#two parts max

[mostly-funnytwittertweets]

[galaxygolfergirl]

Saw this promo photo and had to edit to suit the 90s sitcom vibe lol

[loveisonlyforthebrave8]

[texaschainsawmascara]

Anya Taylor Joy & Malcolm McRae wedding

[haneentifosa005]

Here are some f1 memes I made pt.3:

(I posted this yesterday but tumblr ate it)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Extended Parting

Synopsis: After being separated from you for so long, Childe finally finds you again.

Foul Legacy x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Comfort Warnings: Mentions of blood, physical injuries, fear, pain, crying, allusions to being attacked

Original Request by Anon: requesting requesting! beep bop beep bop ! more foul legacy × reader hurt/comfort, perhaps? :3

hear me out- in the format of a scenario; just pure comfort, reader is perhaps sent of to a dangerous mission/commission while childe is away doing his own thing. when he is going back home however, he stumbles across a group of fatui, taking the reader hostage & hurting them. foul legacy's reaction to his "allies" hurting the love of his life? and how he would take care of the reader after, assuming the reader got pretty severe injuries (even though they're not fetal).

Im a big sucker for this big boi getting all soft when the reader is hurt, and i wanna see more of him just holding the bleeding reader in his arms while trying to comfort them

~ * ~

Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and eight minutes. That’s how long you’ve been apart, how long Childe has gone without being in your presence, and he’s hated every second of it. Important commission, hah! No commission could be so important that it took you away from him for this long- almost half a month! All of your other missions took you a week, tops, and even then he could barely handle it, missing you more and more as each day passed without a single word or letter. Of course, he admits, it’s not like Childe didn’t also have his own duties to attend to during this time, this extended parting. As usual, he was forced to store Ajax and Childe away, slipping on the mask of Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, and taking delight in violent diplomacy. But even fighting and bloodshed did little to satiate his longing for you; how much he wished to see your wonderful smile and that keen twinkle in your eyes, hear your lovely voice, cradle you in his arms and kiss your cheeks- Childe groans, burying his face in his hands. It makes him irritable, constantly yearning for you, and Foul Legacy is even worse. His Abyssal half is constantly clawing at the back of his mind, worrying his talons and whining as he asks why they haven’t seen you yet? Where are you? When will you be back? He wants cuddles something fierce, desperately seeking out the attention and affection you always give him only to find that you’re nowhere near. They’re both so lonely without you, only each other for company, and Childe has to physically bite his hand to prevent Legacy from simply snatching control of their body away and flying off to find you. With a sigh, the Harbinger wipes the blood from his blades, then his hands, and finally his face, ginger hair all wild and unruly. At the very least, today was when he would finally return home to Liyue. He never thought somewhere other than Morepesok could be considered home, but it turns out that “home” is wherever his heart is, and he gave it to you long ago to keep safe from everything that hurts.

Home… Childe’s mind drifts back to the house you both share, a small smile instinctively tugging at his lips. With a quiet snap of his fingers and a salute, his underlings are dismissed- they’ll be going back to the Fatui Headquarters in Snezhnaya. Childe, however, packs his supplies near the road back to the harbor city, waving the agents away, and the moment they’re out of sight his smile widens into a full-on grin, a delighted gleam in his azure eyes. 

Even just thinking about you seems to bring out the best in him, Foul Legacy chirping happily in the back of his head when Childe reassures him that yes, they’ll be seeing you again soon. If you’re done with that horribly long commission of yours, that is, which he’s sure that you are- even the most arduous never take up to three weeks. Despite being exhausted, he finds a spring in his step, dust swirling as his boots land against the dirt path. You, you, you- he’s going to see you again, his beloved and most treasured. Childe almost glows with energetic joy as he jogs, as if he never fell into the Abyss at all. His hand twitches, Foul Legacy begging and pleading to be let out after spending so long locked away, but Childe hushes him gently. You’ve said that you like it when he’s kind to Legacy and Legacy is kind to him- they are part of each other, after all, and you love both of them- so he tries to treat the monster as a friend rather than a weapon, and with a huff Legacy settles back down. Something faint and distant as the moon pierces the night, and Childe pauses, ears pricking. He tilts his head to listen, and for a moment he hears nothing but silence. Until- there, there! A scream! It’s far off, over the next hill, but unmistakably there. Even from a distance Childe can hear the desperation, the terror burning into his bones like a raging fire with a familiarity that makes him stop in his tracks.

No… no, it couldn’t be. It can’t be- Please, please let him be wrong- Childe’s feet carry him towards the sound, dread spiraling and twisting in his gut as another awful shriek rings out and he looks up, eyes widening. He was right. Oh, he was right, and he wishes he wasn’t, because it’s you. It’s you, gripping your weapon like a vice and covered in blood, expression filled with panic and fear and pain. It’s you, still in your adventurer’s gear, bag packed with whatever stupid, insignificant item the commission wanted. It’s you, surrounded by Fatui agents- not his, thank the Archons- the rest of them laughing and sneering. It’s you, hurt and scared and looking as if you’re about to collapse onto the ground and never rise. It’s you, and Childe’s veins freeze over with cold, splintering ice. You’re pressed against a ruined wall, swiping the blade in your hands at the soldiers, who merely snicker at your weakened attempts. The leader- one of those Electro vanguards with a giant hammer- smacks the weapon aside and seizes your arm, and you let out an involuntary yelp of pain as tears prick in your eyes. The yelp is all the motivation he needs, and Childe barely feels his restraint shatter like glass. They never even saw it coming, Foul Legacy throwing his spear and ripping the agents apart as fast as lightning, vibrant purple sparks searing the grass as he roars, driven only by wrath and fury. The vanguard who grabbed you so violently shouts in surprise and horror- then everything goes silent, apart from Legacy’s heavy breathing, claws dripping with blood. He exhales, curling his talons into fist with a tight crackling noise, letting out a low, guttural growl of rage. You bite down fiercely on your tongue, trying to stay quiet, but you can’t help but gasp in pain as the slashes in your body flare, and Foul Legacy’s anger burns away as quickly as a dying candle. He turns and rushes to you, chittering frantically, only to freeze when he sees you stiffen, petrified with fright. His chirps and trills lower to soft croons, gentle and sweet and familiar, crouching slowly to your height and holding out a hand. He tentatively inches forward, hand extended and palm up, claws curling delicately around your wrist when you desperately reach for him. “A-Ajax…?” Legacy’s Abyssal heart cracks, and he swiftly gathers you in his arms, whimpering and nudging his forehead against your cheeks as you cling to him and let out anguished, hitching cries. You suck in a breath when his talons ghost over a wound, and Legacy almost sobs with despair. Some part of him- the rational, trained soldier that is Childe- tells him to get you home, heal you, make sure that you’re well- he carefully gets to his feet, holding you close to his armored chest and adjusting your head so it’s pillowed by his lavender fluff. You shudder with pain again, and Legacy gently licks his tongue over the shallow scrapes on your face, cooing softly; with a flutter of his glimmering wings he takes to the sky, his arms cradling you like you’re made of crystal and gold.

He lands near your shared home not ten minutes later, hastily unlocking the door with the key he always sees Childe using. The house is quiet and a little dusty from being empty for so long, but your bed is as soft as ever as Legacy delicately lowers you down onto the mattress. Childe is the one who tells him what to do, again, guiding his claws to gently wrap your wounds with snow white gauze. None of them are fatal, and Legacy thanks his constellation with a grumbling sigh of relief. A quiet croon slips out when he sees you fading in and out of consciousness, sweetly cupping your cheek with a clawed hand- he’s shaking. Why is he shaking? He’s not the one who nearly died- but your hand comes up to weakly grasp his, and Legacy’s heart melts and breaks and patches itself up all over again.

Your lips twitch into a shaky smile, exhausted, your fingers resting on Legacy’s and soothing the minute trembles running through his body. The Abyssal creature- your wonderful, sweet Abyssal creature- blinks slowly at you, crystalline eye filled with tears that drip down his crimson face and pool in the divots of his mask as he fights to contain the sobs that threaten to break out, and when you reach up your other hand, covered in bandages, to caress his cheek, his breath hitches and he collapses into your arms, burying his head against your neck and weeping. In a whispered voice you coo and murmur and hum to him, repeated words of “it’s okay, I’m here, I’m okay”, and he tries so, so hard to do it back to you, his own sounds cracked and stuttering, something along the lines of “don’t leave, I miss you, I’m sorry”, or as close as he can say with a mouth made for biting and gnashing. Your hands lightly tug him closer- or rather, your hands tiredly loosen and he moves to follow them- until he’s close enough for you to press a soft kiss to his forehead. Legacy immediately purrs, tearful and whimpering, and your silent offer of lifting up the blanket is met with an instance moth monster at your side, curling around your body and holding you close. He’s careful not to squeeze you, trying to get as close as possible and mold his form around yours as you rake your hands through his fluffy coppery hair, drawing more deep, comforting rumbles from within his chest, the type he makes when you’re dreadfully ill.

Cats’ purrs are healing, so you’ve heard. Perhaps Abyssal beasts’ purrs are much the same. Slowly, your eyes begin to droop, and you yawn, exhausted and worn. Foul Legacy quietly nudges you, a croon of reassurance falling from his fanged maw, claws dancing over the wraps on your skin now stained brilliant red. It hurts, it hurts like fire- but you’re safe. Safe in your bed, and in Legacy’s arms, and the tension leeches from you and dissipates into nothing. You vaguely hear a soft melody, low and rumbling and familiar from when you’ve sung Foul Legacy to sleep, and the arms around you tighten ever so slightly as the sun finally dips beneath the horizon into the locked box of night. Two weeks, three days, eight hours, and thirty minutes. That’s how long Foul Legacy refused to let you out of his sight, even after your injuries had closed and healed.

[mattmurdockismyspiritanimal]

Stay strong and distracted, my fellow soldiers.

[ohmovie]

The Hand of God be my witness. I am the Voice from the Outer World. Dune: Part Two (2024) dir. Denis Villeneuve

That is the darkest of angels. The fifth Rider of the Apocalypse. Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024) dir. George Miller

[semiweirdshipper]

Killer reactions to a legally blind reader who had their glasses stolen from them during a trial. (Part two).

Notes: Non-binary reader. Warnings for minor, non-graphic violence and character injury.

...

Ji-woon

He saw you struggling to walk through the forest, your arms spread out and feet stuttering in caution. Concern invaded, and he quickly ran up to you. When he noticed that you didn't have your glasses on, he asked suspiciously, "Where are your glasses?"

Ji-woon watched as you gasped and tensed up as if expecting an attack, and he frowned in dejection. "Uh? Don't be afraid," He reached down to gently grab your hand, saying reassuredly, "I'll help you escape, yes?"

"You... You'll help me? Really?" You timidly asked, your body still tense, "But... Why?"

"Oh," Ji-woon giggled, grinning big and blushing, "You are my favorite. I like you."

Seeing you gape like a fish caused Ji-woon to giggle even more in fondness and amusement. "You're so cute, (y/n)," He slowly guided you over to some boxes and had you sit down on one, "Wait here. I'll be back soon, uh?"

"O-ok," You nodded, hiding your bashful face, "Thank you."

Man, you were so freakin adorable. Ji-woon grinned maliciously and took off, his blood running hot with vengeance. Vengeance that didn't take but ten minutes to achieve, especially whenever he discovered your glasses broken in David's pocket. Those no good rats.

Returning to your side, Ji-woon reached out for your hand again and smiled, "Ready?"

"Yes," You say softly, blushing as he let you use him for support, "Thank you again."

Ji-woon puffed his chest out in pride. "Anything for you, aleumdaun."

Pinhead/Elliot Spencer

He felt the calling of the lament and, realizing that it was you who was summoning him, he immediately teleported to your location. When he arrived, he spotted you shyly standing near a pallet, your exposed eyes squinted harshly as you cautiously stood your ground.

"You solved the lament configuration," Elliot tilted his head in curiosity and hidden surprise, "But to what cause?"

You hesitated, looking fretful, "You... You said that if I solved the box then I... I would get a reward? Well... I-I want my glasses back. Please? Nea stole them."

A glimmer of a smirk shown within Elliot's piercing black eyes, "You have become bold, I see. Are you to assume that 'returning your glasses' is all I have in mind for you?"

"I..." You gaped, looking horrified and regretful, like you were imagining him torturing you, "I..."

"Stay here," Elliot demanded and briefly turned away. He was able to locate Nea, hook her and retrieve your glasses. When he returned to you, you had the most defeated, hopeless expression on your face, and it tore at his soul.

"I suppose the full extent of your reward can wait until another time," He said in a much more soothing tone than what he usually used, and he handed you your glasses. "I do not enjoy witnessing you treated with disrespect."

Fiddling with your glasses for a moment, you slid them on and looked up at him with flattered yet timid eyes, "Thank you, Elliot. Maybe... Maybe next time?"

Elliot smirked and swiftly turned around to leave, "I will be waiting."

Evan

He saw you walking around calling out for Jake to give you your glasses back and, at first, he chose to ignore you. Surely soon Jake would return them to you. Well...

Apparently not.

Several times Evan had crossed paths with you only to see you struggling every single time, looking lost and helpless. It pulled at his heart and made him angry. How could anyone treat you this way?

Remembering that it was Jake you were calling out for, Evan went and found the traitor, killed him and retrieved your glasses. Then he found you respectfully working on a generator. God... He liked you too dang much.

When you noticed him approaching, you tensed up and bowed your head in miserable acceptance. "Here, darlin'," Evan said, lifting your glasses out, "Think you're missin' these."

"Huh?" You blinked at him, the sight of your exposed eyes doing things to him. Taking your glasses back, you slid them on your face, stammering in gratitude, embarrassment and fear, "Th-thank you. Really. I'm... I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," Evan took a few steps back to help ease your anxiety, "Ain't no one got an excuse good 'nough to treat ya that way."

You whimpered, covering your cheeks with your palms. So adorable. "Thank you."

Evan smiled beneath his mask and turned away, damming Jake for his shenanigans and yet also thanking him at the same time. Let's just say, he really enjoyed this trial.

Pyramid Head/The Executioner

He doesn't know much about human anatomy but he does know that those glass things help you see. He's also good at sensing distress and emotional turmoil, and during this trial you were utterly decomposed unlike usual.

And the Executioner does not appreciate it when his favorite human is in distress, especially when the distress is caused by other guilty, shameful humans.

Leaving you be to your objectives, The Executioner lurks around hooking and searching for something he doesn't quite understand. It's difficult to navigate who has your glasses exactly, and he really does search. He tears apart clothes, he breaks fingers and he even shakes the survivors, but to no avail.

Eventually he hooks the third survivor Claudette and searches for you, discovering you hiding amongst some pillars. When you notice him approaching, you gasp and run straight first into a wall.

With all hope lost, you crouch down and begin to hopelessly cry, humiliation, sadness and frustration steaming from your body.

The Executioner walked closer, stopping before you and bending forward as much as he was capable of. He then dropped an object into your lap.

You jostled in shock, your eyes going wide when you felt what exactly the object was. Glasses. But... Not your glasses. "These... These are Claudettes?" You ask, slipping on the tiny glasses. They barely helped you to see, honestly.

But they would be good enough, and you were grateful for his generosity, "Thank you."

Proud and satisfied, the Executioner nodded, took a few steps away and gazed back at you. Come on. The hatch isn't going to find itself.

Wesker

You're his favorite survivor, so he searches for you first only to find you getting laughed at by Quintin. He had your glasses. You were struggling to chase him, putting up quite a fight until he purposely tripped you and sent you falling face first to the ground.

Oh. Oh, that boy was so done for. Wesker's eyes burned orange, and he flew up to the treacherous nobody, jamming him with uroboros. Quintin screamed and dropped your glasses. Wesker picked them up and finished chasing the coward, hooking him shortly.

By the time he returned to you, he was amused to see you standing and searching around, obviously focused and self-aware. "Tis a pity you can be taken advantage of so easily, (y/n)," Wesker said, twirling your glasses around, "I almost feel sorry for you."

He eagerly awaited a snappy, passionate reaction from you, but was ultimately met with deafening silence. You weren't even looking at him, your head bowed, hands gripping a barrel and your face twisting with hatred and shame.

It was as if you expected the worst out of everyone including him.

"What will I get if I return them to you?" Wesker asked, stepping closer.

You mumbled back, "Just kill me, Wesker. I'm done."

Out of all his time here, Wesker had never, ever seen you give up. It made him... Concerned. "How long has this been going on?" He stopped beside you and handed you your glasses back.

You were taken aback by his kindness and consideration, and you went to put your glasses back on, "A while."

"Well then," Wesker smirked, aching to touch your face, "I suppose we'll need to put a stop to this. Won't we?"

Max

He doesn't really understand what's going on at first. All he knows is that you're really, really struggling. The only reason he can think why is because you didn't have your glasses. Why though? Where were they?

Hesitant, shy and nervous, Max tries his hardest to avoid hooking you. There is one time, however, that he hears you calling out for Feng to give you your glasses back. Ah ha. So Feng took them. That monster. How could she do this?

Max then makes it his number-one priority to catch Feng and return your glasses. It doesn't take him long, but when he throws her over his shoulder, he hears a distinct crack, and panics. Oh... No...

Dropping Feng unceremoniously, Max searches her hoodie and finds your shattered glasses. Noooooooo! No, he broke your glasses. Ah, what was he supposed to do? You were gonna be so mad at him and upset, and you wouldn't be able to see, and he felt so bad. Just- ahhh!

He let you down. Max growled in distress, his chest aching. He really, really let you down. Oh, he was so sorry.

But he wasn't going to hide from you despite every nerve in his body wanting him too. Instead, he killed the rest of the survivors, deserted his chainsaw and hammer, and timidly approached you.

Whenever you noticed him, you covered your face and awaited pain, but felt none. Sensing that he was close, you gaped and whimpered, "Max?"

Wow, your eyes were really pretty. Max blushed, his chest filling with butterflies. He walked forward and gently tapped on your forearm.

"What?" You whispered softly, "I-I can't see, I-I'm sorry."

Even though it hurt him to speak, Max managed to say "hatch". You looked at him with utter gratitude, grabbing onto his offered arm and saying shyly, "Thank you, Max. I-I really appreciate it."

Max smiled and growled happily. Good grief, the 'butterflies'.

[toppamplemousse]

fairytalestappen part 2: cinderella

or should i say……cinderMAX ‼️🤭

- starring Max as Cinderella (yay Max gets to be the princess!!!! and he looks like such a beautiful princess with his beautiful blue eyes in this photo!!!!!!) and Charles as Prince Charming (prince of ferrari fr)

- As kids, Charles and Max both do karting. They have a rivalry but also a respect for each other. However, Charles is the prince so he has to quit to focus on ruling the kingdom. Max is sad.

- Shortly after, Max’s dad remarries and he has an evil stepfather Helmut Marko (yes Jos is gay), who’s two daughters Christiana and Adrianna are the nasty stepsisters (we went back and forth on whether it should be Christian and Adrian as stepbrothers but we decided stepsisters was funnier lmao) Max’s dad dies and Helmut Marko makes max quit karting so he can become their full time servant. They call him Cindermax HAHAHAHAH

- Time passes. Charles, the crown prince, is facing pressure from his advisor Bryan (picture him as the duke with the monocle, you know he’s eating that shit uppp) to get married. They decide to hold a ball on the evening after the well-known charity karting race that the kingdom holds every year. Every eligible man and woman is invited to the race and ball. (side note that in my head this all occurs in the kingdom of the animated Cinderella but ostensibly it could occur in Monaco and the charity race is like a precursor to the grand prix etc. anyways. there’s so many other things to focus on that this isn’t really important)

- Max really wants to go to the race (he doesn’t really care about the ball, he just wants to go karting again bc he loves it so much). His mouse friends Lando and Oscar find an old blue racing suit (with the German flag and the name Vettel on it, how odd) for max to wear to the race (believe me it hurts so much to have a mouse character and it’s not my little mouse Charles but he has to be the prince here so alas)

- Helmut and Christiana and Adrianna find out that max is planning to go to the race and they make fun of him and his driving ability and then rip up his beloved race suit and give him so many chores that he’ll never finish in time. cue despondent max crying in the courtyard, when all of a sudden, in a flurry of sparkles, who should appear but Max’s fairy godmother, Gianpiero Lambiase

- GP makes him a new blue race suit and he also gives Max a helmet with Max’s favorite animal, a bull on it, plus a pair of blue racing gloves and gold racing boots. He transforms Lando and Oscar, plus a couple other animals (Checo, Liam, Yuki, Franco) into Max’s pit crew/mechanics for the race. He takes a pumpkin and makes it into a go kart for Max

- Max makes it to the charity race. He starts on the back row but battles his way to the front and from then on it’s him and Charles racing each other, exchanging the lead, racing on the limit and almost pushing each other off at every corner. It’s exhilarating racing someone like that again…..so similar to how it was in karting…..interesting

- Max and Charles talk as they wait for the fake podium, they are both immediately enamored. Charles takes off his helmet (and Max recognizes him from karting) but Max doesn’t take off his, because he’s worried that Charles will recognize him and pity him or something like that. This of course means that Charles takes special notice of this man’s helmet Which Will Be Important Later. Charles asks max if he’ll be at the ball later. Max wasn’t originally planning to go, he just wanted to race, but he says yes because he’s so charmed by charles (join the club Max)

- GP helps Max change into a nice outfit for the ball, and it’s a masquerade ball so Max is wearing a mask. He is of course wearing blue. Is he wearing a dress? I’ll leave that up to the readers imagination. Max gets to the ball and he sees Charles dancing with Christiana/Adrianna. He’s jealous and mad so he leaves the ballroom to get some air and sulk. Charles finds him and they talk and flirt. Charles doesn’t realize that Max is the same person that he raced earlier, so he talks about how exciting it was and how much he wants to find that person and be able to talk about racing with them. Maybe he also mentions how the last time he felt that excited while racing was when he was karting with this old rival of his who always pushed him to be a better driver.

- Charles asks Max to dance outside in the garden, away from the crowds, bc he can tell the crowd makes Max nervous. it’s very romantic. not nearly as romantic as Checo singing Beauty and the Beast but alas, what is? anyways it’s all very charged and there’s lots of staring into each others eyes and leaning into each other and also they fit so perfectly together as they dance it’s like they’ve known each other their whole lives Okay Moving On.

- They kiss, but then the clock strikes twelve and max runs away. his blue racing glove falls from his pocket, and Charles realizes that he’s the same person as the man he raced against that afternoon as Max is running away. Charles chases after him but Max escapes in his carriage (which used to be his go kart which used to be a pumpkin. many layers to this).

- Max gets home and the next morning, Helmut figures out that he was at the race and later dancing with Charles because he finds Max’s gold racing boots and realizes they are the same ones the driver was wearing. Helmut also puts together that Max was at the ball and he’s furious, so he locks Max away in the garage of the house. Because he’s in the garage, Max starts tinkering with a karting engine that he’s been rebuilding as a side project.

- Charles comes to their house, looking for the man he raced against, who he now knows is the man he danced with and kissed. He tries on the racing glove but it doesn’t fit Christiana or Adrianna. Suddenly there’s a crash coming from the garage and Charles realizes that there’s someone else in the house that Helmut doesn’t want him to meet

- They all rush to the garage and find Max there (he dropped a wrench or something idk how engines work). Charles pulls out the racing glove to see if it fits Max but suddenly Helmut snatches it and tosses it in the fire! Oh No!

- But then something catches Charles’ eye on a shelf in the garage. It’s Max’s helmet from the charity race the day before, the blue helmet with the bull on it. And right next to it is another, smaller helmet that Charles would recognize anywhere. It’s Max’s helmet from when they raced against each other in karting. It’s at this point that Charles realizes that this is the man he kissed last night, raced against in the charity race, AND who was his childhood rival before he had to leave karting.

- Charles takes down the helmet and puts it on Max’s head, it fits! Charles kisses the visor, very romantic and beautiful etc etc etc. He proposes to max on the spot. Max says yes. eat rocks Helmut Marko.

- And they all live happily ever after including mice landoscar who are also in love. Fairy godmother GP comes back to make max his wedding outfit and this time he DOES wear a dress i’m certain of it.

- And Helmut and Christina and Adrianna die penniless and their cat becomes feral and has to be put down (sorry to adrian newey he kinda got caught up in all this but i don’t really have beef with him. christian horner i do have beef with he deserves all of this and much worse)

next up: snow white!!!!!

[sophieseals]

FURIOSA SPOILERS

Dementus parachute cape going from white in the beginning like a ‘saviour’ to covered with red paint once he meets a war boy and darker towards the end of the film has a GRIP ON ME. I’m torn as I think it could relate to two things.

1) how his followers see him as a saviour figure, and how active he is to use them as cannon fodder/ no true loyalty or freedom he pretends to uphold in order to gain followers. (See the Citadel Speech)

We all know Dementus is a manipulative prick the first time he ever meets Furiosa however, would be able to hide his true intentions to any child that wasn’t trained/like Furiosa. Taking the best care of her and saying he was going to take her home if she gave him directions seeming as if he was a good man when he did this in order to find, destroy and parasite off of the green place. His followers at this time see him as a saviour maybe not to the effect of immortan Joe but they see hope in finding a ‘better land/resources’ (See beginning of the film/ fruit tent scene)

It first becomes muddied when he encounters his first war boy (not after he commits his first act of violence!)This scene is later followed by his Citadel speech scene and follows his followers getting fucking blown to pieces by his arrogance and he doesn’t even try to save them. He only goes after Furiosa and the poor man who’s his walking dictionary only to further his own needs. His followers see him less as a saviour and the gang starts to split between leaders (see gas farm decoy scene that follows this, where there is tension between gang leaders AND he starts shooting his own men for decoy). (Also the Citadel I just mentioned)

And then lastly we see it towards the late second to third act of the film once he is separated from Furiosa where the top of the cape has gone black almost like it is covered blood. This is when he acquires gas farm and bullet farm (the black could also represent tar and the fossil fuels of both plants/greed). However this is when he is at his most volatile, his own people in the respected farms are planning a district 8 style uprising and he can’t keep his own gangs together due to his reckless behaviour. This is also best shown in the final act when he uses two out of four of them to be literal decoys for him so he can escape with his life. His followers no longer see him as a saviour and he has only has core followers left.

[vicsy]

subterfuge

Daniel/Max | 4,7k | explicit | ongoing (chapter 1/2)

Max was an uncomfortable revelation, a sticky situation, an unnecessary distraction. Daniel had been fine and dandy before Max crash landed into his life and threw the course of it out of whack. All there was left for Daniel to do was fish for excuses: he’s seventeen, he’s your teammate, he’s not seventeen anymore but he’s still your teammate, he’s definitely not a virgin but he ruined your career; he’s a guy and you’re dating a woman. He’s everything you could ever want but you’re a coward and he’s still a guy. Or: at the breaking point in his career Daniel decides to stop perpetually hitting the brakes on certain aspects of his life. And on Max. Surely, it's easier said than done. Good thing being a late breaker has always been Daniel's shtick.

second (and last) chapter coming to you soon <3

[andichoseyou]

[omegalerc]

no but the way max invited charles to his private booth, made kissy faces at him and called him beautiful??? MAX THIS IS SICK YOU HAVE A CHILD AND A PREGNANT WIFE AT HOME

brother eughhhh it’s nastier when u think about the fact charles literally came with his gf, Pierre, and his MOM. gawd they are embarrassing asf. delulu rpfer glasses aside this alone proves that they hang out outside of racing and seek eachother’s company out in public gatherings… that knowledge alone is sickening to me

[trackterror3000]

this mess we're in [femstappen]

Max gets pushed off the track and Charlotte gets the win. It's a story that has happened before, except the girls are grown now and must handle their feelings professionally. And by that I mean, through emotionally charged lesbian sex.

tags: formula one yuri - genderbent Lestappen; top!Charlotte; bottom!Max.

warnings: shameless smut; semi-public sex; porn with some plot.

disclaimer: english is not my first language. please forgive any f1 innaccuracies i may have created for plot reasons. hate comments will be blocked. feedback is highly appreciated!

"Charlotte, can you tell us more about what happened today, on turn seven?"

"Well, there's not much I can add to it, it's all in the footage. I'd say it was just an occurance on the racetrack and Max, uhh, unfortunately DNF'ed because of it."

She avoided using that word. It ticked Max off, the way she chose her words; it felt like she did it solely to spite her.

Max watched from a corner as all the press people had their full attention on Charlotte, taking turns to try and pry the same bits of information out of her. One by one they attempted to pick apart what had happened, dissecting all of Max's mistakes in the process.

Max listened with intention as her father had instructed years ago, but this time it stung her ears more than usual. There was nothing to argue in this situation. Even if Charlie did get a nasty penalty for it, she'd still be a race winner, having finished light years ahead of everyone. They all saw this as a direct consequence of Max's dirty driving, as if she already had it coming.

Max dried her hair some more as she watched the interview unfold; the towel provided her some discretion from the cameras. Charlie also had one around her neck, but it was like she didn't need it. She was glowing with excitement, the corners of her mouth pulled up at every answer, despite that ever-present look of sadness in her eyes; the two braids that held her hair together were still in mint condition. The picture filled Max's stomach with sensations she couldn't yet name; it had never felt this confusing to lose.

As she made a quick exit she realized she couldn't escape the swarm of reporters outside. The questions were all the same and too overwhelming.

"An inchident, my ass," she managed to blurt out as she escaped them, "but congratulations to Charlie on her first win. Can't say it wasn't well deserved," Max added bitterly, walking away.

Max's stomach was swirling by the time she managed to reach the nearest restroom, just in time to empty it in the toilet bowl. This never happened. She strived to appear composed, to take her losses with dignity. She washed herself as best as she managed and changed into her spare clothes, a bit incognito, shoving the racesuit in her bag. She then tried to ruffle out her hair in a nice way, finally reaching for her Red Bull cap; she liked that it disguised her post-race hair, and this time, the puffiness in her eyes.

The door creaked and someone else entered. Max stared at her own hands, pretending to be packing the rest of her things.

"I like your hair like that, you know? All messy, after a race."

She'd recognize this accent anywhere. It sent a chill down Max's spine.

She looked up to find Charlotte's image in the mirror; she was still in her Ferrari suit, now leaning cheekily against the door, arms crossed in front of herself. The red uniform suited her so nicely, but again, didn't everything? She had already undone her braids, her wavy hair now falling over her shoulders, the winner's cap secured in her hand. Max found herself staring unresponsively, until she felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes and was forced to look back down, at the stuff that she was packing, at anything, really.

As she focused all of her energy on composing herself, she nearly didn't notice the body that was creeping up behind her. Looking up at the mirror she found Charlie, her childhood friend and rival, staring back with the softest smile. As her arms smoothly embraced Max's waist, she tucked her head in the crane of Max's neck, planting a gentle kiss at the skin there.

"I know you've been wanting this too, Maxie," she said between soft kisses that made Max shiver. "This is okay, hm?"

With her breath now caught in her throat, Max allowed Charlie's fingers to roam freely beneath her shirt, feeling the soft skin of her belly. She even let them find the gap between her jeans and underwear, teasingly undoing the buttons, then the zipper. Max blushed as it revealed her cheeky, white panties with little drawn-on cats.

It was as if she was brainless. Max let the woman spin her around by the waist and pull her jeans down, kneeling before her in the process. Her breath was hitched, her eyes glazed over with feelings she couldn't process just yet. Charlotte clutched the edge of Max's undies, fingers sliding between fabric and skin; her eyes lingered on the silly drawings, which brought a smile to her lips. She looked up at Max.

"Sit so we can do this properly, no?"

In that moment, Max wondered if this was some sort of subconscious, screwed up need for more humiliation, after having lost to the woman in such a shameful way. Either that or this was some sort of consolation prize, and she had been taught from a formative age to hate consolation prizes. It was fucked up to be this turned on by either of those scenarios, but there was not a single bone in her body that didn't feel like giving in, completely and absolutely, to Charlie's touch. It was a no-brainer. Her panties came off too easily. Her legs were spread and positioned over Charlie's shoulders in record time. It all happened too fast for Max to even process, because then Charlie was already grabbing her ass and diving in, wasting none of the time they had before someone realized they were missing.

Max let out an embarrassing moan at the contact.

And the worst part is, Charlie looked like an angel while doing the most ungodly things between her legs. Max felt like she could burst had she kept looking down at the scene before her, perfect hair framing perfect features, a little smirk upon noticing that Max was looking. Her long nose brushed teasingly against Max's clit as she ate her with her tongue, only to dive in her pussy hairs as she paid attention to Max's sweet spot, licking and sucking away. She would look up occasionally with those big green eyes of hers just to absolutely wreck any last bit of sanity there was left in Max, and Max would bite back her moans every time, just for Charlie to tighten her grip on her ass and bring her even closer. Tears threatened to fall off of Max's eyes, too stimulated and vulnerable, while she tried to hold herself together.

And then, without much warning, Max felt two fingers pushing inside of her.

She couldn't decide whether it felt too vulnerable to be in this mess of a state before someone who was fully clothed and in charge, or if she was currently on top of the world, having no one less than Grand Prix winner Charlotte Leclerc at her feet, pleasuring her. She desperately needed to believe the latter, but the way Charlie's fingers played inside of her just reminded her of how she'd let this woman take every ounce of her dignity, if she asked nicely. Her fingers were strong, despite the delicate appearance of her hands, hitting Max in all the right places, stimulating her twice as much with her tongue still dancing around her clit.

Max couldn't contain an embarrassing scream as she reached her climax. Her legs clenched around Charlie's shoulders as the woman thoroughly helped her through it and beyond, to the point that Max was too sensitive to even protest.

She fell back against the mirror, her breathing ragged, her muscles still spasming, as Charlie, too, composed herself. She finally looked flushed and deranged, and knowing that Max had been the one to cause that felt great. At that moment, she wanted nothing less than to taste herself in Charlotte's pretty, swollen lips, and so she leaned forward, grabbing the collar of her suit. She understood the message; their lips joined in a wet and dirty kiss. It felt gross, but oddly intimate, and very hot.

Max didn't want to think too much about the fact that this was the first time they had kissed, or why that even mattered in the first place, since this probably counted as a one-time thing.

To her disappointment, they parted too soon. Charlotte adjusted the black cap on her head once more, and just like that, she was out of the door. Max looked down at her exposed cunt and at her clothes that were all over the floor; it took her brain a minute to function once again, to realize that she needed to dress herself. If it wasn't for the embarrassment mixed with her post-orgasm bliss, she would think this had been a dream.

Just outside the restroom, Daniela took in Max's state with wide eyes.

"Oh. My God!!!!" Her stupid smile grew impossibly wider as she put together the pieces. "Maxie!!!! Is this what i think it is?"

"Wait, wha-"

"I've been told you didn't look well, so I was meant to find and check on you. But it seems like Charlotte already did, so." She couldn't contain her giddiness and playful nature as she threw an arm around Max.

"Dani, what did you hear-"

"I just got here in time to catch you two walking out. So luckily, nothing."

Max hushed her, craning her neck to check for possibly anyone. Most of the personnel had already left. "Not bad at all, Maxie!" Dani added, grinning wide and giving her friend a tight squeeze.

Max let herself be led to the hotel by her teammate, who she knew would be bothering her incessantly about this inchident for weeks to come. The bittersweetness of it all still clouded her judgement, yet the image of her beautiful opponent knelt at her feet had been irreversibly etched into Max's brain - for better or for worse.

[zepskies]

Being Human – Part 1

Pairing: Alec McDowell x F. Reader

Summary: Your life made sense before Alec slipped his way in. He unravels your threads without even trying. He frustrates you as easily as he weasels back into your good graces. But you soon realize that this man is worth the challenge.

AN: This is technically my first Dark Angel story, since I wrote Part 1 of this before "Bullseye." It will be four parts. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Summary: You’ve managed to keep things playful and friendly with Alec so far, despite his flirtatious nature. But when he asks you for a favor that goes painfully awry, the transgenic has to figure out something that wasn’t in his training: how to apologize. [Set during 2.06]

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Tension, angst, spiciness, implied smut.

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 1: Training Day

As sad as it is, this is probably your favorite place in the world.

Crash is as divey as a dive bar can get. And yet, it still boasts the strongest, cheapest drinks in Seattle. The music is decent, and the company is good. At least tonight it is, because you’ve met up with Max, Original Cindy, and Sketchy after a long day of slinging packages.

The only problem?

The newest member of Jam Pony, slinking up from the corner of your eye and easing into the seat next to you at the bar.

You turn an expectant gaze to Alec McDowell and his flirtatious green eyes. They take in your jeans and halter top with an obvious perusal. 

“Can I help you?” you ask dryly.

“No, no. It’s what I can do for you,” he replies. You’re about to roll your eyes when he adds, “Let me buy you a beer. Or whatever you’re drinking.”

Just then, the bartender slides you the beer you’ve already ordered. You thank him and give Alec a smile.

“Got it covered, thanks,” you reply, sipping the froth off your drink.

Alec sighs and crosses his arms. “When are you gonna stop putting the freeze on me?”

“When I’m not part of your internal checklist of Breasts on Legs,” you retort. Glancing around the bar, you note three other girls you’ve already seen him shoot his shot with tonight.

Alec scoffs and holds his chest.

“That’s hurtful,” he claims. “It really is.”

But he shifts toward you in his seat, cutting off your smile. Your face warms at his proximity.

Damn, he smells good, you think.

“Besides,” he says, “I always save the best for last.”

His smile makes your heart beat faster, though you eye him wryly. He opens his smartass mouth to say something else, but you get a reprieve when Original Cindy slides into the seat on your other side. She tosses you a wink.

It gives you just enough confidence to smirk in Alec’s face.

“Keep trying. Maybe someday I’ll lose my mind,” you say, with a teasing raise of brows.

Alec is still amused as he shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable. Insulting, yet, still somehow endearing.”

“Don’t wanna get clowned, don’t act like a clown,” you tell him sweetly. 

“I know that’s right,” Cindy quips. She orders a Cosmo to upgrade her beer. She must’ve won a bet tonight, if she was able to score enough cash for liquor.

“Hilarious,” Alec says. He pouts a little. “Hey, I’m not some mongrel on the loose. I’m just looking for some honest companionship.”

“Honest?” you laugh. “Now that’s hilarious.”

He gives you a fake laugh, but he watches you go when you slip away from him to join Max and Sketchy in the back room by the pool table. Alec’s smile fades a little.

Cindy raises a brow at him, along with a tan finger.

“No,” she says. “You actually crushin’ on homegirl? For real?”

Alec glances at her. “Where’d you get that idea?”

She gives him a flat look.

“Should I burn some sage?” she asks.

Alec shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Come on. I think Max is calling us over.”

When the two of them venture over to where you and Max are playing a game of pool, Alec’s cocky smile is back. His eyes catch yours when he sits down at a nearby table. Your lips curve while you lean on your pool cue.

For the past few weeks, this is how it’s always been with you and Alec. Push and pull. A sort of caustic flirtation that you can’t in good conscience take seriously. But to his credit, he always tries.

And he seems to always mean it. 

You’ll never admit it, but it’s getting harder and harder for you to resist the pull of him. He’s clearly a guy who doesn’t do attachments, and you have a bad habit of getting attached. Your life is hard enough without adding a dash of heartbreak into the mix.

So Max helps you sharpen your skills at this game while you finish your beer. And…maybe you “unintentionally” tease Alec a little with the curve of your ass when you’re bent over the table, lining up a shot.

In fairness, you’re a bit tipsy.

You spend the rest of the night drinking two more beers and laughing and losing the game—first to Max, then to Alec, and finally to Sketchy. By then, you know it’s time to cut your losses.

You haul your backpack onto your shoulder and start to head out of the bar. But who should slip into your way than Alec freakin’ McDowell?

“Hey, I’ve got a quick question for you,” he says.

You sigh. “Alec, the usual sniping was fun, but I’m tired and I want to go home.”

He stops you with a touch on your arm. He seems slightly more serious.

“It’s a favor,” he says, pulling out a small rectangular package wrapped in plain brown paper. You look down at it in confusion.

“I saw on the work chart that you’re scheduled to go over to Sector 4 tomorrow,” he says. “Would you mind delivering this for me?”

Your brows raise at him. He raises $20 in front of your face.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he smiles.

You take the $20 and the package, though you’re still a little uncertain.

“What’s in it?”

Alec leans in close to your ear. “I’ll give you an extra $10 if you don’t ask.”

His voice washes over you and makes your skin prickle. You’re blushing, but your eyes narrow at him further.

“Make it $20,” you counter.

He scoffs. Though after a moment…he coughs up the extra cash.

“The most expensive damn delivery I’ve never made,” he mutters.

You have to crane your neck a bit, as he stands over a head taller than you, but you smile up at him brightly.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you say.

For him, maybe the expense was worth it to get that smile.

You pull up on your bike to what you think is the right address. You don’t usually come to this side of town, even in Sector 4.

It feels a bit like a shanty town and a meat packing district all at once—complete with dodgy-looking street vendors and unmarked vans loading and unloading cargo behind them. 

“Can I help you, little girl?”

You stifle a gasp as your path is suddenly obstructed. A black man and his two white friends have crowded around your bike, but they don’t look normal. Various metal spikes and prods protrude from their faces, neck, and body, but they’re not your typical piercings. The metal is fused into their skin.

Oh shit, you think, as your heartrate picks up. Steelheads.

“I’m just making a delivery,” you tell them. Your eyes dart to your surroundings, trying to catch anyone’s gaze for a little help.

But in big cities like this, everyone knows to keep their eyes down.

Don’t look, don’t tell. Don’t get any trouble.

“I think you might be lost, love,” says one of the other men. He’s British, by the sound of his accent, and is the taller of the two. His skin is pale, though there’s a red ring under his eyes that suggests drugs, or whatever else these three are injecting into themselves.

“Uhh, yeah. I must be. I’ll just go,” you nod, and you start to back up. The ringleader Brit clamps a bony hand on your bike to stop you. He grabs the scrap of paper Alec gave you, which holds the address for your intended delivery.

The Steelhead examines it lazily, before his gaze flicks back up to yours.

“Well, well. I stand corrected,” he says. He gestures to the small package in your hands. “What’s in it?”

You shrug and try to play off your ignorance. Because the truth is, you have no idea.

“It’s not my job to know,” you reply.

“Ah, but you see, it’s our business to know,” the Brit says, leaning in towards you. You lean back with pursed lips.

“This is our little piece of paradise,” says the shortest one. His lips are damn near purple.

“We’re what you call…territorial,” says the leader. He grabs you off your bike while the first man takes the package from you.

“Hey, I don’t want any trouble,” you say, though you hate the way your voice shakes. “I can just go—”

“Oh, we’ll let you go, little mouse. You’re gonna give a message back to sender,” the Brit says. “But first, a reminder.”

He shoves you back into the nearest wall. It’s solid brick that stuns a gasp out of you. He presses in on you, grabbing your face and dragging a sharp, unnaturally long nail against your cheek, biting into the skin.

It’s painful enough to make you whimper as you feel wetness drip down to your neck. His friends laugh at your discomfort, at your fear. You’re too frozen to reach for the pepper spray in your pocket…

“What’s going on here?” another man asks. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a black uniform. For the first time in your life, you’re grateful to see a cop.

The Steelhead releases you, and the three of them are subtle in the way they back off from you.

“Nothing here, officer,” the leader says. Though he gives you a smirk. “Just accepting a delivery.”

You let them keep the package and pretend that a signature has made it onto your clipboard. You climb back onto your bike and you leave Sector 4 without looking back. All the while, your arms shake and you wipe at the blur of tears in your eyes.

When you get back to the Jam Pony base of operations (a warehouse that feels like a basement), you park your bike out front and head inside.

Your legs still feel precarious. And even though the blood is dry against the cut on your cheek, you know you need to clean and disinfect it at some point.

Of course, you have to run into Alec and Sketchy, who are palling around without a care in the world.

That all stops when they turn to look at you. Their mirth dies on their faces. Alec’s gaze runs over you and stops at your cheek. You dab at your face, tentative and self-conscious. You know you must look like hell. Of course, they can’t let you just go to your locker in peace.

“Jeez, what the hell happened to you?” Sketchy asks.

You shake your head. “Fell into a bush.”

You drag Alec aside by his arm, giving him a warning look that further lets him know you’re lying. He follows you without complaint over to the lockers, where you two have the semblance of privacy. Before he can ask you what really happened, you snap at him.

“What the hell was in that package?” you ask. “Drugs? A weapon? Some other contraband? Do you know what could’ve happened to me if I’d gotten caught with that shit? Do you know what almost…”

Tears burgeon in your eyes all over again, and you have to take a deep, shaky breath. 

Alec’s brows furrow in what might actually be concern. He grasps your arm, gentle but firm. 

“Hey, tell me what happened,” he says.

Unconsciously, his grip on your arm makes the memory flash in your mind: of that pale, greasy man grabbing you and pinning you against the wall.

You shrug out of Alec’s hold more harshly than you meant to. It makes him raise a placating hand, as his eyes widen a fraction.

“A gaggle of Steelheads,” you say. You breathe tremulously, blinking past your tears. “I was lucky…anyway. Next time you want to ask me for a favor? Don’t.”

 You brush past Alec to get to your locker. There you grab the rest of your things and head out, though it’s quite a few hours before closing time. Nothing gets by Normal, who stops you at the reception desk.

“Hey, hey, Missy! Where the hell’re you going?” he asks. “Get back here. I’ve got packages that need homes.”

“I’m taking some much needed PTO,” you quip.

“You don’t have PTO. It’s not that kind of business,” Normal says.

“Then bite me,” you snap. “How’s that?”

Most of the room stills into quiet shock. You feel the weight of their gazes, your coworkers and friends, including Normal’s slackened face.

You’re normally not one to talk back. You accept your assignments without question, not wanting to cause undue trouble for yourself. Like everyone else here, you need your job, and you have nothing to fall back on.

But it’s enough, and you’re thoroughly done with today.

Your saving grace is that it’s plain to see how shaken up you are, even when you leave. Alec approaches the receptionist desk with Sketchy, drumming his hand on the counter absently. 

“What the hell crawled up her keister?” Normal remarks. “She’s lucky I’m short staffed right now, or she’d be in the can.”

Despite his strong talk, he resumes collecting paperwork and organizing files to distract himself from how much you’d taken him aback.

Alec frowns.

“She uh, had to deal with some Steelheads,” he offers, and hesitates. “...What the hell’s a Steelhead?”

“Yeah, you know, they’re into implants and biotech stuff,” Sketchy explains.

“She would know better than to hang out with those low lives,” Normal interjects. “They’re amped off their gourds on hormones and who knows what else.”

Alec processes that with a deepening frown. He decides to head out onto his next “delivery.”

He makes it to Sector 4 on his bike within an hour, but he still envies Max’s motorcycle. When he racks up enough cash, he’s definitely scoring a faster ride.

For now, he pulls up near the address he sent you to earlier. He never should’ve given you his drugs to sell, especially when he clearly doesn’t know this city well enough yet.

Poor reconnaissance, Alec, he thinks. Sloppy.

Though when did he start to think of himself as Alec and not by his designation, 494?

He’s soon taken out of his musings when he sees a gaggle of three men outside a cargo van. Each of them is uglier than the last, with metal spikes, among other things sticking out from their bodies. Steelheads. They’ve got to be.

These are the guys who harassed you.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Alec says, climbing off his bike. The men turn to the newcomer with suspicious frowns.

“I’m looking for three fugly Steelheads that hassled a friend of mine this morning,” he says.

One is tall, pale and wiry, and he opens his arms wide. “Well, you found ‘em.”

He has a British accent. The sight of him alone grates on Alec, though all he shows is calm confidence. He teases the short one, who seems to be missing an arm. Apparently he’s “pre-op,” set to get a new cyber arm made of Japanese steel.

Fucking wackos, Alec thinks. Manticore could learn a thing or two from these guys about mutilation.

“Here’s the thing, fellas,” Alec says. “My friend was carrying a package that didn’t belong to her. It belonged to me. You guys took it, and I need to get it back.”

The first man scoffs. “There seems to be a breakdown in communication, doesn’t it?”

He approaches Alec, hands on his hips, with his two cronies behind him. Alec can already smell their stench from where he stands. He doesn’t need them to get any closer.

“Maybe your little bitch didn’t relay our message,” he says, pushing his luck.

Alec’s smile sharpens; a deadly warning in and of itself.

“Nobody around here sells Andy but us,” says another of them.

Androxtamine. Alec didn’t care to be a drug dealer. It was just a means to an end in order to pay Max back for her help a little while back. Now, his buyer is pissed that he didn’t get his damn drugs, and Alec is out $500.

He tries to explain that calmly to this group of weirdos, but the leader is just so damn cocky.

“What’s a puff like you need with $500 anyway, eh?” he asks.

Alec’s smirk deepens. He mimics the guy’s accent and replies, “Actually, I need it for a ride on your mum.”

Well, the Steelheads don’t take too kindly to that. They try their best, Alec will hand it to them. But his genetics and training make the resulting “fight” no more than child’s play. He takes his frustrations out of their asses.

He can’t help being slightly more brutal than necessary when he remembers the fear lingering behind your eyes. The bloody cut on your cheek. The way it could’ve been so much worse…

And it would’ve been your fault. Alec’s lips press into a line.

Logan Cale, Max’s rich non-boyfriend and secret “Eyes Only” vigilante, calls Alec halfway through his venting session to, surprisingly, ask for his help.

Alec agrees, because it’s mainly for Max. A creature has been killing cops in Seattle. Unfortunately, the description of a “man-dog” sounds way too much like Joshua, their fellow transgenic in hiding.

It also means Alec has to spend most of his afternoon in a musty sewer.

The job ends up being a bitch and a half, even when Max finally shows up to help out. The true culprit ends up being Joshua’s brother, Isaac, who Joshua is forced to stop before he kills any more policemen who remind him of Manticore’s abusive guards.

The gentle Joshua ends up having to take out his own brother. Something that’s both familiar, and foreign to Alec. (But he’s sure it’s not so foreign to Max.)

It’s a harrowing scene, and a touch too emotional for Alec’s comfort. He leaves Max to tend to Joshua in the aftermath and catches a ride home with Logan. Somehow though, as bone tired and grimy as he feels, Alec can’t feel right about going home just yet.

Something is niggling in the back of his mind, forcing him to hand Logan a scrap of paper that holds your address. (Alec might’ve snuck into Normal’s office before he left for the day to find out where you lived on your employee file.)

“Hey, can you stop at this address?” Alec asks.

Logan glances at the piece of paper and nods. He then looks over at Alec. They aren’t friends, but Logan is perceptive enough to know that something’s weighing on his passenger.

“Everything okay?” Logan asks.

“There’s something I have to do,” Alec supplies.

When they eventually arrive to what seems like an abandoned building, Logan looks over at Alec.

“Good luck,” he offers.

Alec nods gratefully. They aren’t friends, but he supposes Logan’s not so bad, even if he is a slave to Max’s supposed charms.

Alec gets out of the car and head inside the building. It’s old and dirty, and he really can’t believe you live like this. It lacks security and basic hygiene. If he wanted to, he could kick straight through your door with half of his strength.

Instead, he knocks.

A few moments later, he hears your feet padding cautiously to the door.

“Who is it?” you ask. Your voice is familiar and pleasant to his ears, if nervous.

“It’s me, Alec,” he replies.

It takes a second of your hesitation, but you unlock the door and open it.

He eyes your tank-top and shorts, the thin bra, your damp hair, the smell of your shampoo assaulting his heightened senses. 

But the jagged red line across your cheek draws his attention, along with the confusion in your eyes, and the wooden spoon in your hand. Was that supposed to be your weapon of choice? 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask. “How’d you even know where I live?”

“Ah, I told Normal I wanted to check on you. Make sure you weren’t going AWOL on the job tomorrow,” Alec says with a teasing smile.

You look a bit skeptical, but you let him in when he asks if he can. He smells whatever you’re cooking, spots the metal pot of pasta sauce simmering on the janky-looking stove, and his mouth starts to water. He’s starving, now that he thinks about it.

He then focuses on taking in the rest of the apartment…and it doesn’t take him long. This place is a shoebox.

At least it’s clean, as much as the peeling drywall can be.

“Why’re you here then?” you ask. Alec turns to see you have a hand on your hip. You’re staring at him like he’s a puzzle you’re trying to figure out.

You set down the wooden spoon on the counter and face him. Alec’s tempted to brush a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, but he keeps his arms down to his sides instead.

“About what happened today,” he says. “Those guys aren’t going to be a problem for you again.”

You tilt your head at him.

“What’d you do?” you ask with furrowed brows. “Something shy of legal?”

Alec starts to smile. “Maybe.”

You hmph in response. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Alec barely resists rolling his eyes, though he knows he deserves that. Once again, he takes in your apartment. It’s cozy, he supposes, if small.

“You live alone?” he asks. “No roommate? Boyfriend?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” you say dryly. “But no. To both.” 

That satisfies him, and yet there’s a little churn in his gut. This place is questionable at best. Doesn’t exactly boast decent security. He’s not too worried about the Steelheads trying to find you, but after the past few months outside of Manticore, he realizes how rough it’s become for humanity after the Pulse, especially for a woman alone.

“You could use a doorman around here,” he remarks. 

You scoff in amusement. “Yeah, well. It may not be the Ritz, but as long as the heater doesn’t crap out on me, it’s a decent day.” 

Alec doesn’t know what the Ritz is, but it sounds nicer than this dump. 

You catch the silent look of judgment on his face, making you frown and cross your arms.

“I can take care of myself just fine, okay, Dad?”

Alec frowns and gestures to your face. “Yeah. Right. You’re little miss Fight Club.”

That sparks your temper. You glare up at him with a defiant tilt to your chin.

“This,” you point to your marred cheek, “wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you. I’m not an idiot. I don’t put myself in stupid situations, except for that one time I ignored my better judgment to help you!”

Alec glowers back at you, but he knows he doesn’t have a good defense. You take a step into his orbit and tap a finger into his chest.

“And by the way,” you add. Your voice cracks like a whip. “Whoever taught you how to apologize did a bang up job!”

By the end of your little rant, you’re breathing deeply, and Alec is barely holding onto his own temper. What cuts through it all are the frustrated tears brimming in your eyes.

He sighs internally.

They didn’t exactly cover this in training, he thinks, but he supposes that's just…Being Human 101.

All too soon, your anger dims into defensiveness. You withdraw from him and gesture to the door.

“Now if you don’t mind, please get out of my shithole apartment so I can finish cooking in peace,” you gripe.

“Wait, wait,” Alec implores, when you try to lead him out. He lets you back him up a step or two, just to seem human, but now he digs his heels in. He looks down at you with true regret. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. His hand finds your unmarred cheek, caressing softly. His thumb swipes across your skin. “I am. I shouldn't have asked you to make that delivery. I'm sorry you got hurt.”

You stare up at him, breathing labored, and making your breasts just barely brush his sternum. Your eyes search his just as much as he is yours.  

He isn’t actually sure who moves first, him or you. But when his lips meet yours, it feels like electricity under his skin. It’s magnets that are meant to connect—it’s his arms wrapping around your waist like steel bands and you grabbing his face, sinking your fingers into his sandy brown hair.

It’s teeth clicking and tongues warring as he backs you up to the kitchen counter, and he hefts you up there by your hips.

You squeal in surprise, making Alec chuckle before he swallows your sounds with his mouth.

You start to push his jacket off his shoulders, and he helps you, letting the rest of it slide right off, followed by his shirt and your tank top. His hands smooth up your bare thighs and his thumbs dip in between, squeezing near the apex of your thighs and making you tremble against his chest. Warmth pools in your core even from that simple touch.

“W-Wait,” you whisper. 

It makes Alec pause. His muscles tense. Has he read you wrong? 

He searches your face for a sign of discomfort. If you don’t want this, it’ll be…hard, at this point (for more reasons than one). But if he has to, he’ll let you go.

He’s relieved when you only twist away for a moment to turn off the stove. You return to him with a smile as your hands come to rest on his chest. You bite your lower lip. 

“Shall we continue?” he teases. 

His thumb encourages you to let go of your lip. He takes your chin between his fingers and guides you back to him.

The next kiss burns with a slower passion. One that consumes you enough to hook your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips. 

He grins against your lips and lifts you again, this time holding you firmly against him. You make another sound of surprise, but you don’t let that stop you from delving deeper into his kiss. 

He carries you into the bedroom and slams the rickety door.

Afterwards, the two of you lay together on the wrong side of your bed. 

Alec lies on his stomach and you on your back. The night had gotten such that you stopped caring which side you typically put your pillow on. Your hair is fanned out on the mattress in many tangles he took pride in creating.

A shitty show plays on your small TV, but Alec is watching with rapt attention. 

He’s kind of cute about it actually, you think. Like he’s never seen a soap opera before. 

“Ooh, that one’s my favorite,” you point backwards. “It’s about a sexy doctor, obviously.”

“Right, because I’m sure doctors always have this much sex with their patients,” Alec quips. 

You snort and shake your head. You stare at the side of his face for a moment, rather than the TV. 

The back of his hand rubs against your shoulder, earning your attention. 

“What’re you thinking?” he asks. He’s still looking at the screen.

“That I’m even hungrier now, but I don’t feel like getting up,” you admit with a giggle. He laughs.

“I wouldn’t mind some chow,” he says. 

You roll onto your stomach, taking some of the sheets with you when your knee slides over, resting against his naked lower back. You lean your chin on his shoulder as your hand travels across his back. 

“Is that your way of inviting yourself over for dinner?” you ask. 

He looks over at you then. He’s grinning, but his eyes are a touch softer, you think.

“If you don’t mind me crashing,” he says.

You shake your head and sift your fingers through his hair. Your gaze drifts down the back of his neck and catches on a strange mark. It’s a barcode, you realize, touching it lightly with two fingers. 

“What’s this? A prison tat?” you tease. 

He chuckles humorlessly. “Sort of.”

Your amusement fades, but your soft fingers along the back of his neck elicit a small shiver out of him. Your touch is gentle. He isn’t used to gentle, and it makes goosebumps spread across his skin. He feels your lips press a kiss to his shoulder next, and he turns his head to look at you. 

Beautiful, he thinks, taking in your face again, and the hint of cleavage down the sheets covering you, hiding the familiar curves he had all too much fun exploring.

“You gonna tell me the story?” you ask. “Or save it for a rainy day?”

Alec lets out a sigh through his nose. “Let’s pencil that one under the ‘Rainy’ column.”

You nod in agreement and bite your lip. These days, everyone has a story they’re not proud of. Even something that keeps them up at night. You don’t press Alec for his.

He’s grateful for that. He leans in and kisses you, nice and slow.

From the beginning, he noticed you. Your tenacity. Your quiet confidence. How you’re always willing to help your friends, and how you’ve never taken any of his shit, even if he knew part of you had been contemplating his suggestive offers. That spark always kept him coming back for more…and somehow, it became more.

In the back of his mind, this scares him a little. Being with you feels dangerous in a way that feels both familiar and foreign, but it’s too late. He’s been hooked by the pull of you. It’s a craving he can’t help but try and fill. Hopefully, not just tonight.  

“You said something about food?” he grins.

You smile and lean in again, until you’re mere inches from his lips. 

“Hmm, impromptu dinner date?” you offer. Alec laughs quietly and nods.

“We kinda went about this backwards,” you say, “but if you like spaghetti and plain sauce, I’m your girl.”

He smirks at that, and thumbs at your chin.

“Then you’re my girl.”

AN: And there's Part 1! It's only my second time writing Alec, so I hope he feels in character. Let me know what you think of this little series so far. 😘💜

There's much more in store over the next three parts, and the next one tackles perhaps my favorite episode (2.11), even if it's the most gutting.

Next Time:

“All right, that’s enough outta you,” Alec says, and he claims you with a more demanding kiss. His fingers sink into your hair tightly.  

But you press your hand to his cheek, making him pause for a moment. The amusement fades from his eyes the longer he stares into yours. You’re not teasing or joking anymore. 

You kiss him then with meaning. With tenderness. 

You don’t know how it makes that coil of guilt grip him like a vice.

Keep Reading: PART 2

Series Masterlist

Alec McDowell Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Alec M. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

@globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989

@waters-2567 @iwishiwas-sleeping @jessjad @pieandmonsters @akshi8278 @honeybabycherry @deans-spinster-witch @angelbabyyy99 @jackles010378 @nancymcl