#UMMMMMMMM | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wolfiemcwolferson · 7 months

Note

*knocks on your door* Hi!!

24: Marriage of Convenience for Maxiel please! <3

I had to knock this down because I got ambitious!

Car accident mentions with minor peril but everything is fine!

Daniel is the one who suggests it, quiet and behind the motor home while Max takes deep gulping breaths, tears still on his face.

“We could, uh-“ he stumbles through it, “if you wanted, I could be the one to handle that if you ever-“

Max’s sharp teenage eyes pin him down and flay him open, like he can see the filthy idiotic thoughts Daniel had in the shower this morning.

“I just mean that,” Daniel coughs into his fist, “people have done it before, ya know. You don’t have to rely on him. I’d be happy to be the one on call, Maximus.”

“It is okay,” Max insists in that stubborn way he does, “I will not crash again. I will not have to go to the hospital again.”

Daniel doesn’t try and tell him differently. He doesn’t think Max would hear him anyway, so he lets it go, continues to stand with him while he gets his breathing under control.

Max doesn’t bring it up ever again so Daniel doesn’t either.

Not until they’re not even teammates anymore and Danny is asking about him in the media pin, feeling lightheaded and frantic.

Everything has shifted between them these days. They’re more colleagues than friends, but Max is in the wall and Daniel knows what’s to come for him - he still has friends in the Red Bull garage. He gets the gossip.

So, he asks because he needs to know, thinking about that offer from years ago. We could get married. If you didn’t want him to be the one to get that call.

And then he runs into Christian looking pale and unlike himself and he sighs, long and heavy. “I want to stay and chat, Daniel, but Jos is with Max and I’ve got to go.”

Christian is too smart and he never says anything without reason and so Daniel gets a little insane about it and that’s how he ends up at Max’s apartment in Monaco with marriage papers in his hand.

“You will sign these.” Daniel says as soon as the door is open. “Because I cannot stand what happened this weekend.”

Max is half naked - bare chested and blinking at him in confusion. He looks like he’s just woken up and Daniel knows he looks insane, but he doesn’t care.

“Sign.” He demands, thrusting them out to Max.

“I will sign them, of course, Daniel.” Max says, taking them from Daniel’s trembling hands, “but I will tell you that we must be friends again. You cannot do this to me, where you ignore me on the phone and just say hello to me in front of other people.”

Max is walking into his apartment so Daniel follows him, taking note of everything that has changed since he was last here, specifically so he doesn’t look at Max’s broad back like…when?

“Daniel?” Max asks, slapping the papers down on the counter. “You will come over for dinner?”

“Dinner. Drinks. Parties. Whatever, Maxy, just sign those.”

Max’s smile is blinding and…he’s not a teenager anymore. He’s -

“Would you like some coffee?” Max offers. “I have those pods you like.”

Daniel doesn’t linger on it. He doesn’t. Max is just…considerate.

But maybe he should have.

Because the guy he’s legally married to is like…way considerate.

He googles how to tell if your fake husband likes you likes you, realizes just how far he’s strayed from the plot and then closes that tab on his phone before opening it back up and looking up that porn video. The one he likes with the guy and the -

Fuck. Daniel realizes with a start, he looks like Max.

He goes for a run instead.

He’s got it under control.

He and Max are friends. They have dinner. Max kind of maybe dates this model for a bit and Daniel never asks for details but she stays over at his place sometimes and Daniel convinces himself that if Max were to ask him for a divorce it wouldn’t devastate him.

Because Max is kind of keeping his head above water.

The car is shit. McLaren is shit and the only thing he looks forward to are the four uninterrupted hours of Max he gets every race weekend.

Their debrief, Max calls it.

They eat together or play video games together or talk and they’re allowed because they’re married or whatever and things are FINE.

Daniel is in Australia.

He and Max have barely spoken in weeks - not since Daniel turned down the Haas offer. Even though he signs the third driver role with RBR and he’s going to literally be able to talk Max through all their shared data now, Max is furious at him over it.

“You will have to sit out races,” he had shouted. “Stuck in the simulator in England.”

Daniel didn’t get it, was just happy to be happy. Happy to have a break, a soft place to land, time to figure it out.

But Max had taken something personally and he was mad and Daniel was…trying not to think about it. In Australia. Drinking cheap beer and eating too much and exercising kind of half assed and riding dirt bikes.

He was LIVING.

And he’s in Australia when his phone rings - or Blake’s phone rings because Daniel’s is switched off and he can tell by Blake’s face that it’s bad.

“It’s dad, isn’t it.” Daniel demands as soon as Blake confirms that yeah, he and Daniel are coming.

Blake continues to gather things, ignoring Daniel and the dread grows. He’s dead. He’s dead.

“We’re getting on a plane.” Blake says, stuffing Daniel’s iPad in beside his own. “Christian set it up.”

And as soon as he’s said the name, Daniel know. “Max.”

Blake nods. “Yeah, he uh. He’s probably fine-“

“Probably?” Daniel’s voice isn’t even coming from his own body. He doesn’t know-

“Hey,” Blake grabs his arm. “Christian said he’s awake and he’s okay, but he has to have surgery and -“

“Fuck.” Daniel says, grabbing his keys, “fuck, I haven’t -“

He can’t finish that sentence. He hasn’t been around. He hasn’t done anything he’s supposed to do. He’s not even in fucking Monaco.

Blake rides beside him silently emailing or texting or doing whatever he’s doing and Daniel seethes all the way to the airstrip where there is a private plane waiting for them.

Daniel knows they’re in for a hell of a time traveling last minute, but it’s okay.

What did you do he texts Max before feeling guilty and sending I’m coming okay? Please don’t bite the nurses.

Max reads the messages but doesn’t respond.

He’s well out of surgery by the time Daniel arrives to the tiny hospital. He’s glaring at him standing in the door, arm casted to hell.

“You did not have to -“

“Shut up,” Daniel bites. “I want to be here.”

“You are just my husband on paper, Daniel.” Max accuses. “You have made it clear that you do not care about what I have to think, so why do you care that I have -“

Daniel is exhausted and he’s mad as shit and he smells like airplane. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t care what you think?”

“You are not racing this year even though you could have been! So we will never see each other!” Max looks young again. Young and scared and like that kid Daniel first made that offer to. “You have been gone since the season ended and you have not called even though you said we would be friends,” Max opens his mouth to probably say more, but Daniel slumps down in the chair beside his bed and Max shuts him mouth. “I did not say you could sit. This room is for friends and family.”

“I’m you husband!” Daniel shouts, forgetting to point out that like, Max is in a hospital bed and absolutely not racing this year and he’s still mad at Daniel.

“Then act like it!” Max shouts back and Daniel puts his face in his hands and groans, feeling sorry for himself. “You should go,” Max says in that voice that Daniel hates. “I do not want you here.”

“Tough shit, Maxy.” Daniel whispers without looking up. “You signed the papers. I’m here. Pissed as hell at you, but I’m here and now you’ve got to deal with me for however long you will heal-“

“I will hire a nurse,” Max says, but Daniel ignores him.

“Because I’m not letting you injure yourself on your fucking iracing -“

“Daniel-“

“Because you’re too stubborn to heal properly-“

“You are not a nurse, you are not qualified -“

“I cannot believe you even agreed to this!” Daniel shouts, “when clearly you do not care about my opinion in the slightest!”

“I agreed to this!” Max shouts back, “because I am in love with you!”

Daniel is too shocked to move, just to stare at Max’s beautiful face and try and process…that he loves him too. That Max loves him -

“Well, I hate that we had to sacrifice our entire season,” Christian says from the doorway, “with Max out of commission, but thank god the two of you have finally admitted to that.”

“What?” Max and Daniel say at the same time before Geri steps around Christian, carrying a bouquet of flowers almost as big as she is.

Daniel stands up on instinct.

“A real wedding this time, none of that paperwork nonsense. Christian has already agreed to drive the getaway car.” And then she blinks at Daniel, handing him the flowers.

Max is still gaping at everyone, “Daniel does not-“

“Oh come off it,” Daniel says, “of course I do.”

“Oh,” is all Max says, suddenly looking pleased and smug. “Well in that case I think we should stay at your apartment while I recover. Your living room is better for physical therapy.”

Christian chuckles, clapping Daniel on the back. “We will get you back in no time. With your dedicated nurse here.”

Everyone laughs except for Daniel, he’s too busy staring at Max’s lips. Lips he’s never even kissed.

“Oh, Geri, my darling.” Christian says, “let’s give the kids a moment.”

Daniel forgets to even be annoyed or to make a joke, he just sinks down on the edge of the bed next to Max. “I’m going to kiss you.”

“Yes,” is all Max can say before Daniel is. Lips on his, eyes closed, frozen in time.

“I now pronounce you husband and husband.” Daniel says stupidly, but Max giggles anyway and Daniel is happy he asked him that day behind the motorhomes.

#I wrote this on my phone #Maxiel #Christian Horner gets to be the good guy as a treat #no I really don’t think he’s evil he’s just not MY TP ya know #anyway #ummmmmmmm #yeah

84 notes · View notes

proverbsss · 8 months

Text

lion's den pt.2 (john tyler x reader) - nsfw

[read pt 1 here]

John Tyler, Tell Me Your Secrets

prompt(s): "Right there, that feels so good." [from this post]

notifs: john tyler is a bad bad man ; john's drugged and restrained reader, long-term ; in my mind this is cnc and i want people to consume media safely pls!! ; cutting clothes off with a blade, threats of bodily harm, John Tyler says 'jeepers' in a sexy way and this is the hill I will die on; explicitly AFAB reader; John objectifies you and defiles you in his thoughts; John says he loves you ; nipple play, vaginal fingering, penetrative sex, clit rubbing, breeding, talk of john's dick size, john's aroused by your spit and tears, i'm going to hell

terms used for reader: lady, girl, pretty slut, sweet girl, beautiful

“Someone didn’t wear anything underneath tonight,”

John is peppering your face and neck with kisses. Adrenaline, and maybe something else you can’t bring yourself to admit to, are sharpening your focus. His warm, strong hands, having pushed your shirt hastily up to your neck, his fingers are wandering your chest now, the fingers of one finding one of your tits.

Decisively, softly, John squeezes your soft flesh and his thumb grazes your nipple. Then. You let out a little whine and John crushes you to him, his free hand cradling your head, pressing your face to the neck of his patterned shirt. Nothing to his smell is descript, deodorant, laundry detergent.

“Taking notes, huh cutie? Trying to figure out how I got so close, so inside your life? I know it’s a lot,” Laying this fake-pity on heavily, he pinches harder and twists your nipple, thrusts against your thigh–and you’re suddenly twice as aware of every place his body is touching yours, of which limb is where, because you can feel–him.

He grinds on you like a horned up dog, barely noticeable movements that get a little faster, a little more insistent each time. ”Sorry, it’s just so, so good to see you. I'm more than a little excited…”

"What do you want from me?" You're saying, but it's hollow, robotic. "Please don't hurt me." You put on as brave, as fierce a face as you can, but with the cocktail of fear and whatever John’s drugged you in your bloodstream, it'd be a flat out lie to deny that he is making you wet.

Seriously wet. Sex of any sort hasn’t been something you have a lot of time for lately. Your body's only human and is under a chemical onslaught provoking these needy impulses to boot.

"I only hurt ladies when they ask me for it." He says. That's anything but reassuring, especially the way he speaks it as half-joke, half-threat. And especially as it's all he says before burying his face in your chest, somewhere between your neck and your breasts, that sensitive plane of your clavicle that no one ever seems to pay attention to.

Make that no one except John Tyler. He's tuned into every bit of feedback your body offers, thrilled at how you respond to his lips sucking, then biting, then lapping gingerly at every inch of your skin in front of him. He waited like a good boy, now he's basking in all this reward. "Are you going to?"

He asks, panting warm breaths in the narrow, sensitive canal between your breasts. He's freed both his hands now and is running them deliciously up your sides, smiling when he hits a spot that tickles or makes you squirm. You're so dizzy with conflicted emotion, with need for his mouth, his breath everywhere all at once, that you can't remember what he's asking.

John reads your thoughts. "Are you going to ask me to hurt you?"

Something primal and unsatisfied shakes loose inside of you and rather than answer in words a loud whine comes pleading out of you. Like before, but louder, more lost. Yes, your body cries out, please, anything you want.

"Yeah?" He mimics your neediness, condescension and want thick in his throat. "Is that what you need from me? That's why you closed the store by yourself? You wanted someone to come along and do this?" He's watching you the way a predator watches its next meal, happy to let the game go on, to keep you in suspense until he himself can't resist.

"Well I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” he murmurs into your chest, "you don't have to worry anymore." he leaves on you yet another frenzy of kisses, too adoring and sweet to be those of a man who’s tied you up and plans to…and plans to…

Curse his pretty, long-lashed puppy-dog eyes. Now he lifts his head, keeping those eyes pinned to yours, and takes one of your tits into his mouth. You squirm all the harder, to get away? To get more? But John has you now, and he lets go of teething your nipple to groan, "I hope you can forgive me for doing it this way. Knew you were meant for me. Fuck, these tits…" his teeth again find those sensitive little places on the bud of your nipple that shut off whatever sector of your brain remained functional. "You are so delicious. You know that, I hope."

He mirrors the placement of his mouth and a free hand so that the other nipple benefits from the ministrations of his mouth while the hand squeezes the one he's left wanting.

"Did you just say 'please?' Did you?" Did you? It spilled from your lips without even forming as a conscious thought. You can't speak. You can't think. All you know, have ever known, seems to be this craving for more and more of John. It's an eerie, seasick heat that charges your lust for him. It crashes and spikes over your invisible, almost entirely forgotten fear and resistance to all of this, which has sunken to the very bottom of your attention like a drowned sailor screaming out the last of their oxygen in vain. John's hypnotic voice draws you back up to the surface.

"Already begging. Boy did I get lucky." His ridiculously skillful tongue elicits a ridiculously wanton string of moans from you and now both of you are finding a rhythm grinding against each other. He comes back up for a kiss on your lips, puts all his weight into thrusting properly and says into your mouth, "Yes, oh God, yes, just like that. Right there, that feels so good."

He's shaking and you're shaking and the bed is creaking and you might get close to an orgasm just like this, inhibitions are so deep beneath your conscious mind they might as well have never been. "Pretty, pretty slut, you're mine now. Maybe I can't get you to admit it in words, but I'd bet anything I have that your pussy is soaked for me."

The friction of your clothed wetness and the cock twitching to burst free from his trousers is intense. That hunger pang to be full, to take his length inside you comes from deep down and when he stops in midair above you your hips wiggle involuntarily.

"I have to see. Have to feel," he talks more to himself. So quickly he is crawling back down the length of the bed, fingertips grazing the sides of your abdomen, digging into the tender dip where your lower belly ends and the waistband of your jeans, ever an obstacle, begins.

"Gonna have to leave these down around your ankles, cutie. Can't risk you kicking and struggling for the sake of untying these little legs. Lift up."

Dominant, borderline paternal in a way you could never admit or compromise to by the light of day, John's simple command hotwires a response out of you and almost without volition you lift your hips so that he can pull your jeans down your thighs, your shins, to your ankles.

"Jeepers, you're wet for me. I didn't doubt that you liked it, but this. This is very flattering, I could cum in my pants like a junior high schoolboy. Not going to, it would be a tragedy not to fuck you tonight. But I very much could. Gonna touch you now."

It's a statement, not a request, that prefaces John's dragging one firm, curious digit across the wet spot over your slit. Your hips, thighs, hell even your back and upper body are involved as you buck against the contact. More. You're desperate in a way that's totally foreign to you. Both of you sense a shift toward urgency.

The pretense of charm, if it was lingering, now drops darkly and abruptly out of John's demeanor. You can see gears click away in his head, later you'll know he was cementing a mental image of you as his property, was 'thingifying' you. "Gonna fucking ruin you. This cunt is so needy, it's killing me."

You drip, you know you do, at the sound of his words, and the hypersensitive feeling of John pulling your panties to the side to feel your wetness firsthand.

"Okay, these are in my way," he practically growls, pulling a small pocketknife from his trousers and sneaking a finger under one leg of your panties to safely cut them off. "I don't want you to bleed just yet, and I really don't want to lose a finger. But they're coming off."

In an instant, he's sliced through the waist of your underwear on one side, then matched the action on the other side, so like the petals of the most sinful flower, John pulls the torn cloth covering away from your pussy. You spread for him, again never making up your mind to do so beforehand, and squirm at the sensation of being fully on display for him.

He takes his hands off your pussy, dances featherlight touches across your thighs, that gorgeous junction where your hips end and tummy begins, the soft hill of your pelvic bone. “Almost. Ask me for it.”

Your cloudy eyes search his, finding stormy resolve and almost no trace of the gentleness that hangs around in his voice like a lure for unsuspecting prey.

“Come on. No free rides. Not for me, not for you. Ask me to touch you.”

You search your mind for the defiant nerve that wanted to say, to scream ‘no.’ But there’s nothing but a dull throb between your legs watching his pretty fingers waltz across your skin. “Um. Please,”

John’s nostrils flare. Well that’s not quite good enough. “Please ‘what’?” he sing-songs, toothy grin catching the light above you. His sharp teeth. You never had time to notice how fang-y they look.

You’ve also never had anyone make you beg in bed. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say you liked it. Or…part of you did.

“Please John…your fingers…”

To make matters worse, he takes two digits into his mouth and sucks on them. He watches you enjoy the sight. Relishes the power.

“These?” he asks, performatively dorky, “where do you want them?”

You calculate a trillion possibilities. Thrashing your way out of these restraints like some superhuman adrenaline fiend. Giving into the dubious want hammering in your bloodstream. Kicking him in the groin–well, not that one, you can’t do that one. John pulls you out of the internal debate and shakes you pretty roughly by the shoulders. The fingers that went in his mouth are still wet on your shoulder. You wince.

“Nothing worth having comes easy, you slut. I’m not talking to myself anymore. Speak.”

“I want your fingers…in me, in my pussy, please.”

“‘That’s a good girl.” John smirks appreciatively. He drags his fingers down your shoulder, your upper arm, your forearm. “You’re so lucky you were specific, I might have had to play with your ass.”

You’re familiar enough with your own body to know that whenever anyone has even barely touched you there, they haven’t taken enough time for it to be enjoyable. So it’s a scary thought. As John meant it to be.

“Another time. For now…” His fingers continue their slow glide down your sides, the outside of your thighs. Then in a swift gesture, his hand drifts torturously above your pussy. His middle finger almost grazes your clit. “Tell me again.”

“I want your fingers in my pussy.”

That bottomless, hungry blackness comes into his expression again and he pushes that same middle finger inside your cunt. You gasp a bit as he strokes the tender heat he finds inside you, brushes little spots that make you want to buck against him and squirm away from him at the same time.

“Hello, beautiful. Do it. Fucking open up for me.” His encouragement flowers in your subconscious and your hips thrust toward more of that feeling. That fucking feeling. John lets you have your fun. His cock stiffens at the thought of your resistance dropping away. You grind your mind away on his one rough finger and he watches you like you're something to eat. Which you are, but that's for another time too. Because he's feeling fucking restless.

"Ah, if you're close, you have to tell me. You're not cumming on anything but me." he promises, and you believe it enough to stop thrusting in the direction of the sensation that feels so good, so everything. "Does that mean you're ready? Can you nod for me?"

You do. Just why you do is something you'll deal with by daylight, if you ever get out of this place. But it's an irretrievable truth now that you want to get fucked by him, to feel him. John's eyelashes flutter as he strips off his pants and underwear in a clumsy, reckless rush, and then he's back on top of you. His ankles touch where yours are tied up. And his length bumps wetly against your stomach.

That is...primally exciting and frightening all in one go. Your senses scream that there's no way you'll be able to take him even as John lines himself up with your entrance and starts to enter you.

Slowly. You're reminded suddenly of your heartbeat. It's not the kind of opening up that can be achieved in one sloppy, marginally satisfying stroke. John is stretching you beyond what you thought possible, and he's slow, but he isn't prepared to wait forever.

This is the law of balance, he thinks, smirking to himself as he watches the naked fear and want in your face. I scratch your back, you let me fuck your slutty cunt into oblivion.

You can’t hold him. You’ll come apart, the world is coming apart.

John lets go of a deep, deep sigh, cock still so unbearably deep inside you. “Mmmm. I know, I know, I’m a little big, you can take it, good-girl-good-girl…”

You haven’t spoken in 45 seconds to a minute. Some sense of the present seems to have left your eyes, dripped out through your cunt. A gorgeous silvery little teardrop is in the corner of your eye. Impulsively, gripping your wrists, John leans down and licks it. You wince away from the feeling.

John lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, tastes you on his tongue.

“Please,” you whine meaninglessly. Please don’t hurt me. Please untie me. Please fuck me. Please let me go. Your desires are all confused.

“S’fucking good.” his hips move a little, he doesn’t even thrust on purpose. Just needs you.

You let out a little cry. The pressure is immense. You’re wet, but he is so much bigger than anything or anyone you’ve ever taken inside.

“Oh yes. More of that. Fucking give that to me,” he pants out, capturing your mouth in another enveloping kiss to swallow your sounds as he starts to move with a bit more intention. So much.

The bed creaks under you as John finds a rhythm he enjoys that you're grateful isn't ripping you apart. You've never had this level of internal vertigo between pleasure and pain. Your vision is blinded white. And this isn't going to last long.

"You make me wanna be a better man," John laughs to himself, half-serious and half-mad with lust. "Fuck, I want to touch you more than anything. You'll cum if I rub your clit, I know you will."

You let out a loud moan as he fumbles a hand and finds a sensitive nub at the arch of your pussy. He's so distracted that initially all he does is lay a hand on you, deadweight, vaguely good but not nearly enough. You're so far gone that you try and fail to wrench your arms free and cover his hand with one of your own.

He entertains toying with you this way and not indulging what you so clearly want. But really, more stimulation is just going to make you gush. And that is something John Tyler needs to see and feel before he dies.

He reads you with his index and middle finger as he did before with his mouth, and attentive, filthy pitcher ears. You like a bit of circularity, and a little bit of pressure--so slippery now his hand slips off you now and again and he laughs, laughs. You watch him get lost in it and get rougher, and if there's any trace of fear left in you under his ministrations, you're climbing too high to be brought back down by it. You've heard people say their mind so empties, so fills up with pleasure that sex feels like the soul leaving the body. This must be your version of it.

Fate has it happen under the constricting body of big bad John Tyler, but there really is no time to worry about that. "Yeah. Good. Fuck." Even he's growing less eloquent.

Your walls clench down around him and release starts as an intense wave curling your toes. "Yeahfuck-cum-I'm gonna cum inside you. You know you want it. You know, you know, you know me--" he chants, a groan leaving his lips as you shake up apart and cum on his length. He spills his seed inside you, warm, sticky, satisfying, foreign.

"Oh..." You say, a small, animal noise having met the brink of your presence of mind and gone past. It sounds surprised, and sweet, and bruised, and fucking filthy.

"I love you, noisy girl. Fuck I love you," John sighs, collapsing over your body, his face in your neck. "Never fucking letting this go. Never never never..."

#hiiiiiiii i did it :)#pt 2 boys come eat your filth #john tyler x reader #my blabber #john tyler #tmys #tell me your secrets #mdni #hamfam smut #ummmmmmmm #nsft #lion's den pt 2

50 notes · View notes