time ᯓ★ mjf
pairing: mjf x f!reader word count: 4k warnings: 18+ mdni; unprotected sex, quickie, use of 'daddy', very minor choking, degradation, name calling, rough, dirty talk, mentions of slapping, brief physical altercation (not involving reader), that should be all?
Max is angry the moment he walks into the house, that’s evident to you only. Having dated him for years, it’s easy enough to read when his emotions change, especially if he’s angry. It isn’t his fault this time, not really. The airlines cancelled his flight due to inclement weather conditions, leaving him stuck in the city, his plans for the holiday officially cancelled. Despite the end of your romantic relationship a year prior, you have remained good friends, so, naturally, you invited him along to your family’s dinner. Which is why the scowl on his face is all the more annoying for you.
“Max, what the fuck is your problem?” you hiss, unzipping your hoodie and glancing around to make sure no one is in earshot.
“What?” he asks, agitation apparent in his tone.
“You’re mugging right now,” you whisper. “I know you’re pissed about missing your family’s party, but can you at least try to have a good time?” Max appears indignant for a moment, parting his lips to reply, but he stops and takes a deep breath before he answers.
“Whatever,” he sighs, moving away from you, following the sounds of the football game on the living room television.
As the day continues, Max seems to relax for the most part, spending time talking to your family to catch them up on his life over the past year. He speaks like a used car salesman, selling your family members on himself like he needs to convince them he deserves to be there. Out of all of Max’s personalities he chooses to portray, this is your least favorite one. It’s inauthentic, cheap. When his bragging gets the reaction he wants, he builds on his stories, exaggerating beyond believability, but your family continues to devour every word. It’s both refreshing and annoying that they still treat him as a member of the family.
Along with Max’s ego, another unwanted guest is at the party: your cousin, Pete. Every year, he drinks too much, and finds a way to instigate an argument. Today, he’s made his rounds to all of the attendees of the party, antagonizing them as best as he can, only to be dismissed or given the silent treatment. It’s clear from the way they all roll their eyes that they’ve reached their wits end with Pete, and you wonder if he’ll receive an invitation for the next gathering.
After dinner, the party winds down, and the remaining guests find their way into the back patio to start the customary gossip session about the other family members. When you look for a place to sit, you find your options limited: laying in the grass with your younger family members or sitting at the patio table with Pete. You search for Max, finding him leaning against the wall of the house, talking animatedly with your uncle. You’re tempted to join their conversation, but you’re happy to see Max smiling for the first time that day, so you leave him alone.
“Hey, cuz!” Pete exclaims as you take the seat across from him.
“Hey, Petey,” you reply, trying to keep the reluctance out of your tone so he doesn’t see you as an easy target. “How’s it going?”
“My dad said I’m cut off for the night,” he groans, and you try not to laugh before you respond.
“Your dad left like twenty minutes ago,” you say. “Besides, you’re, like, fifty years old, Petey. Can’t you make up your own mind?” Your aunt flicks your ear as she passes the table, wagging her finger at you to discourage your instigation. “But yeah,” you say, rubbing your ear to soothe it. “Maybe you should ease off or you’re gonna be crashing on the couch.”
“I’m surprised you brought Max tonight,” Pete says, stumbling over his words as he ignores you altogether. “Your breakup was messy.”
“No, it wasn’t,” you sigh, immediately catching what his intentions are. “I wouldn’t have invited him if we weren’t friends, shithead.”
“That’s not what Max was saying,” Pete sighs, shaking his head. “He said you two broke up because you cheated on him.”
You have to hand it to Pete: he may gossip like a teenager but he’s determined. You’ve never known him to make up accusations before, though you’re inclined to believe he only does it since the night is drawing to a close without any chaos. Sitting back in your seat, you fold your arms over your chest and smirk at Pete, rolling your eyes.
“Your desperation knows no bounds, Petey,” you say. “Don’t be surprised if you don’t get invited back for the next one.”
Pete responds with a barrage of slurred curse words as he takes his leave from you, wandering around the party in search of another victim. You lock eyes with Max, who stands with his arms folded, back against the brick wall of the house, a stony expression on his face. While you can’t read his emotions completely, you can tell he’s still frustrated, but you’re unsure what the cause is. That is until Pete finds his way into Max’s personal space.
Though you can’t hear the conversation completely, you can tell from Max’s body language that he doesn’t want to talk to Pete. You’re almost certain that Pete is going to get the response he’s looking for from Max, judging from the way your ex clenches his jaw and rolls his eyes. You’re glued to your spot, watching from several feet away, trying to hear what Pete is saying because you’re curious who he’s trying to set Max’s ire on.
Just as you stand from your seat to intervene in the conversation, Pete puts his hand on Max’s arm, nodding his head as he continues to speak. In that second, you can see the switch flip in Max’s head, his eyes immediately lighting up with anger. Before you can reach them, Max punches Pete, his fist connecting with the older man’s jaw hard enough to send him tumbling towards the ground.
“Max!” you call out, hurrying over and putting your hand on his chest to back him away from where Pete lays on the ground groaning quietly.
“I told him to back the fuck up,” Max says. Though you expect him to sound apologetic, his tone is reminiscent of the times he’s in the ring cutting a promo, condescending and exact. “He’s been fucking with everyone all night,” he adds.
“Yeah, that’s what he does, Max,” you say. “You know that.” You glance over your shoulder to see Pete struggling to roll onto his side, still groaning and muttering under his breath. The only person who has made the move to check on him is your uncle, who stands with his hands on his hips, chastising the other man for his actions. “Get in the house,” you tell Max, gesturing to the door as you continue to push him by his chest.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” Max scoffs, his face scrunched in an amused confusion. You ignore his response and shove him towards the door, pushing it open so you both can enter the house. “That pathetic fucking loser is lucky that I didn’t hit him again,” Max seethes, pointing past you as you close the door. “The things he was saying, and then putting his hands on me?” Max stops and puts his hands on his hips, a wry chuckle leaving his lips. “That dipshit would be on his way to the hospital if I wasn’t feeling generous,” Max adds, the condescending tone tipping straight into MJF territory.
That’s when the feeling hits. You haven’t seen Max like this in person in a long time. Pissed off, practically shaking with anger, but also cocky. Listening to him speak, and knowing that he was holding back when he hit Pete, a flush spreads across your skin. Try as you might to hide the change in your demeanor, Max can read you just as well as you can read him, and you know you’re caught when you see the smirk on his face.
“Doesn’t take much with you,” Max laughs. “Never did, really. I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s unconvincing, you both realize that, but it’s a quick, futile effort to keep that last shred of dignity. Max tsks in response, shaking his head.
“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. You were never good at it.” Max’s smirk is faint now, but the fire is still visible in his gaze. “You were much better at other things, though,” he continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s what you want to do in your family’s house? Is that why you invited me tonight?” He uses the disparaging tone he’s perfected, adding the extra sharpness that he saved just for moments like this with you. It amazes you how quickly he’s able to switch gears, but you don’t bother to think about it too much; right now, your thoughts are elsewhere.
You brush past Max, hurrying up the stairs as you hear him following closely behind you. When you duck into the bathroom, Max pushes his way in with you, grabbing you by your waist so he can back you against the door. He keeps you pinned there as he presses a rough kiss to your lips, your head knocking back against the door from the force. A moan escapes your lips as he deepens the kiss, and you grab his hips to try pulling him closer. Much to your disappointment, Max breaks from the kiss and he grabs both of your wrists.
“I never told you that you could touch me,” he chastises, dragging you to the sink. You brace yourself on the counter, your back to Max as he moves to stand behind you. He sets one hand on your shoulder, urging you to bend over enough to press your ass against his crotch. When he pushes his other hand beneath your skirt, fingers coming in contact with your panties, he locks eyes with you through the mirror, his expression returning to anger once again. “Take ‘em off,” he demands, taking a small step away from you. “You know better than that.”
“Sorry,” you breathe, reaching beneath your skirt to drag your panties down your thighs and kicking them away from your feet.
“I should make you throw them all out,” he says. “I bet you’d do it if I told you to; you always do everything I tell you. You’re such a fucking slut.” You nod your head, your eyes watering already as your cheeks heat up even more. “Let’s see,” Max mumbles, shoving his hand between your thighs to drag his fingers through your folds. “Jesus Christ, you filthy little whore. All of this because I was a little mean to you?”
“Yes,” you nod your head, maintaining eye contact with him through the mirror. He retracts his hand, looking at your slickness that covers his fingers, and his expression shifts to something detached and almost annoyed at you. “Please,” you say, without thinking.
“What are you begging me for?” Max scoffs. “You don’t even fucking know what you want. I can tell from your eyes: you just miss my cock, and you’ll take it to you however I give it to you, right?” You nod your head quickly, never breaking eye contact. “Have you fucked anybody else since me?” Max asks, unfastening his belt.
“No,” you reply, shaking your head, arching your back to invite him in. Max drags the zipper down his slacks, flicking the button open so he can slip himself free of his briefs. You angle your head to peer over your shoulder, watching his hand stroking your slickness over his length, and you clench at the sight of him. “Fuck,” you mumble, the flush returning to your body.
“Come here,” Max mutters, hooking his arm around your body so he can grab you by your throat. He pulls your body flush against his, leaning his head against yours to speak into your ear. “You missed it, didn’t you?” Max asks, his fingers tightening on your throat just enough to make you gasp in surprise.
“Yes, so much.”
“Then beg me for it. Act like the pathetic slut I know you can be, babe.”
“I need it, Max,” you hurry, your voice strained. “Please, I have to feel you. I missed your cock so much. I couldn’t fuck anybody else because my pussy belongs to you and no one else will ever be able to compete with you.” Max’s grip tightens on your throat again, pulling you closer when he peers between your bodies to drag his tip through your folds. “Please, please, it’s yours,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”
Max eases himself inside of you, letting out a steady breath as he buries himself as deep as he can at this angle. Your only option is to stifle your moan, so as not to be heard by any of your family members who may be nearby. Placing a hand firmly to your shoulder, Max forces you to bend over once again, and you grip the edge of the sink to support your new position.
“Fuck,” Max mutters, pressing his hips forward, grinding against you. “You’ve been keeping this pussy tight for me, haven’t you?” You whine, nodding your head, listening to Max chuckle at the way you clench around him. “Tell me,” Max commands.
“I didn’t even touch myself without you; I couldn’t.” The words flood out of your mouth faster than you can hear them, and you begin to realize just how much you missed him. “It’s all yours, daddy,” you continue. “Take it.”
Max shoves you forward again, adjusting your positions just enough to keep your head away from the faucet. You grip the edge of the counter for support as Max draws his hips back slowly, dragging himself out of you until you can only feel his tip before pushing in hard. Biting your lip to stifle your surprised yelp, you try to tip your head to peer over your shoulder at him, but the action proves difficult in this position.
“Don’t try to look at me with those pathetic eyes,” Max sneers. “If you wanted someone to be sweet to you, then you wouldn’t have invited me.” You nod your head, your eyes squeezing shut as Max begins a slow and steady pace with his hips. “You never liked me to be gentle, did you?” Max mutters. “You need this: cheap and nasty, just like you.” Max adjusts his hands, his fingers digging into your hips with more pressure, helping pull you to meet each of his thrusts.
“You’re gonna leave—”
“What, I’m gonna leave bruises?” Max interrupts. “Your body is mine, so I’m gonna leave my mark on you.” You whimper, clenching tighter around him from his words. “What happened to my slut, hm?” Max asks, slightly breathless as he continues at the same steady pace. “The one that begged me to slap her and choke her. What happened to daddy’s girl?”
“Oh, God,” you whine, as you feel the ache in your hips from the edge of the countertop.
“Maybe you don’t want to be too loud for your family to hear,” Max continues, pressing his hand between your shoulderblades to keep you in place. “I should stop…we wouldn’t want someone to walk in…”
That’s when it hits you: neither of you locked the door. You whimper, struggling under Max’s grip as you try to break free, but he pushes you down harder, a quick thrust of his hips jamming you against the counter’s edge. Your knees buckle and your moan echoes in the sink basin, but Max still doesn’t free you from his hold. Instead, he buries himself all the way inside of you and pauses, angling his head so he can catch your gaze when you glance over your shoulder.
“You just remembered that the door is unlocked, didn’t you?” Max whispers, his tone devious, proud. “Anyone could walk in…find you bouncing back against my dick like this.” Much to your shame, your body reacts to the idea of being caught, and Max feels it. “There she is,” he laughs. “Pussy clenching around my dick just from the thought of someone walking in. Jesus Christ, you’ll probably gush down your fuckin’ legs if it actually happened.”
“Please, Maxwell,” you whine.
“What, are you going to come already?” he scoffs, his hips thrusting again, moving just a little faster now. “I almost forgot how easy it is to get you off. Do you remember the time you came from me teaching you how to wrestle?”
Max’s tone is demeaning, like he was disgusted by what he is saying, but you know that he loved that night just as much as you did. The two of you hadn’t had the opportunity to be intimate in a few weeks, and a sweet, playful training session quickly turned into something much different. It was quick, and you didn’t expect it, but the built up tension mixed with the way Max’s hands felt on your body, the way he felt pressing against you with each move…you didn’t realize that you were clenching your thighs together, and you definitely didn’t realize the way you were grinding against Max when you were on top of him for a pin. You were humiliated at the time but Max calmed your emotions before taking you back to his house for some more privacy.
“You’re so fucking pathetic,” Max breathes, pulling you from your memories and back into the moment, where he now has one hand pressed to the counter beside you so he can have better leverage. “I’ll bet it doesn’t even need to be me,” Max goes on, his hand on your hip now holding on with a bruising grip. “You’ll come like that for anybody, won’t you?”
“No, no,” you reply, quickly, your breath escaping you when he resumes his thrusts, this time much faster. “I need you, Max. It’s only you.”
Max breathes heavily as he thrusts harder, small grunts that he tries to silence just loud enough for you to hear. You reach one hand behind your back, feeling for him, but he grabs your wrists, pinning them hard against the small of your back with both of his hands. When he pushes his weight into your back, your legs tremble beneath you before giving way, leaving your body held in place solely by Max’s grip.
“You don’t get to come,” Max hisses. “Not yet.”
“No, Max, please,” you whine, tears beginning to sting at your eyes.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he grinds out, thrusting harder.
“But–”
“I’m going to come inside of you,” Max cuts you off, the pace of his hips increasing, the force driving you harder against the counter. “When we get to your place tonight, if I think you’ve been a good girl for the rest of the night…”
“Fuck,” you whimper, your eyes slipping closed as you struggle to hold back your climax.
“You can use your toys to get yourself off while I watch you,” he goes on. “That’s your punishment for lying to me.”
“What–?”
“I told you that you’re not good at lying, sweetheart,” Max mutters. “I know you fucked Will.”
You didn’t expect Max to know the truth, but you shouldn’t be surprised. The encounter was months ago, once and never again because that wasn’t your intention when you went to the show that night. It doesn’t seem like the time to argue with Max over the situation, especially not to tell him that you were jealous when you saw him flirting with someone else, and Will was the perfect person to really make Max jealous in response. No, you’d save that for another time when you have a little more privacy.
The possible options of how to handle this moment play in your head quickly: deny it, ignore it, or accept it. Before you have the opportunity to make a decision, Max’s thrusts begin to fall out of time, though he doesn’t relent. He mutters under his breath, something bordering on praise for you, but he keeps his voice low enough that you can’t be sure.
“Jesus Christ,” Max grits. “This is all you’re good for.” You whimper, and clench around him as his thrusts become shorter and more shallow. “Fuck,” he mutters, pushing his weight harder into your wrists. “Don’t you fucking come, do you hear me?”
You open your mouth to speak, but you lose your breath as you struggle to maintain your composure. You’re teetering on the edge of your climax, so close that you’re afraid you’ll pass out when Max finally reaches his own end. He thrusts harder and harder through his orgasm, filling you up until he’s spent. When he finally stills, his length still buried inside of you, his grip on your wrists loosens, and he grabs you by your shoulder to pull you upright again.
“Look at yourself,” he pants in your ear. “Who is the only one that makes you look like this?”
“You are,” you breathe, studying your disheveled appearance in the mirror. “Please don’t leave me like this. I need to–”
“You need to what?” Max scoffs. “You can fucking wait until we get back home. Then you can tell me all about what you and Ospreay did while you play with yourself. I still haven’t decided if I’m going to let you come then either.”
“Maxwell, you said–”
“And you said you didn’t fuck anyone else,” Max interrupts, a smirk on his face. “We’re both liars, I guess.”
When Max finally pulls out, you let out a whimper, the ache left in his wake causing a thrum through your entire body. Only for a split second does Max break from his character when he locks eyes with you in the mirror, an almost indiscernible shift in his expression as he checks in with you. You give an equally discreet nod of your head, before adjusting your appearance to something more presentable.
You both are silent for a few moments as you dress, until Max grabs your panties from the floor, peering at you with a mischievous smirk. He appears to weigh his options for a moment before taking a step towards you and putting the clothing into your hand. In an uncharacteristic move, at least when he’s like this, Max presses a gentle kiss to your lips and peers into your eyes.
“Don’t get used to it,” Max whispers, undoubtedly seeing the confused expression on your face. “This is the nicest I’ll be to you all night. The only reason you’re getting your panties back is so that you don’t leak anything onto your family’s couch. Petey will never let me hear the end of that one.”
Max leaves the room before you are able to respond, allowing you a few more minutes to yourself. Giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror, you exit the bathroom on shaky legs, hoping it’s not too obvious. Descending the stairs, you find Max talking to your uncle again, now much more relaxed than he was before. His eyes find yours for a moment, a devious glint in them that sends your mind racing with excuses that will be able to get you both out of there.
“You okay?” Max asks, when you reach him, concern on his face.
“Yeah, I think I’m ready to call it a night,” you reply, nodding your head.
“It’s only halftime,” Max says, gesturing towards the living room where television still plays. “We can’t leave before it’s over.” It’s another instance where you know Max well enough to read his tone and expression: he’s toying with you, trying to make you sweat as long as he can. Instead of playing into his hand, you let out a sigh and shrug your shoulders.
“I guess we could stay the night here,” you suggest, watching the amusement drop from his face as you call his bluff. “All of the rooms are occupied, though, so you’ll probably end up sleeping on the couch with Petey.”
“Hmm,” Max hums, something igniting behind his eyes. “You’re right.” You both take a moment to say goodbye to your uncle, before he exits the room, leaving you alone with Max again. “You thought that was cute, huh?” Max asks, nodding his head.
“A little.”
“Well,” he sighs. “When we get home, you can show me just how cute you can be.”