you’re going back home with him anyway

2. jarren duran, he laughs at all the comments on your posts that say “jarren can’t fight all of us” he loves knowing that so many people want his girl, but you’re alllll his. he starts posting you more just to rub in the fans face that he has you.

3. aaron judge, he is never bothered or jealous when the fans compliment you. you can’t help it that you’re so sexy! he’ll call you the people’s princess, and the fans would live for it. that’d be your nickname, and whenever aaron would post and you weren’t in it the fans would complain.

the guys who would get jealous

1. juan soto, he does not understand the jokes or the comments. he knows that you’re gorgeous but he thinks the fans don’t need to say they’ll fight him for you. he’d be so caught off guard when fans ask him to facetime you to say hi, then just walk away. my poor baby doesn’t know when the fans became so obsessed with you, but he’s not sharing.

2. anthony volpe, my shy king. he already was super nervous to bring you into this part of his world. but then when fans started to drool over you he’d be confused. people would leave comments saying “anthony won’t fight for you but i will” and he’s literally upset. poor baby, he wouldn’t even reply to the comments but just know he’s jealous and wishes he kept you as his little secret.

3. max fried, he’s last because i don’t think he’d be superrrr jealous. but he would be super concerned when he saw edits of you on tik tok. he’d open the comments and see people thirsting and posting crazy reaction photos. he’d screenshot it and tell you that you will not be going to games anytime soon. he does repost the edit tho because you’re a baddie

[slightlypossessed]

Synopsis – Steve let's someone take care of him, for once in his fucking life

Who? – Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

18+ content – MDNI // handjob, thigh riding, marking and kissing.

4.05k – 17 mins

words are lost on him

it's not that there are none coming to mind — they are, they're just not sticking: light flash-bangs that don't last enough to know if he's really seen or imagined them.

the words are too quick for him to grasp onto, nerve endings fried as they spark alight with every stroke of your hand.

The movements you so torturously inflict on him are gentle, yet cruel. ministrations calculated and precise to ensure the most damage to his mind and fragile, vulnerable, state as he lies bare beneath you.

Body bare and soul rested on a silver platter for you, laid prettily at your feat for you to take as much as your heart, and lust, desire.

"Baby..." his whisper is husky, voice wrecked and all scratching-on-metal as he tries not, but fails, to beg.

Cognitive dissonance is a killer thing, Steve decides as you give a particular rough tug to his straining cock, more so than he's realised now that he's in the deep cusps of it. On one hand he's trying to hold himself together, trying to be man — in his mind, he's made to please, to be a caretaker — it's why he puts up with the bloody kids that he knows will make his hair go gret by the time he's 32, it's why he's there after every argument max has with her father, every time dustin feels lonely, every time Lucas has a falling out with the rest of the boys — always there, an invisible hand on the back, guiding, cautious, caring.

And it's why it's typically the other way around with you two than it is now. Steve's gotten comfortable with the unintentional routine: you beneath him, mouth and sex hot as you beg and scratch while he wrecks you piece by piece. He's your boyfriend, he's yours, and it's his job to please you. He's gotta care for you, for your pleasure — because he's your man, and because he goddamn wants to.

But as his darned luck would have it, your hands feel too good on his cock for him to push you away: far too gentle to push him over, but determined to press all the delicate parts of him, your fingers deft and rubbing down the areas you know to be sensitive — just enough times with every stroke to keep him constantly on edge.

He's lost time, how long it's been: maybe five minutes? ten? fifteen? maybe just the one? a torturously slow minute of pure ecstatic and exhilirating agony? He's doesn't know, all he knows is that he's at your mercy to grant him what he most needs.

And right now he needs more of what you're giving, just – god, please, more – enough to quiet the voice in his head telling him he's failing... something. Your pleasure? His supposed boyfriend duty? he doesn't know, but he wants it quiet — you've already told him you want to take care of him.

However long it was ago, his brain is half-mush and he can't quite remember, you took in your arms mid make out session and told him you wanted him, your tone different than every other time you've said those words, your hold on him more tender and enveloping.

"let me take care of you," you'd whispered against his lips, your hands on his chest and steadily caressing lower, "please."

He couldn't say no to you then, can't say no to you ever — his sweet girl, whatever you want, you'd get — and he's decided then that he'll be most compliant for you, he'll relent underneath you as you take care of him, in whatever way you'd wished to do that.

and fuck, he wasn't prepared – doesn't think his brain has relaxed ever since you pushed him against the headboard and straddled his legs and fucking told him to just relax.

How can he? when the prettiest girl he's ever seen is on top of him looking so pretty with earnest eyes tracking every emotion and expression that passes over his face. You're so keen, attention completely tuned in on him.

Nerves firing blast rapidly, blinding white light behind his eyes, whether his eyes are closed or not.

He's not even sure anymore if they're open or closed, there's just glimpses of you, and he's not even sure if his short-circuiting brain is catching up a moment late, doesn't know if by the time he's caught to the beautiful sight of you as you stoke more heat in his belly, he might've already drifted in another mini ecstasy and closed his eyes again.

Fuck, he needs more — he's not sure he can handle it — so much going on in his brain, so much pleasure emitting from your soft hands on his hard cock, but he needs more. Maybe it'll quiet his mind, maybe it'll ramp up the frequency to a million, maybe he'll completely lose it and go insane by your hands — but he craves what you give.

"Please," his voice is foreign to his own ears, broken and pleading. If he were to really think about it, you haven't even done that much to warrant his half-wrecked state. But he's there, and he seems relenting to the idea of you completely breaking him.

Maybe the idea of you taking care of him has done more to him than he thought it would.

A low moan escapes his throat as his hand previously gripping the sheet moves to anchor itself to your hips.

"Fuck," another broken sound, "please, honey, more." He isn't sure more what, faster? harder? both? he just needs your hands on him and to forget all his thoughts before he even has them.

"shh," you soothe as your hand tightens around the tip of him– and by god, you're evil, a wicked little thing— you know he's most sensitive there, and if you'd had any doubts about that, they were now for sure quelled by the debauched moan that escapes his throat. "I've got you, sweetheart, just relax for me."

But he can't relax, oh god, what are you doing to him?

Evil, he's decided.

Heavenly, his heart argues, as you lean down to give him a saccharine kiss on his parted lips, your tongue swirling with his.

Deep down, you're aware that your torturous and slow pace over the last few minutes has built him yet kept him consistently at bay, kept him all achy and squirmy underneath you – all because of you, for you.

He whimpers quietly, the sound low and vulnerable against your lips, and you pull back to hear his sweet sounds better – and immediately he gifts you another desperate sound as he chases your lips.

Usually, hand jobs are quick business in your relationship. Quick things done in foreplay before Steve's putting his tongue on you and making you cum a few times as he gets hard again to fuck you – sometimes he's even pushing your hand off him before he cums, choosing to sink himself deep inside you instead.

But it's been on your mind for a while now, this urge to just take care of him. You're brain constantly wandering to how he'd look like, sound like, if lets himself loose and handed over the reigns of his pleasure to you. He's stretching himself too thin everyday — acting as a brother, a father and a friend to a group of 15-year-old kids united by other-worldly trauma. He's the perfect boyfriend 24/7, small gifts every now and then, dates every week, fucking you silly almost every night – and on top, he's got a full-time nine-to-five.

You want to do something for him, get his mind of off everything for a while. And maybe this opens the door for more later – it's not that Steve doesn't let you take charge often, but even then he's still very much a giver rather than a taker, and this time you want him to just take and be as selfish with you as he'd wish to for once.

And so you stroke him faster in your hand again, your grip tighter this time.

A low groan sounds from his throat when your hand squeezes him at the base. Electric shocks from the centre of him to his brain.

You can't deny him what you want, can't ignore his pleas for more pleasure, not when he's so pretty underneath you, face red and flush, and his hair a mess all over a place with a few strands down his forehead.

Beautiful, in every sense. Debauched facial expression: eyes heavy-lidded and mouth agape, heavy pants in and out.

So pretty, and so you really can't even think to deny him what he aches for. Your hand moves faster without meaning to, just wanting to see more of him in this state. He rewards you with another groan, his hand tightening on your waist.

faster and faster, the sudden change of pace makes his back arch of the headboard bringing his chest closer to yours and he can feel your hardened nipples from beneath your thin shirt. The feel of it makes him shudder and he feels the need to be closer to you.

He can't think to even lift hands to take the shirt you're wearing of you, feel you closer to his skin, his heart – but he can lean his face up towards you and hope you understand his polite request.

And you do, instantly, because you were already halfway down to laying another kiss on his soft, pink lips.

Your lips meet his, gentle and tender as you feel his soft lips between your own. Your hand moves even quicker now, your thumb pressing down on the on spot you know makes him keen — and his reaction is instant. His mouth opens mid-kiss as he moans unabashedly against your lips as you continue to press over that one spot over and over again.

He's going to go insane, by god, you're going to drive him to the crazy house, because the things you're doing to him are effectively frying his brain.

You leave his mouth, and choose to kiss his exposed neck instead.

He's welcoming of it; without meaning to, he tilts his head to give you more access to suck and bite all kinds of marks along his neck – and he'd wear them with pride, let everyone now how good his girl takes care of him, how good she makes him feel. Fuck, he just wants you all around him, your soft lips on his neck and hands on his cock. He can feel your thighs against his, your calves rubbing against his knees – with every brush of your skin against his the fire in his belly grows warmer, moving from his core and spreading to his chest, his head, his limbs – rendering him tingly all over and loose beneath you.

Your hand move down as you caress his balls in slow circles as your other hand moves to continue stroking his cock.

And Steve keens, whimpers uncontrolled rolling out of his lips. And you time your hand encircling and tightening against his taut balls as you bite down on his neck, your lips suck on the tender flesh of his neck, suck and bite on a tender point on his neck.

And Steve? fuck

Steve's mind goes blank.

No thoughts, no words, nothing.

Just pleasure.

White, hot, blinding pleasure.

He feels it deep within him, a feeling like hot, melted honey so visceral it moves along from his center to spread all over him in intense waves.

In a haze, he's aware his thighs have begun to shake, his sartorius muscle clenching and rippling underneath his skin as the feeling begs to claw out of bones and release.

He's keening, hot moans and whimpers flowing through his lips in a steady flow. You can feel the sounds before you hear them, your lips still pressed to the length of throat.

Both of his arms are now gripping your hips hard, urging you closer to him. He wants– no, needs you closer. There's some part kf him that feels like he can't handle anything else, that if you were to repeat the same movements you've just done, of you were to press down on that spot along his tip, he might just go insane. Maybe lose all cognitive ability as your constant infliction of pleasure fries his nerve endings.

But these thoughts don't last, nerves frayed and through barely able to keep grip as your hands continue to jerk him quick8and quicker, unaware of how intensely you've just wrecked him.

— it's quiet and yet he can't think.

"Please," a voice he doesn't even register as his own, "please, baby, I lov- fuck, love you —oh – fuck, oh, honey–"

He's not sure what words he's saying, not even sure if he's speaking or thinking them, but the desired effect comes anyway.

The precum on your fingers help keep your movements quick, and you continue to move your fingers up and down as your other hand massages his balls.

On one particularly hard jerk, his legs twitchs beneath you, resulting in his thigh rubbing hard against your center, brushing your clit the way you've been abstaining of doing for the past god knows how long now.

shit, you might just come from this slight touch. You hadn't even realised how hot and wet you've become over the duration of pleasuring your boyfriend.

He's always been so hot to you (to everyone really, if his reputation so implies), and one look from him would've been enough to have your underwear ruined.

But, god, he's given more than just a look. He's given you his pleasure, his bare form against yours – he's given you his moans and mewls, his vulnerability. He's given you full control over his body and his pleasure – hadn't even tried once to flip you over and switch roles (not that he'd even be able to with how week in the knees you've rendered him)

So, how can you not be all hot and bothered by this? by the lascivious site of him beneath you as he desperate and weak cries fill the room around you?

Without meaning to, your hips rock against his thighs, moving in tandem with the rhythm you've set with your hand against his cock.

The feel of your dripping centre against him weakens him further, his eyes closed and head burying in the pillow. To know that his pleasure affects you that much makes his cock twitch in your fingers, makes his heart swell with an affection that is so foreign to him.

He's felt it before with you, with his tongue on your center and fingers buried deep – he's cum many times as he ate you out, unable to control himself from letting go as your pretty sounds spurred him on.

But it feels weird for the script to flip, for his immense pleasure be reason for your own, even as you remain untouched above him.

Your lips move from one spot on his neck to the other, biting and sucking as you go, feeling the vibrations of his throat down to even your core as you steadily grind yourself back and forth along the thick expanse of his muscular thighs – feeling every bulge of his muscles, every twitch of his form against the folds of your pussy, the curve of your clitoris.

His voice gruff and broken as he whimpers for you.

And despite the oath you took to only focus on him tonight, you can't stop your hips from moving even faster, motivated by lewd noise he makes.

You are human after all, and the intimacy of the atmosphere around you can't be ignored. The sight of his heaving chest gone red from blush of pleasure tempts you to feel him against your skin – to feel more of him as you make him (and yourself) cum.

You can feel it now, the shift in the atmosphere as your fingers keep moving and your hips keep rocking – it's all coming to a crescendo.

Maybe when your done milking him till you're both reasonably satisfied, you'll kiss him stupid as he recovers and then ride him till he's coming inside of you — maybe he'll sound even prettier then, cock deep in your cunt as you bounce up and down the length of him. You'll kiss his pretty neck all over then, too, feel the whimpers as they form his throat and kiss his lips as he moans for you.

or maybe you'll let yourself go now, core molten against his thighs as he cums for you spurt after spurt.

You can already feel yourself growing weak and weightless with euphoria, filled with a fever-like weakness that pulls you lower and lower to the throes of passion.

Before you can register your movements, you're pulling your hands away from Steve and ripping his shirt that still on your body off you.

The moment of reprieve, or perhaps frustration, shocks Steve, and he mewls against your throat for more.

"so close, bab– oh god–" his pleas are cut short as your hands resume their earlier position, moving faster and harsher now, more determined to get him to his high before you lose it yourself.

Your thumb drags over his slit and down to his pleasure points, up and down gripping the base. Up and down and a squeeze to his balls. Faster, gentler, more – Steve can't think, can't hold it together anymore. It's too much, please, oh please– too much yet he needs more, needs that final push to euphoria. Needs it, fuck– wants it and can't take anymore.

You lean down to kiss him on the lips again, and your nipples bush against his chest – the feeling making you both keen against each other. The soft curve of your breasts rubs against the peaks of nipples. Each rock of your hips against his thigh moving your body against him, electrifying touches all over his body and your chest rubs against his.

You bite his lips as you kiss, taking his plush bottom lip between your own and awarding it a slight tug, before letting go and soothing his tender lips with your lips.

You pull back a moment to admire your handiwork. His lips are red and kiss-bruised. His eyes are heavy lidded and you can see the dreamy and half-present look in the crescents of his eyes. He pants against your lips and tilts his head upward to kiss your lips and intertwine your tongue with his own. You watch his eyes fully close before your own do and you kiss him back.

And it appears that Steve's torture has gotten the best of him, because beneath you his chest hitches as his back begins to arch the way it always does before he cums. The sounds escaping his throat and vibrating against your lips are sporadic and disjointed. He's less kissing you now, more letting you kiss and suck at his parted lips.

His muscle tense and twitch against you, and you know all you need to do is just give him a little more, an extra nudge, and he'll topple over.

Your thumb presses against his slit as you jerk him, and your other hand massages and circles his balls just a tad bit harder.

And Steve feels himself fall.

He's not sure if the sounds he hears are his own or yours — pitches and tones melting into one, sounds coming in and out of focus as his eyes roll back and his body breaks out into tremors.

The feeling is intense, hot and burning and too much, spreading from his cock to his guts to his chest and head.

Steve shakes beneath you, body vibrating as shot after shot of hot cum fills your fist and releases over your hands and onto the sheets.

His abdominal muscles twitch as you milk him for all he's worth, your hands continuing to move as he experiences his high. Your hips rock harder and harder against his thighs, clit brushing faster as your wetness soaks his thighs.

You only slow your hand when Steve begins to thrash beneath you, his silent scream turning to aching cries.

"Steve," you moan against his lips as you rock harder, electricity filling you as your head begins to buzz and your eyes roll.

"Fuck," his whisper is quiet and rough with use, "cum for me, baby, come on," his hands, despite weak with euphoria, grip your hips with all his might to help rock your hips faster against him. "cum, honey. I love you– come on."

Steve, despite barely able to even blink his eyes open or keep his head straight, moves a hand to the back of your head to bring you closer, granting you the same intimacy you'd given him for his own orgasm.

He pulls your face to his lips, biting your plush lips in the same manner you did to his lips moments prior.

Despite the fact that Steve's brain is so euphoria-riddled that everything he experiences feels as if through a haze, he's completely and acutely in tune to your pleasure – to the hitch in your throat as your whimpers grow breathier, to the jerk of your hips against him, to how you seem to burrow yourself closer to him as you approach your own high.

Desperate and nerves frazzled to meet your own high, your hand moves to your own centre.

You bow your back as you begin to circle your clit, using Steve's sticky cum to intensify the feeling.

As your hand moves, Steve pulls back from kissing your neck, tilting his head to watch you make yourself cum with his own spend.

"oh, steve– I love you, fuck, baby–gonna cum fo'you," your words are just ramblings, breathless and desperate as you near your high.

A whimper releases from his throat as he watches your fingers circle your clit – one, two, three tugs before your body tips forward, tremors and twitches racking through your body. Your front presses against your boyfriend's chest as soft, gentle pressure fills your core and your body, leaving you weightless and pliant in the aftermath.

Those gentle waves of euphoria render you speechless against Steve, your limbs are jelly as you melt against your lover.

If Steve wasn't so spent, if his head wasn't already far too high in the clouds of venus, he might've gotten hard all over again and fucked the mix of yours and his cum deeper into your cunt.

But that'll wait, maybe a few minutes, or an hour – maybe...

His eyes are already closing.

Bone-deep euphoria induced exhaustion pulls him deep into a restful slumber.

He'll clean you both up later. You know he'll repay the pleasure you've given him with a hundred acts of care and praise. But for now you'll let him pull you down again him, let him bask in the intoxicating feeling of intimacy that comes after your love making. He settles you close, his hips against your own as you lay over like a weighted blanket.

A soft, comforting, supple blanket.

His hands fumble next to him as he reaches for the tissue box on his bedside and hands you one to wipe your fingers, eyes still closed. The rest of you can be cleaned...later, in the shower, or with his tongue; he'll decide later.

Right now, he just needs you against him.

As a final act of love before he's out, his hand moves to the back of your head and kisses your lips one last time, slow and tender, and another against each eyelid, before coming back again to your lips.

"Steve..." you break the kiss to whisper against his lips, "you gotta let me take care of you often." your words barely even a slur. Despite your love-drunk state and sensitivity, you already know that you want a repeat of this night; of the gratifying feeling as you give your lover pleasure.

Before you can respond to his weak chuckle, you're both out like light, his arms wrapped tight against you as yours rest around his neck, keeping him close to you as you bask in the post-euphoria quiet intimacy.

Like it? >> Give this a go

A/N – wasn't really sure how to end this. It's been almost two years since I've written anything at all so it feels great to get back into it. Feel like I've forgotten how to describe things??? but oh well Feedback is always wanted and appreciated

Requests are open <3