#Maxwell Lord x Fat Reader

[missredherring]

M.L. + "Please be gentle."

Maxwell Lord x Fat!Female Gorgon Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 940

Contents: making out... with teeth, light restraint. blindfold. grinding. Reader wears glasses.

A/N: What are the odds that Max encountered a fat Gorgon babe on his hunt for the Dreamstone and she just... decided to keep him? Not zero, that's for sure.

I had this idea for the prompt earlier, but then Pedro came out in that shirt at the SAG Awards, showing off that gorgeous chest, and I was hit with a new wave of inspiration.

Part of my Inexperienced Smut prompt series. Thanks @boliv-jenta for listening to my thots. @agentmarcuspike you reblogged those Max gifs just at the right time. ;) Since you were interested: @prolix-yuy @perotovar (thanks for the lovely gifs. They were the main inspo for this subby Maxwell.)

Not beta'd. Any mistakes are my own.

Summary: "Please be gentle."

Series Masterlist

“God, it’s so loud in here! Can we go somewhere? Just me and you? Hmm… your office?”

His eyes are wide, his mouth soft and open just a little, willing you to believe the earnest expression on his face. 

Maxwell Lord has been confident that his plan will work. You can feel it in the press of his mouth as he kisses you eagerly while walking you through your office doorway, in the way he grips your sides, humming as the fat there moves around his touch, pushing back to surround his fingers instead of giving in.

There has been arrogance hiding in the corner of his smirk, winking at you when he pulls away to gush admiration over the trinkets that decorate your office, though they “aren’t as pretty as you, of course.”

It fades when you raise his bowtie to his face instead of dropping it to the floor. The nervous bob of his Adam's apple is clear to see now that the first couple buttons of his dress shirt are undone when you tie it behind his head and take away his vision. Covering those pretty browns is a shame, but the rest of him is so expressive, telegraphing his every emotion just as easily as any feature on his face, that it’s an easy trade. 

The Theban glass used for the lenses of your glasses makes your eyes ache when overstimulated by large crowds and parties like the one your company is hosting right now. You sigh as you take them off and toss them onto your desk. The way he jumps at the sound has you smiling as you look at him clearly for the first time. 

His perfect, polished façade is starting to crack: a pink tongue licks at swollen lips, strands of dyed hair falling on to his forehead, and wrinkled clothing tugged out of place.

He’s lead over to the small couch stuffed into the office easily, a nervous laugh bubbling from him a he follows where you guide him. You sit and tug on the waistband of his black slacks to bring him down to you. Your strength makes him all but fall into your lap, his legs hastily rearranging and spreading wide so he can straddle your thick thighs. Max’s large hands fumble until they find the back of the couch to inadvertently cage you in, but he’s the one trapped in here with you. He’s perched over you now, and it only takes a tilt of your head and an extension of your neck to take his mouth and let him taste the hunger he’s stoked with his clumsy attempts at manipulation. 

It’s a greedy thing: teeth and tongue and lips, all taking what he so easily offered with attention and practiced charm. You squeeze his thighs, the fabric a tight stretch over the soft muscles straining there and move up to his waist. His stomach jumps and is sucked in when you smooth a hand over it, and you chuckle. 

A sharp bite to his lips makes him gasp and draws his focus away from your hands, relaxing that stomach back into them. You stroke him there as a reward.

“Please be gentle.” He says, the plea pushed from the edge of his teeth as his tongue darts out for another taste. 

His skin is changing color now and fear pangs in your chest as you check his make-shift blindfold. You aren’t ready to give this morsel up yet, not when it had come to you so willingly. His eyes are still protected and when you press your lips to that skin where it’s framed by his open shirt, it’s warm, so very warm without a hint of the coolness of stone., and accompanied by a steady heartbeat. His beautiful golden skin is reddening, not greying, and you follow the line of change, up his chest to his collarbone, up to his neck and over his chin to where it comes to rest in the roundness of his cheeks. It even spreads to his ears and the bright red lobe is hot when you take it between your lips and teeth. 

Max shudders when you slip your hands under his jacket to push it from his shoulders, keeping him balanced as he shimmies it off to the floor without your instruction. 

“I’ll be gentle as long as you’re good. You want to be good, don’t you?” You watch every shift of his expression: the way his nostrils flare and his mouth tightens just a little. 

His suspenders dig into the meat of his shoulders and you brush those off too, following them down to where they fall around his waist. You guide his hands behind his back and wrap the stretchy material of the suspenders around his wrists to secure them there. This position forces his back to arch, and he chokes on a gasp when his hardening cock presses into your belly.

His chest is presented to you now, the dark freckles standing out against the reddened skin and you mouth at them. 

His whimper is sweet when you pull his hands away a little further from his body, forcing his hips into yours even more. They move, rubbing and grinding into you and you wonder if he’s aware of the little movements.

“No, that’s not right, is it, Maxwell? You don’t want to be just good. You want to be the best.” 

He’s falling apart in your lap, crumbling at your touch and showing the truth of his humanity that he’s done his best to hide away. What a beautiful gem to add to your collection.

[lovehappyloki]

me reading a pedro character x reader fic:

me after reading “her blonde hair/strands” :

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Kinktober 2022 - Day 9

Summary: Max and you had been married for 12 years but after stressful years in his company that left you, frankly a little neglected you decide it's time to spice things up, hacking into his outlook calendar to make sure he had time for you every single day through out October.

Pairing: Modern!Maxwell Lord x Wife!Reader

Wordcount: 548

Rating: E

Masterlist Kinktober 2022

Prompt List by @absurdthirst

“You’re 100% sure?” Maxwell asked. It was the next day. You went out to have lunch together and then went home for today’s main event. 

You were naked, kneeling on your bed as you looked up at him. 

“Positive,” you nodded and he leaned down to kiss you. 

Anal wasn’t new to the two of you but it had been a couple years since the last time you tried it. Which could have had to do with the fact that the last time you tried it, you were both very drunk and out of Lube. It did take a couple of days for you to work normally again.

“Turn around,” he hummed against your lips and you grinned before you turned around. He was standing behind you now, facing the headboard of your bed. In preparation for today you had worn an anal plug the whole morning. His fingers brushed over your ass and you felt him kiss your ass. 

His fingers ran over your pussy and he began to rub circles over your clit. 

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmured and you sighed. 

“Max…”

“Want you to cum before I fuck your ass,” he said and fuck why was him saying this so fucking hot?

“Baby please…” you leaned down, resting your weight on your elbows, your ass up. You felt two of his fingers push into you, immediately going for that spot inside of you that had been neglected for so long.

“So wet and warm for me. You gonna cum for me?” 

“Yes…” you moaned. 

He added a third finger and you fell apart.

He waited until you calmed down before he slowly pulled at the plug until it was out. 

“God, look at you,” he groaned and you watched over your shoulder, seeing him just look at your ass while he stroked his cock. He grabbed the bottle of lube and you turned your head back again. 

You hissed when he put a generous amount of lube on your hole, one of his fingers pushing into your puckered hole, and you both moaned. 

“So tight. Not gonna last,” he murmured, his finger pulling out only to be replaced by the fat head of his cock. 

Slowly his cock entered you and you released a long throaty moan. 

“Fuck… So fucking tight…” he grunted behind you and you let your head fall down to the bed. 

When he was fully inside of you he stilled.

“Feels so good,” you whined and that seemed to be his sign to start moving. He began to fill you in slow but precise thrusts. 

“Fuck baby you feel so good. Made for me,” he hummed.

He felt so much deeper like this.

“Shit… Fuck… I'm gonna cum…” he groaned.

“Do it. Cum inside my ass baby,” you moaned and he thrusted harder one of his hands pushing between your legs to find your clit. 

“Cum with me, Want you to feel squeeze my cock,” he moved his fingers in quick circles over your clit.

“Shit baby you’re dripping,” he moaned. 

“Max,” you cried out cumming hard around him and he followed you moments later spilling his cum inside your ass. 

“I love you so fucking much,” he kissed up your spine and you sighed. 

“Love you too.”

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Hey Claire, may I request a little sexy thot? You send a naughty pic to Dave when he's out taking care of a contract. You're not expecting a reply straight away (you know he's busy) but what does he do? <3

Too Late for “Please”

Word count: 920+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Dave York x “You” (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: curse words and vulgar language; mentions of canon-typical violence; mentions of Dave masturbating; mentions of your explicit photo; Dave thinking about you and telling you what he's going to do to you when he gets home; reader touching herself in a public setting

Oh, poor Dave, trapped in that darkened hotel room, stroking himself over and over again. Looking and yearning and longing and so, so frustrated. It's a good thing he's a professional, that he leaves his personal phone in the room while he's out on a job, no pings or cell tower hits to make a digital footprint. And it's a very good thing that you only have his personal number, not his encrypted number. He can't imagine how badly he would have fucked up that job if your naughty little photo had chimed through on his “work phone” while he was in the middle of the hit.

He came back to the hotel room expecting to have a shower and maybe grab a bite to eat, but when he pulled his phone out and saw your picture, those plans were gone. He looked at you, holding you right there in his hand. Spread out on your bed, spread open for him with only a layer of flimsy lace and a hundred miles between his face and your cunt. He twisted inside, hating how far you were, how naughty you were to send him this while he’s away. He hated how he needed you, needed to feel you under his lips when there was nothing he could do about it.

Except, of course he could do something. He could touch himself and think about you. So he did. He pulled his cock out and spit into his open palm and stroked and stroked and gripped and groaned. He fisted his thick cock and tried to keep his eyes on your picture when all they wanted to do was roll back into his skull with each stroke and squeeze. And then he thought of another thing he could do. He could call you.

Dave dialed your number and when you picked up he could hear the sounds of background chatter and silverware clinking on plates, a restaurant or a party.

“Where are you?”

He heard the hitch in your voice. “At dinner. Work colleagues.”

“You stay right there. Don’t get up from the table. Don’t go to the ladies room. You’re going to sit right there and listen to me.”

“Okay,” your voice was light. “I can do that.”

“I got your picture, you filthy little girl. I got it and I’m fucking my own fist to it right now.”

“Hmmm…”

“Yeah, hmmm. Imagine that, of all things. Imagine how hard and thick and fat my cock is for you. You’ve got me all worked up and you’re out at dinner? With your boss? With your coworkers? With that asshole Mark from Sales? Fuck him.”

“No, I’m not sure I can do that.”

Dave’s voice was rough in your ear. “I’m sure you would if you thought you could get away with it. Do you imagine his cock in your mouth when you’re bringing him sales reports? Do you imagine the both of us fucking you? My cock in your ass and his in your mouth?”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ How do you feel now? Are you hot? Are you wet for me?”

“Yes, a little.”

“Better make it a lot. I want you to reach down and touch yourself.”

You hissed a breath in and held it. “No, I really can’t.”

“Do it. Touch yourself right now or I’m never fucking you again. You’re going to go home tonight broken-hearted with an empty cunt.”

“Oookay. Okay, I can do that.”

“Yes you can, and you will. Who’s sitting next to you? Is it Mark?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Lean into the table, put your napkin over your lap, and cover up. No one will see you.”

“No! I mean, no, that’s not a good idea. We’ll have to talk about that another time.”

“Do it. Right now. Or no cock for you when I get home.”

Another sharp intake of breath, then Dave heard a rustling while you arranged your napkin over your lap.

“Okay, go ahead.”

“I want you to put your hand under your napkin and press two fingers to your clit. Then rub. Small circles. Say “mmm” if it feels good.”

“Mmmm.”

“Harder.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Is Mark looking at you, wondering what you’re doing down there in your lap?”

“No, oh…”

“Are you feeling wet? Are you feeling good for me?”

“Yes… yes Dave.”

“You’re a filthy little girl, aren’t you? You sent me that picture knowing I was going to be away for another night. You knew what that picture would do to me, didn’t you?” Dave’s voice broke, you could hear him getting closer.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I have Mark’s number here. You want me to forward the photo to him?”

“No! Uh, don’t do that. No.”

“Okay, then here’s what you’re going to do next, you filthy little brat. You’re going to listen to me come. I’m going to finish... what I fucking started, make you listen to me... while you sit there squirming at a restaurant, sitting next to that fucker Mark who doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you, and you’re going to keep touching yourself until… until I come. Are we clear?”

“Yes, all clear.”

“When I’m done, you’re going to get up and leave dinner, make your apologies and go home. When you get home I want you to get naked... lay down on your bed, and video call me... then I want you to touch yourself everywhere except your pussy.”

“No, please…”

“It’s too late for that, you filthy girl. Far- fuck!” You heard Dave groan as he came. “Far too late for ‘please’."

--- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

My “all fics” tag list:

@anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul

@kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @quica-quica-quica @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001

And special tag: @suburban-murderdaddy

[otherthingsinhead]

Time To Relax

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, language, oral (male receiving), verbal references to penetrative sex and oral (female receiving), office sex (boss/employee)   

Words: 1.4k

A/N: It is what it is. What could I say? I am a slut for Maxwell Lord.

Summary: Who would have thought this morning that laughter is not the only thing you are going to choke on in your boss’s office today.

“M—Mr. Lord?” 

You are hesitant to step into the office. It's oddly dark inside, the curtains are all closed, only a small desk lamp illuminates the room poorly, making the atmosphere feel more grim and heavy. 

Maxwell Lord is sitting on his sofa, hovering over a big pile of paper. His dark form is tense, almost motionless if you don’t count his lips, moving silently with whatever he is currently reading from the mess in front of him. 

“The conference room is ready,” you tell him, getting just as much attention as you did when you came in: zero. “Is there…,” you clear your throat and try again. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

“No—what?” Mr. Lord turns and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as if he just notices you for the first time, then immediately, he goes back to his work. “No, thank you, I... I’m afraid you can’t.” 

He is probably right. The future of the Black Gold Cooperative depends on how much money gets invested into it and that depends on the success of this meeting itself which depends on… Mr. Lord alone. It's too much responsibility for only one man you think and feel a strong urge to stay and ease a little on that pressure. Nonetheless, you are useless and since your presence is no more required, you turn to leave. Just as you finally find the will to take the first step, you hear him growl. “Damn migrain!”

Encouraged by the sudden opportunity to stay, you close the door behind you and walk to the medicine cabinet to get some pills and a glass of water. Mr. Lord is now sitting leaned back on the sofa, one arm draped over his eyes, looking all hot and rugged. 

He is wearing a simple white shirt with a dark, silk tie. The top first button is undone and the tie is loosened around his neck. He is not particularly handsome—you have to admit—but there is something about him that ignites your body with an uncontrollable want and curiosity ever since the first day you met. He is charismatic, he is charming, he is popular yet, seemingly unaffected by any attention that is not focused on his career. 

You can’t tell what exactly awakened this mysterious and powerful attraction to him inside you, but it is there and it is real and it makes your imagination go wild. You often catch yourself fantasizing about him, what it would be like to bend over his office desk and let him rail you against it, or sit on his freshly shaven face and drown him in your pussy. 

“Mr. Lord, you should take a break from this mess sometimes,” you say, placing the water onto the table along with the pills and kneel to his feet to start picking up the crumpled papers that have been scattered all over the floor.

“I can’t. I have to—” His attention shifts the moment he opens his eyes. You are on all fours with your ass hiked up, crawling towards a piece of garbage under the small but very expensive coffee table. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Ouch, shit!” You jump and bump your head into the table top as you try to get yourself out from underneath it. “I’m sorry, I just tried to help,” you say, massaging your skull with a painful grimace on your face.

“By getting a headache to yourself too?”

Fuck.

It’s not even that funny.

You try not to give the impression of being a complete lunatic and stifle your bubbling laughter to a more suitable level. Which is hard because one, Mr. Lord has a more sarcastic sense of humor than you have thought and two, now he also has a barely visible but disturbingly cute smile on his lips. “I’ve told you, you can’t.” 

His tone is dismissive but his gaze is hot and persistent on you as he leans forward to pick up the pills and suddenly you feel your body stiffen and your heart quicken. He is close enough for you to catch a whiff of his cologne—a warm blend of earthy, fruity and spicy scents—and turn your insides to jelly. “You don’t…” you start, feeling a rush of courage at the casual but not too subtle gaze that lingers on the cleavage of your blouse. “You don’t even give me a chance.” 

It’s ridiculous how fucking turned on you are, sitting on your heels in between your boss’s legs, watching his throat work with the gulps as he takes the medicine. He seems unfazed by your words but it is possible that he just doesn’t know what kind of help you are offering. He runs a hand through his dyed hair and checks the time on his wrist watch. Shit, you have to make this clear.

Taking a deep breath you bite down on your lip and place your hands on his knees. You feel the muscles contract at your touch but he stays still, looking down at you with a thrilled but slightly confused expression on his face. 

“I can help you relax... if you let me,” you say, almost whispering, simultaneously sliding your hands further up his thighs when a sudden grip halts you. 

Okay this… this is embarrassing.

Your stomach drops and your body starts to tremble as you raise your gaze, terrified that somehow you misread the signs and crossed a line you shouldn’t have. But when your eyes lock with his, you don’t feel embarrassment. Instead, you feel powerful and in control so you decide to ignore the insecure grip around your wrists and move again to undone his pants. 

Mr. Lord feels the tension slip from his body and dissolve into a warm, tingling and exciting feeling in his spine. He knows this shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be on your knees, in his office, with his cock in your hands but he likes the way his body reacts to your touch. 

His cock is gorgeous. It’s dark and heavy and hard and feels insanely good against your tongue. You barely taste the tip of it and your panties are already soaked with your own arousal. Your pussy throbs painfully with every groan he can’t hold back and you try your best not to seem too desperate as you keep stuffing him deeper and harder down your throat.

You wish it never ends. You swear you could suck his dick for hours, make him throb and moan for you like this but soon the conference room fills up with various businessmen, waiting for your boss to finish fucking your mouth. 

It doesn’t take long until he pulls away. 

“You—you’re going to make me come,” he warns you, his grip is gentle but firm on your jaw and you know how fucked up you must look with your lips glistening in saliva and eyes glazed with hunger but you don’t give a single fuck how whiney you sound when you beg for him to cum into your mouth. “Yes, please… Mr. Lord. I want that.” 

Like a small earthquake, his deep groan shudders through you and your mouth is full of his fat cock again. His big, sweaty hands pressing gently on the back of your head, urging you to suck him deeper as he pounds his cum down your throat. 

You lick him clean like a kitten then wipe your mouth, feeling satisfied but equally wanting more. Mr. Lord glances at his wrist watch again and tucks his softened cock back into his pants with a visible disappointment on his face. He is running out of time.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him and get on your feet to smooth your hair and adjust your skirt. “We have work to do.” 

“Right,” he says, still sounding out of breath and looking more flustered than you would have expected. 

He follows you to the door, reaches for the knob then pauses. “That was… you were very helpful,” he says, his smile is wide and genuine and sends a little flutter to your belly. 

You place your hand on top of his and give it a light squeeze before turning the knob with it. “It was my pleasure,” you blink up at him through your lashes and walk away with a wide grin on your face and a pleasant, pulsing ache that still thrums between your legs. 

All taglist: @maryan028 @pedrothirst​ @pascalisthepunkest @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8​

[archive-of-note]

WIP wall of... smth

F!werewolf Reader x Pero Tovar (explicit)

I know about @beskarberry ‘s and have read it, but the idea was initially independent of that, lots of werewolf fic lately got the juices flowing *ba dum tiss*

Reader x Din Djarin (not entirely sure where it’s headed)

You take the creed and become a Mandalorian

smth not entirly unlike @oonajaeadira ‘s GTTT (explicit)

but with my issues, may keep this to myself in the end who knows

Artist! reader x Marcus (may already be done?)

you've got a small exhibition in DC, largely inspired by your toxic behavior in your last relationship, (may do sm art for this). Marcus has recognized his own problems, and is looking for an outlet, or someone who understands at least

Reader x Maxwell Lorenzano (post WW84)

you realize your neighbor is Max Lord, and he’s barely holding it together, he may have already started to fall apart

inspired by a fic where Maxwell gets adopted by the alley cat near his apartment, and I, like a fool, did not save it (i don’t think)

M! Reader x Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels (explicit)

you run into Jack at a gay bar, his therapist suggested that he go out and make some new connections, he took that to mean dive head first into the deep end of exploring his sexuality

Fat/Plus sized! Reader x Ezra 

Ezra finds you at one of the skeevier holes in the wall, you were supposed to be on a date, that obviously didn’t go well

(i understand why everybody uses plus sized, but fat isn’t a dirty word, its just an adjective)

reader x Din Djarin (began before BoBF, christ this is old)

you hitched a ride with Mando, both your bounties last being seen on the same planet, your hunt goes smoothly, Mando however, has gone dark

sex demon reader x Ezra (explicit)

( @pettyprocrastination you did this, well you didn’t, but you also did)

if it doesn’t work with Ezra, Pero’s gonna get the soul sucked outta his dick, and his back blown out

Several Fruit of Columbia bits that have been started but stalled out (teen-Explicit)

Maybe a bit from the Frankie X Reader X OC thing that’s been on the back burner and in my Docs for ages

[jawabear]

He’ll be back at Christmas time (Maxwell Lord X Reader)

Not My GIF

A/N: this was kind of inspired by another great Christmas song called 2000 miles. I just like the one line that I used for the title. I hope you enjoy this happier Christmas fic, and thank you @ahopelessromanticwritersworld for the name of Max’s dog, I think it’s perfect. Also the other dog I used is actually entirely based on my doggy whom I love more than anything so...yeah. I hope you enjoy. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, dogs (I don’t think that counts but oh well), Max doesn’t come into it till nearer the end, dogs being dogs, a hint of angst, suggestiveness as the end but nothing explicit, Max playing with dogs, Pedro Pascal comes with his own warning

Summary: ‘Twas the night before Christmas, and she sits alone, all she can wonder, is when will he be home..

The fire place crackled gently and the snow fell outside as she sat on the plush sofa reading her book. It was one she had read a thousand times but she never got bored of it. She was dressed in her warmed pyjamas, fluffy socks on her feet, a mug of hot chocolate (fixed with cream and mini marshmallows of course) was set on the coffee table in front of her, and the large Christmas tree shimmer and sparkles in the corner of the room. And beside that, two dog beds. One for her dog, a black Labrador called Rosie and Max’s dog, a small Pomeranian called Marlene.

The cozy scene she had made her self however was not enough to warm her completely. Part of her would be cold until Max returned home. But she didn’t know when he would. He said he’d be gone for two weeks on an “important business trip”. That was three weeks ago.

She became sad at the thought of him. He had been away so many times, she of course had always missed him but not as much as she was this time. Perhaps it was mainly down to the fact she adored the Christmas season and she wanted to spend the whole this with her lovely Max. It wasn’t their first Christmas together but still, she wanted him there. She is the dogs there with her too, but they were fast asleep in their comfy beds. A fat lot of good that did her the help. But it was very cute to see. Especially as Marlene had decided to curl up with Rosie and sleep.

The book suddenly became uninteresting the more she thought about Max. She bookmarked her page and placed it on the coffee table and swapped it for her hot chocolate hoping that her favourite drink would cheer her up. She took a sip of it and tried to focus on just that but a memory from a few years ago popped into her head.

They sat opposite the fire place, it was Christmas Eve and she could barely contain her excitement for the big day. She had convinced him to swap his usual coffee for a mug of hot chocolate instead. He was reluctant to agree because he couldn’t say no to her. She had made one with the works. Cream and marshmallows and flakes of chocolate to top it off. She sat on the floor in front of him eagerly watching him lift the mug to his lips to take a sip. He seemed impressed by the face and the noise he made.

“It’s good” he nodded “it I do prefer my coffee”

She laughed softly as she got of the floor and straddled his legs, his hands immediately resting on her hips “your nose says otherwise” she giggled.

“What do you mean?” He asked with the tilt of his head. She ran her finger over the tip of his nose collecting the cream that was there and show it to him before she slipped the finger into mouth to clean it.

“You’re cute Max” she smiled and she leaned down to press a kiss to his lips.

She smiled at the memory but it didn’t make her feel any better. If anything it made her feel worse. The fact that it was Christmas Eve now and he wasn’t there to recreate that memory really hurt her. She felt so lonely.

She stood from the sofa and made her way over to the phone in the corner of the living room. The dogs shot up when she moved, making her question if they were asleep at all, and followed her to the phone. She knew the number to Max’s office off by heart. She dialled it quickly and stood patiently waiting for an answer. She didn’t expect Max to answer but she hoped that the one who did answer would have an answer as to where he was.

The phone rang with the full tone until it stopped “Maxwell Lord’s office, how can I help?” She knew that voice. It was the voice of his personal assistant Ella. She had worked there when (Y/N) was Max’s personal assistant. She was a very sweet but timid girl, not quite what Max liked but now he had (Y/N), he didn’t care about any one else.

“It’s (Y/N)” (Y/N) said trying to hide her sadness.

“Miss (L/N), Hello. What can I help you with?” Ella said politely, knowing that if she didn’t speak politely, Maxwell would know and she would loose her job in seconds.

“Do you know where Max is?” (Y/N) asked “he was meant to be gone for two weeks but he’s still not home”

“As far as I’m aware he is still on his trip. He hasn’t been in the office since he left and there hasn’t been any news of him coming back home”

“I see...” (Y/N) looked to the two dogs who sat at her feet. She reached out and began stroking Rosie, Marlene was too far down for her to reach.

“I can tell that’s not the news you wanted to hear” Ella said with a sympathetic laugh.

“No, not really” (Y/N) sighed “but thank you anyway. It’s getting late, you should be heading home. Why are you still working anyway?”

“I just got a few more papers to do and then I’ll leave”

“Good. Make sure you let me know if Max is making you work to hard. I know how difficult he can be”

“Oh no! It’s fine! I really don’t mind the work”

“That doesn’t matter. Don’t forget that I was in your position once”

“Really it’s fine. I enjoy it” (Y/N) could hear the smile in her voice.

“Yes, well, you let me know if he does get too much for you”

“I will” Ella said. “And don’t worry, I’m sure Mr Lord will be home for tomorrow”

“I hope so...” (Y/N) said sadly “you have a good Christmas Ella”

“You too”

(Y/N) put the phone down feeling more disheartened then she did before. She really hoped Max would be home for Christmas Day. She looked sadly at Rosie who seemed to notice the sadness so she rested her head on (Y/N)’s lap. “He’ll be back soon...” she whispered, more to her self than the dog, but she needed the reassurance that he would be back home.

Marlene started to bark and jump about, clearly either being jealous of lack of attention or she was hungry. Now she thought about it, (Y/N) was pretty hungry too. (Y/N) chuckled and lifted the tiny dog into her arms and carried her out to the kitchen, Rosie following close behind.

After the dogs, and herself, had been fed, she made her way back into the living room, back to the sofa where she was joined by both dogs. Marlene on her lap and Rosie at her feet. Max didn’t really like having Rosie on the sofa, only because she was a larger dog, where as Marlene was much small and could fit on your lap, Rosie couldn’t but she certainly tried too. At first, (Y/N) just thought Max hated her dog because he was slightly scared of it when they first met, but recently he had been the one calling her up to sit with him. But even before that, if he wasn’t there, she would call Rosie up to sit with her.

She sat and watched the hours go by, that hands on the clock getting closer and closer to midnight. And with each tick she became more and more anxious and sad. With each tick she believed more and more that he wouldn’t be home for Christmas.

She could’ve cried. She didn’t really know why she was getting so upset. She knew that this was bound to happen at some point in their relationship, especially since his company was getting bigger and bigger, but it just didn’t feel right to celebrate such a holiday without him.

11:32pm and he still wasn’t home. The fire had died our and her hot chocolate had been forgotten and was now stone cold, that made things worse. She let out a sigh as she lifted Marlene of her lap and set her on the sofa beside Rosie and took her cold hot chocolate out to the kitchen to throw it away. She rinsed out the cup and put it in the dishwasher.

Barking was heard from both dogs as well as the pattering of feet as they both ran to the front door. (Y/N) was confused as to what got them barking, she was also a little hesitant that it was someone bad, they didn’t usually bark if it was someone they knew. She took cautious steps out of the kitchen heading into the foyer to see what was going on.

Her heart leapt out of her chest at the sight.

It was Max.

He laughed and shook the snow out of his hair, talking to the dogs as they leapt up at him, their tails going crazy and they desperately tried to her his attention in their excitement to see him again.

“Yes yes, I’m happy to see you too” he chuckled as he bent down to pick up Marlene who began licking his face whilst he pet Rosie on the head. Max loved his dog, (Y/N) often wondered whether he loved Marlene more than he did her, his face was always brightest when he was with the dog. But he always assured (Y/N) that he loved her the most. “Silly girl” he said softly as he kissed the dog on the head. He put Marlene down and turned his attention to Rosie he began sniffing his face.

Max hadn’t noticed (Y/N) yet but she didn’t want him to stop with the dogs just yet, it made her happy to see him with them, being his true self. “And you,” he said as he began stroking both sides of her face down to the neck repeatedly “pretty girl” Marlene was still jumping at him. “Yes you are. You are such a beautiful girl, just like your mother” he smiled letting Rosie lick his cheek. He stood back up and then his eyes landed on (Y/N) who was smiling fondly at him.

He walked quickly over to her and took her face between his hands “hello, my love” he said quietly.

“I thought you weren’t coming home” she whispered, trying not to sound sad, but it was hard not to when she was on the verge of tears.

Seeing they were going to get no further attention, the two dogs wandered off back into the living room. Neither (Y/N) nor Max cared if they ended up on the sofa or in their beds.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N)” he brushed a piece of hair behind her ear before caressing her cheek with the back of his hand “some idiot,” he hissed “got the schedule wrong. We would’ve been back the 29th. And it being Christmas, it was nearly impossible to get back. I’m so sorry”

“It’s okay” she said “your here now. That’s all that matters” he didn’t hesitate a moment more before smashing his lips to hers “I’m so glad your back” she hummed wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers coming to entangle in his soft blonde hair.

“I’m so glad to be back” he mumbled, his hands dropping from her cheeks to her hips where he gently pushed her back onto the doorframe which she was stood in. “I love you” he said between kisses as he tilted his head to get a better angle, his tongue making an appearance.

“Love you too” she managed to get out before his tongue slipped into her mouth. She moaned and tugged at his hair. He groaned at this and pulled his mouth off hers and moved it to her neck when he began to make love to the skin there. “Oh Max” she sighed happily.

“I missed you” He muttered “missed you so fucking much. Every day was torture with out you”

“Never leave me for that long again” she told him.

“I won’t” He told her back as she pulled away from her next to look into her eyes “and if I have to be gone for that long again, you’re coming with me” She smiled and pecked his lips softly. “Now, let’s go upstairs so I can give you an early Christmas present”

She smirked and held a finger up to him to stop him from doing anything. She slowly unbuttoned her pyjama shirt revealing a red lacy number that she had bought especially for him, especially for Christmas.

He practically drooled at the sight, his knees becoming weak as he let out a strangled moan before lifting her into his arms, making her squeak excitedly, and carried her upstairs.

21/12/20

[missredherring]

Wishful Thinking

Pairing: Max Lord x Fat F!Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 902

Warnings: None

Summary: Maybe you are too well read and know too much about how folklore works to be oblivious and happy about the wishes. You know there would be a catch. A monkey’s paw twisting your intentions into something you hadn’t meant at all. A genie AU. 

A/N: ... Let's not talk about how this is a year late.

For @yearofcreation2023.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Previous - Masterlist - Next​

At first you left Max dormant in the Dreamstone. That’d lasted all of a week; it felt weird, knowing he was in there, sitting on your grandmother’s pie safe. Was he conscious while inside the stone? Did he know what was going on around him? You can’t shake the feeling of being watched, and one day it was too much.

You call his name like he had instructed and between one blink and the next there he is. He straightens his cuff links and smiles at you. 

“Are you ready for another wish to come true?” He asks. 

“Isn’t the superstition that if I tell you my wish, it won’t come true?”

His tone is so smarmy that you can’t help the needling reply. Max is obviously focused on the goal of the wishes. What happens when he doesn’t reach that goal? What would he do then? 

“Don’t you want to make a wish? Isn’t there anything you want?” He asks at your back. His voice is so close that you have to force yourself not to turn around. His question makes it a little easier.

Of course there are things you want. 

It’s easy to think of wishes. The endless annoyances of daily life offer up lots of options:

“I wish my car never broke down.”

“I wish I wouldn’t get pulled into a superhero’s or supervillain's actions.”

“I wish I was skinny.”

“I wish my tea was always the right temperature.”

Maybe you are too well read and know too much about how folklore works to be oblivious and happy about the wishes. You know there would be a catch. A monkey’s paw twisting your intentions into something you hadn’t meant at all. 

If you wish not to get pulled into super-persons drama then you’d end up needing their help and because of the wish they would fly right by and you’d die. 

If you wish for financial stability no matter what the state of the economy, it would make you stable at the edge of poverty, always flirting with stepping over that line.

If you wish to be skinny you’d get some kind of wasting disease. Sure, you’d hit your goal weight, but you’d just keep on losing until your body couldn’t function anymore. You hadn’t said anything about living while being skinny, after all.

Or something like that. 

Could you craft a wish so specific that there wouldn’t be any loopholes? “I wish to be in a happy, healthy, sexual, and romantic relationship with a supportive and caring partner.” That seems pretty good, but who knows where the wish would find the wiggle room to twist it into something worse.

Is that what had happened with Max? His clothes and grooming style pointed to the 1980s and you wondered if wishing rules had been widely known in the zeitgeist of that period. “Aladdin” came out in the ‘90s and gave a bump to the Middle Eastern myth in the pop culture knowledge, but you guess Max had been blinded by the temptation of the Dreamstone and wished his life away into its service without much consideration. Certainly not as much consideration as you’ve been giving it. 

So here you are at a standstill, months after activating the Dreamstone and awakening Max, with two wishes waiting for you.

You hear his clothes rustle as he shifts and steps around to be in your field of vision again. He angles himself to look you in the eyes.

“Everything you’ve ever dreamed about it right at your fingertips,” Every line on his face speaks of sympathy. His eyes, however, are dark and focused on you. “Anything you could ever want or need, you deserve to have it all.”

He’s repeating his introduction speech. You’ve listened to the recording enough times to be able to recite it with him. Listening to his every word carefully, looking for any hidden clauses, you’ve spent hours with his voice streaming through your headphones into your ears. 

“All I have to do is take your hand and wish for it?” 

Max’s eyes spark and his shoulders roll back a little, puffing himself up in preparation. He takes one of your hands in his and a shock goes through your system as you watch him move your hand. He couldn’t do that- he hadn’t been able to touch anything except the stone when he first appeared. His hands are big and you think they’d feel heavy and warm as they cover yours, maybe even sweaty, but there’s only the suggestion of pressure. 

He nods eagerly, making strands of hair dislodge from his perfect coiffure.  

“That’s right! Your life is good, but it can be better.” He says it with a different inflection this time and something in your brain clicks into place. 

There’d been something familiar about Max since he first opened his mouth and never stopped talking. Now the answer rises to the surface of your mind. An amalgamation of memories built over many nights when you snuck into downstairs to watch TV after your parents went to bed. More often than not you’d fallen asleep on the couch and got woken up by a Black Gold infomercial. Synth music and a loud voice welcoming you to the future had chased you back to your bed and now that same voice was trying to feed you his catchphrase in your living room. 

“Are you Max Lord?”

[missredherring]

“I wish you worked.”

Pairing: Max Lord x Fat F!Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: None

Summary: In a world where superheroes and villains need to be taken into consideration when planning your morning commute, crystals rank low on the “things to be concerned about” scale. A genie AU. 

A/N: I hope you enjoy this beginning. This is not beta read and I’m flying fast and loose with rules regarding the DCU. Thanks to @thatdamnokie​ for their support. @yearofcreation2023​

Divider by @saradika-graphics​​

Masterlist - Next​

“What did you find?” Ashley asks you. 

Your hand grips its treasure tighter before you hold it up for their inspection. They nod in appreciation and you take a another moment to roll it this way and that on your palm, admiring how the facets capture the sunlight coming in through the windows.

The two of you have been wandering around the shop for a good twenty minutes, but none of the stones and crystals covering every available counter space hold your attention as well as the one in your hand. 

You’d seen it almost as soon as you stepped inside, nestled in a box with a price tag and a short description. “Citrine. Happiness & Prosperity. Brazil.” 

The immediate reaction to pick up the box so no one else could buy it was swiftly followed by the little voice in your head telling you that you didn’t need it and shouldn’t buy it.

It feels good in your hand though, and the champagne yellow color glows softy even under the fluorescent lights of the shop. It’s a citrine point, long enough to fit nicely in your hand and wide enough to curl your fingers around without your nails poking into your palm. It’s not entirely glossy, maybe it hadn’t been polished enough, but the texture doesn’t bother you, even with the rough base that looks like it might have been broken off from a bigger piece. 

The pad of your finger traces over a ridge and up to the pointed tip, and you give yourself the time it’ll take to look through the shop to make a decision. 

Now your friend has shown you their own find for the day, you’re making your way to the cash register, and the crystal is still in your hand. Glancing at the box, you notice some writing on the bottom. It’s smeared and faded with age, but you can make out a “Dr--mst--e” before you’re called by the cashier to check out.

In a world where superheroes and villains need to be taken into consideration when planning your morning commute, crystals rank low on the "things to be concerned about” scale. If they do work they’ll improve your life, but if not, you have some neat rocks. It’s a win-win situation. 

You nestle your newest purchase between a blue-green apatite “Manifestation & Motivation. Madagascar” and a neutral toned hematoid quartz “Grounding & Self Esteem. Madagascar” and promptly forget about it as the daily ebb and flow of life sweeps you away.

It’s on the other side of the year when you notice the citrine again.

The weather is colder and you feel like you’re dying as the amount of sunlight shortens each day. Ok, that’s probably the seasonal depression talking and it’s a good sign to put the lights up. It’s weeks before any holiday but you don’t care. It’s dark outside when you leave for work and dark when you come home; the simple act of lighting up your apartment with colorful lights helps.

It takes moving furniture around, the use of a step stool, breaking into a new pack of command hooks, and shooing your cat Harry away from the dangling cords while you work, but the lights are up. Every other light is turned off and the apartment is left illuminated in a multi-colored glow. Red, pink, orange, green, and blue all haze together to give an overall red glow to the room. 

It’s soft and gives you that same feeling of looking at the Christmas tree that you remember from your childhood. You’d loved to sit next to the tree with it lit up and bask in it. Sometimes your mom would join you, but mostly you’d be alone and it felt like a stolen moment of serenity amidst the chaos of the holiday season. The nostalgia sours when you realize you’re still alone, and it no longer feels serene, but empty and cold.  

A section of lights needs to be rearranged and when you step off the stool you misstep, bumping into the out-of-place side table hard enough to dislodge the crystals from their arrangement and knock them to the floor. 

You rub your hip, annoyed at yourself, and start picking them up. You hope none of them had cracked or chipped. They’re dusty, but intact. Blowing off the top layer, you use your shirt to polish each crystal and put them back into the decorative bowl you’d found just for this purpose. You keep telling yourself that once it was full you wouldn’t buy anymore, but the smooth faceted sides of the crystals lend themselves to stacking. You’re almost done your game of Jenga when you recognize the last crystal that needs to be placed: the citrine. 

It had glowed sweetly in the sunlight on the day you’d bought it, but now it takes on a darker hue from the lights. It looks more like honey than champagne. 

“Happiness and prosperity, huh? I could use some of that. I wish you worked.” You sigh and gently add it to the pile of good intentions. 

A rush of air hits you and there’s a noise from behind. A clearing of the throat that shouldn’t happen when you’re the only one in the apartment. It certainly isn’t a sound Harry can make. 

Fear grips your chest and you freeze, taking in what can be used as a weapon in front of you. You could throw the crystals, obviously, but you don’t trust your aim enough for that. The step stool just to the side? It was heavy duty with a high weight capacity so you didn’t have to worry about it breaking under you. The side table you’d bumped into would have a heavier impact, but it would slow you down. When your fingers slide into the handles you let yourself take a single breath to brace your nerves before you face whatever is behind you. 

The sound comes again and you whirl around, chucking the stool at the tall figure standing in your living room. Its hands come up to ward off the object, but you both watch as it passed harmlessly through him. Harry scrambles away from the commotion and you hope he hides somewhere out of the way.

The figure smooths down his suit jacket where the stool went through him and adjusts a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Gold jewelry on his fingers and wrist wink in the dim reddish glow of the lighting. It casts shadows over his face, exaggerating his brow bone and hooked nose. The lines around his mouth deepen when his lips stretch into a smile that shows too many teeth. He holds his hands out with a showman’s flair and delivers his proclamation: 

“Life is good, but it can be better.”

[missredherring]

Fine Print

Pairing: Max Lord x Fat F!Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 957

Warnings: None

Summary: If only there was something as simple as a contract in black and white for this. A genie AU. 

For @yearofcreation2023 ​

Previous - Masterlist - Next​

Max hasn’t decided how he’d describe the feeling of being called on by the Dreamstone’s magic.

Drowning, maybe? After all the oxygen has left the lungs, and then being yanked up to the surface. From the dark depths into the bright sun, the biting air pulling deep into his lungs on a choking gasp?

Perhaps falling asleep, blanketed by a haze of exhaustion, only to be jerked back into awareness by the jolting twitch of a limb?

He hasn’t decided because he hasn’t been awake long enough to nail it down.

The magic tingles under his skin and he feels half numb to the world around him. His pose is second nature and when he starts his speech he doesn’t have to think of the next line. It all rolls off the tongue and he’s going through the motions until–

“What do you want?”

Want? What does he want? He wants… 

The rush of thoughts and emotions is enough to shake him from his stupor and focus on the person in front of him. 

A woman. Pretty. Your body is tense and he can see the whites of your eyes clearly even in the dim lighting. You’re scared.

Max pauses, his shoulders lowering, his palms turning upwards, placating. His mouth pulls down into a moue of sympathy. 

“All I want is to make your dreams come true.” He says. 

He takes a step forward, watches as you step back, and notes how your empty hands clench into fists. It should be near, he thinks and looks around to find the stone. 

When he does he slowly reaches out and plucks up the Dreamstone. It’s smaller than he remembers, but the magic is undeniable. Like a completed circuit, he can feel it moving through him, eager to fulfill its purpose. 

“Congratulations. Anything you want, anything you desire; all you have to do is say it out loud and it’s yours.”

“I want you to leave.”

His lips twitch and he puts his free hand to his chest, putting on a wounded air.

“So soon? We’ve only just had the pleasure of meeting,” He pauses. “And it doesn’t work like that.”

You roll your eyes. “Then tell me how it works. Give me the fine print.”

If only there was something as simple as a contract in black and white for this. 

You pull out something from a pocket and tap on it before nodding at him to start. He is never one to deny an attentive audience, and the terms of the magical contract are rising in his throat, waiting to be set in motion.

“Now that you possess the Dreamstone, everything you’ve ever dreamed about it right at your fingertips. Anything you could ever want or need, you deserve to have it all. Those before you have become kings, millionaires, and titans of industry. Now it’s your turn. All you have to do is reach out, take my hand, and wish for it.”

The burning in his throat cools and Max waits, but there’s no rushed ‘I wish’ that follows his instructions.

You’re looking at him with wide eyes, your hand has dropped to your side and he is pleased to see he hasn’t lost his touch.

“Well? What do you wish for?” He prompts.

That seems to bring you to attention and you hold up a hand in a motion for him to wait while you start tapping at the thing in your other hand again.

“How many wishes do I have?” 

“Two.”

“Not three?”

“You already used one.”

“Great. What’s the catch?”

“Catch?”

“There’s always a catch with these things.”

“I can’t say until you make your wishes.”

“What’s the price for my first wish then?”

“Ah,” He tilts his head, listening to the hum of the stone’s magic, listening as it translates into the steady tick of a time piece. When he looks at his watch he knows it’s now tracking months instead of hours. “You must make your remaining wishes within a year and a day, or the stone will take your energy as payment.”

More tapping. “A year and a day. That seems more fae than genie.” He doesn’t know if you’re talking to yourself or to him, but nothing you’ve said starts with ‘I wish.’

“There’s no need to worry about that. With me at your side, anything you want will be yours, like that.” He snaps his fingers to emphasize the point.

This delay is unusual. A person having their wishes granted is eager, stuttering, and breathless; literally tripping over themselves to get their demands out as quickly as possible.

Yet here you are, your dreams at your feet, and every line of your body speaks of your suspicion. Even the feedback from the stone is quiet. Not a whisper of desire comes from you. Not a whiff of the stink of desperate dreams. 

“What if I returned the crystal?” He focuses on you again. “What if I destroyed the crystal itself?”

A shudder goes through him and he opens his mouth to respond when you sigh.

“That wouldn’t work,” You rub a hand over your face. “The magic probably just uses the crystal as a focus or conduit. Or some other magical McGuffin rule.”

You look tired suddenly and he sees the opportunity there, so he gently sets the stone down and uses the movement to get closer. He puts his hands in his pockets, leans his hip on the table, and echoes your sigh while turning his mouth down in a frown. 

“You don’t have to make another wish right now,” He lies. “Take some time, make sure it’s what you really want.”

“Right,” You say with a voice full of sarcasm. “I wouldn’t want to regret anything.”

[missredherring]

Last Line Tag Game

rules: in a new post, show the last line(s) you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you like).

Thanks for tagging me @covetyou @littlemisspascal @ezrasbirdie 🩷

This is from the next part of Fool's Gold.

He could imagine it was his face in your hands, laughing as you push his cheeks together. His body laying on yours, pressing you deeper into the cushions, splaying your legs further apart to accommodate his body between them.

NPT: @undercoverpena @prolix-yuy @morallyinept @swiftispunk @janaispunk @boliv-jenta @perotovar

[missredherring]

Lord of Desire

Maxwell Lord x Fat F!Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: He reaches out to the woven spell where he can sense the Dreamstone’s magic and tries to take control back. But now, now, he can finally feel your rising desire coming into play and changing the direction of the magic. It’s a tug of war between what the two of you want. It’s heady and dizzying and he can’t tell where one starts and the other stops. 

Warnings: dub-con with dream sex logic. unprotected piv sex. m!on screen and f!off screen masturbation.

A/N: This is the only planned smut scene in the fic, but our duo might surprise me, lol. Max is getting a little desperate here, in more ways than one.

The dream sex logic is a little tricky, so please let me know if I missed any warnings.

Thank you so much to @frannyzooey for your beta reading skills and amazing suggestions. As always, @covetyou thank you for your patience and support as you look over drafts so rough I'm surprised they didn't give you a splinter.

A part of @yearofcreation2023

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Max stands by the open window, watching the people go by outside. Some are walking their dogs, while others rush through the parking lot with purposeful strides. The cars pull out and join others on the road. Birds chirp as they fly by. A squirrel darts to a nearby tree and disappears up the trunk into the branches.

It’s an endless stream of life outside, but here in your apartment it’s still. 

When you summoned him you’d been pouring a steaming cup of tea. The usual music channel was already playing on the TV and for a moment, as his senses came back to him, all he could do was stare as the fabric of your nightdress played hide and seek with your pretty dimpled thighs while you moved around the kitchen to prepare your drink. 

You’ve settled on the couch, tapping away at the phone that always seems to be in your hand, and there’s no sign of you preparing to start your day.

It’s never taken him this long to fulfill the terms of the Dreamstone’s contracts. 

Whenever he’s been summoned he’d been focused on the wisher, the magic a force urging him on to its own ends. His mind hasn't been fully his own in a long time, but with a single, simple question he feels awake. He feels human again and a part of him hates it, every time the worry and uncertainty rushes back when he materializes from the stone. 

“Are you Max Lord?”

From his periphery he sees your cat come into the room and jump up on the couch with you. The phone is immediately put down as you give your full attention to your pet.

The cat walks up the length of your body to settle on your chest, almost nose to nose with you, and starts purring loudly. You pet him and talk to him in a sweet voice.

“How’d you sleep? Hm? My handsome boy. My sweet baby.” 

A car door slams outside, the engine turns over, and another person sets off. Max can’t keep the words in even as he tries to adjust the tone. 

“Do you have plans for today?” 

“Hmm,” You let out a gusty sigh. “There’s laundry and cleaning of course. I need to go grocery shopping for the week and stop by the post office, but all that can wait.”

“Why?” He asks and hopes it comes across as curious instead of needling. 

“Because Harry came to me of his own free will and wants some attention. I can’t say no to that.” You chuckle when Harry stretches out his neck as you scratch under his chin. “Oh yea, that’s a good one.”

With just a slight turn of his head he takes in the way you’re staring at each other. The cat is looking back at you with equal attention, his body relaxed as he moves up and down with your breathing.

“There’s nothing I would rather be doing right now,” You stroke a thumb over his cheek, smoothing some fur back into place, and he leans into your touch. “Than being here with him like this.”

The frustration that’d been rising abruptly stops and sits heavy on his chest.

Max tries to imagine a morning like this for himself: slow and warm and full of affection. He can only remember the overwhelming stress and rushing to meet with the next potential investor or checking the stock market reports again and again to see if Black Gold would go under or if it would survive another day.

Would Alistair have liked a day like this with him? With no real demands of his time except their own whims? He knows what the answer would’ve been.

He hasn't felt this guilt in a while, but it knows where its home is, beneath his ribs and next to his heart. 

You take his silence as the end of the conversation and go back to making soft noises at the cat.

More and more, you’re treating him like a roommate and leaving him to his own devices while going about your daily life. You do it again later that day, leaving him in the living room after announcing you’re going to take a nap.

When your bedroom door clicks closed he allows his face to fall from its neutral expression, agitation deepening the lines around his mouth and eyes. He rubs a hand over his chin and looks down at the jewelry that he can no longer remove, the gold bands that are growing heavier every day as the hands of his watch chip away at the time left in this contract. 

The temptation of the wishes alone hasn’t worked like it has on others, but maybe you’ll fall for something else. 

Max settles into the arm chair with his hands linked over his stomach. The air is warm, blowing through the windows, as he clears his mind. 

He inhales deeply through his nose, focusing on the Dreamstone’s magic. It too is restless with disuse as it churns in the space between you. He follows the connection to your form, feels the same pulse echoing along your skin, and sinks into the sensation.

The magic guides him in planting the suggestion. It’s only moments before your unconscious mind accepts it and the dream sequence sweeps over both of you. 

He’d thought it would be something simple. A scene out of a dirty VHS that’d been passed around after late night business meetings. He would be the director, his voice whispering suggestions of how you could make all of it a reality with only two words. But as has become routine with you: your subconscious takes the magic’s suggestion and shapes it into something else. 

Something he didn’t intend at all. 

The apartment drops away, leaving only your glowing form at the center of a dark void. You’re spread out on silk sheets, your body bare and relaxed.  

Between one blink and the next he’s become a part of the scene: the silk sheets cool on his bottom now that they’re under him and he’s just as naked as you are. He doesn’t know what he’s sitting up against, but it doesn’t matter as your warm skin presses him further down, your back to his chest you rely on him to support you.

He reaches out to the woven spell where he can sense the Dreamstone’s magic and tries to take control back, but your rising desire comes into play and changes the direction of his fantasy. It’s a tug of war between what the two of you want. It’s heady and dizzying and he can’t tell where one starts and the other stops. 

His body pinning you down into the mattress. Hands wandering, caressing, pressing, digging into giving flesh. He imagines his own scene, something that could leave you desperate enough to make a wish, but you take it over. 

You sigh and take his hands in yours, guiding them to your breasts. Their weight steadies his hands as they spill between his fingers. He can't hold all of you and it only drives the urge to keep moving and touch more.

He couldn’t stop the motions if he tried. Massaging and kneading at the warm skin that moves easily with his touch. Catching your nipples between his fingers and squeezing them gently. His exploration is rewarded with your gasp, with the arch of your back into his chest, and the way your hips rock back into him, nudging at his hardening cock.

Mouths exploring, opening wider and wider in the attempt to cover as much skin as possible. Lips and tongues and teeth marking everything in their path.

Max can’t remember the last time he was like this with a lover. He doesn't feel any tension in your body, and there’s no sign of you counting down the time until it’s been long enough to politely end the engagement. He feels at ease with himself as the pouch of his stomach rolls over when he leans forward to mouth at the tempting line of your neck. Your body is heavy against his, weighing him down in a way he can feel in his bones. There’s no room for anything else between your skin and his.

A rough grip at the nape of your neck, pushing you down into the sheets, and lifting your wide hips to meet his. Slipping and gliding along your sex, coating his dick in your desire. The sweet pressure in the first seconds of the initial stretch.

Fingers tangle together in a brief embrace as you take his hand bring it down, placing it between your legs. Instead of leaving him alone there, you caress the soft skin of your inner thigh, gripping it and holding yourself open for him, allowing his big hand room to cup your fat pussy and fill his palm completely. Pubic hair tickling him, you roll your hips, caught between his hand. his cock behind you, and his other hand still working your breast. He waits, framing your vulva with his pointer and pinky fingers and letting his middle fingers play, dipping and stroking but not delving deep enough to find your clit yet, just teasing the seam of your sex. The moan you let out is so close to his ear, the nuzzle at his jaw followed by a press of your lips. Your affection, your approval, makes his head swim even more. 

Lust traded back and forth between you with every thrust, building and building until it drowns out the pounding of your heartbeat and spills over. 

Max snaps back to his own body, jerking in the chair and panting to catch his breath. His body is tingling with an awareness he hasn’t felt in along time, and it’s all pooling in his lap, where an erection beats an echo of the same lustful suggestions he’d given you.

In your bedroom he can hear the creak of the bed as you shift and he chokes on his breath, groaning low when the quiet whir of a motor starts. You gasp and he can still hear the echo of that same sound ringing in his ears. 

He drags a hand over his face and into his hair, grabbing a fistful and clenching it in frustration. He gives you a wet dream and instead of coming to him to finish the job, you’re taking care it of yourself. You’re driving him insane. The next clench of his fist goes straight to his cock and he drops his hand. 

After that, it’s easy. God, it’s so damn easy for him to unzip his pants and take himself in hand. Already so worked up, it doesn't take much more than imagining that the feeling of his fist hitting his groin is your hips pushing back into him as he fucks you. The soft moans coming from your room spurs him on to a quick orgasm, and as the pleasure peaks and starts to ebb away he sighs. 

You come out of your room with loose limbs, rumpled clothing, and even messier hair. Just how hard did you press your head back into your pillows, as you sated the desire that had woken you from your sleep? He wants to witness it, to hear those quiet noises you’d made loud in his ears.

He holds himself still until you close the bathroom door behind you and then grabs the tissues from the coffee table. Cleaning up the mess he’d made between his legs, he tries not to think of how you’re doing the same thing.  

[missredherring]

Fool's Gold Masterlist

Maxwell Lord x Fat F!Reader

Rating: T+ 

Summary: In a world where superheroes and villains need to be taken into consideration when planning your morning commute, crystals rank low on the “things to be concerned about” scale. A genie AU.

This fic was originally a part of @oonajaeadira and @writeforfandoms​‘s Year of Creation. It’s been more than a year, but I still want to continue with this story. 

Part One: "I wish you worked."

Part Two: Fine Print

Part Three: Wishful Thinking

Part Four: Lord of Desire

[missredherring]

Penguin Fic Covers

I have been loving seeing everyone's fic covers. It's really interesting to try and distill a fic into one image.

Thank you to @schnarfer @ghotifishreads @maggiemayhemnj and @arcanefox207 for tagging me!!!

Thank you so much @saradika for sharing this template with us all! I'm loving seeing all the book covers.

Highway Honey Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Wrong Until You Make It Right Joel Miller x Plus Size!F!Reader

Someone Who Calls Me Baby Dieter Bravo x Javi Gutierrez

An Act of Kindness Eddie (BTVS) x Fat!F!Vampire!Reader

Fool's Gold Maxwell Lord x Fat F!Reader

NPT: lbr: I can't keep track of who's done what at any point. If you've seen this trend on your dash and have wanted to do it and have been waiting for a tag, this is it!!! Have some fun and let me seeeeeee! <3

[missredherring]

WIP Tag Game

Thanks for the tag, @sp00kymulderr!

RULES: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

I just finished the challenge fic for May, and I thought to myself, "Great! Now I can work on my WIPs!"

And then I promptly signed up for another challenge. Don't look at me; I couldn't resist the allure of the moodboards!

My current WIPs in no particular order:

The Mail Order Bridegroom (Ezra x Fat F!Reader)

No Solo Riders (Dieter x Fat F!Reader)

An Act Of Kindness Pt 3 (Eddie x Fat F!Reader)

For A Good Time Call... The Miller Brothers (Tommy x Fat F!Reader x Joel)

Hierarchy of Needs (Tess x Fat F!Reader)

Fool's Gold Pt 5 (Maxwell Lord x Fat F!Reader)

NPT: @pedgito @perotovar @oonajaeadira @ozarkthedog @frannyzooey and anyone else who wants to play along!

[missredherring]

It's been a while since I've posted this fic, so I'm going to tag some people who were interested in the first two parts and some I think might be interested in general.

@oonajaeadira @writeforfandoms @dawn-petrichor-world @amneris21 @littlemisspascal @captainsophiestark @simpingcowboy @deadhumourist @boliv-jenta @perotovar @covetyou

Wishful Thinking

Pairing: Max Lord x Fat F!Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 902

Warnings: None

Summary: Maybe you are too well read and know too much about how folklore works to be oblivious and happy about the wishes. You know there would be a catch. A monkey’s paw twisting your intentions into something you hadn’t meant at all. A genie AU. 

A/N: ... Let's not talk about how this is a year late.

For @yearofcreation2023.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Previous - Masterlist - Next​

At first you left Max dormant in the Dreamstone. That’d lasted all of a week; it felt weird, knowing he was in there, sitting on your grandmother’s pie safe. Was he conscious while inside the stone? Did he know what was going on around him? You can’t shake the feeling of being watched, and one day it was too much.

You call his name like he had instructed and between one blink and the next there he is. He straightens his cuff links and smiles at you. 

“Are you ready for another wish to come true?” He asks. 

“Isn’t the superstition that if I tell you my wish, it won’t come true?”

His tone is so smarmy that you can’t help the needling reply. Max is obviously focused on the goal of the wishes. What happens when he doesn’t reach that goal? What would he do then? 

“Don’t you want to make a wish? Isn’t there anything you want?” He asks at your back. His voice is so close that you have to force yourself not to turn around. His question makes it a little easier.

Of course there are things you want. 

It’s easy to think of wishes. The endless annoyances of daily life offer up lots of options:

“I wish my car never broke down.”

“I wish I wouldn’t get pulled into a superhero’s or supervillian’s actions.”

“I wish I was skinny.”

“I wish my tea was always the right temperature.”

Maybe you are too well read and know too much about how folklore works to be oblivious and happy about the wishes. You know there would be a catch. A monkey’s paw twisting your intentions into something you hadn’t meant at all. 

If you wish not to get pulled into super-persons drama then you’d end up needing their help and because of the wish they would fly right by and you’d die. 

If you wish for financial stability no matter what the state of the economy, it would make you stable at the edge of poverty, always flirting with stepping over that line.

If you wish to be skinny you’d get some kind of wasting disease. Sure, you’d hit your goal weight, but you’d just keep on losing until your body couldn’t function anymore. You hadn’t said anything about living while being skinny, after all.

Or something like that. 

Could you craft a wish so specific that there wouldn’t be any loopholes? “I wish to be in a happy, healthy, sexual, and romantic relationship with a supportive and caring partner.” That seems pretty good, but who knows where the wish would find the wiggle room to twist it into something worse.

Is that what had happened with Max? His clothes and grooming style pointed to the 1980s and you wondered if wishing rules had been widely known in the zeitgeist of that period. “Aladdin” came out in the ‘90s and gave a bump to the Middle Eastern myth in the pop culture knowledge, but you guess Max had been blinded by the temptation of the Dreamstone and wished his life away into its service without much consideration. Certainly not as much consideration as you’ve been giving it. 

So here you are at a standstill, months after activating the Dreamstone and awakening Max, with two wishes waiting for you.

You hear his clothes rustle as he shifts and steps around to be in your field of vision again. He angles himself to look you in the eyes.

“Everything you’ve ever dreamed about it right at your fingertips,” Every line on his face speaks of sympathy. His eyes, however, are dark and focused on you. “Anything you could ever want or need, you deserve to have it all.”

He’s repeating his introduction speech. You’ve listened to the recording enough times to be able to recite it with him. Listening to his every word carefully, looking for any hidden clauses, you’ve spent hours with his voice streaming through your headphones into your ears. 

“All I have to do it take your hand and wish for it?” 

Max’s eyes spark and his shoulders roll back a little, puffing himself up in preparation. He takes one of your hands in his and a shock goes through your system as you watch him move your hand. He couldn’t do that- he hadn’t been able to touch anything except the stone when he first appeared. His hands are big and you think they’d feel heavy and warm as they cover yours, maybe even sweaty, but there’s only the suggestion of pressure. 

He nods eagerly, making strands of hair dislodge from his perfect coiffure.  

“That’s right! Your life is good, but it can be better.” He says it with a different inflection this time and something in your brain clicks into place. 

There’d been something familiar about Max since he first opened his mouth and never stopped talking. Now the answer rises to the surface of your mind. An amalgamation of memories built over many nights when you snuck into downstairs to watch TV after your parents went to bed. More often than not you’d fallen asleep on the couch and got woken up by a Black Gold infomercial. Synth music and a loud voice welcoming you to the future had chased you back to your bed and now that same voice was trying to feed you his catchphrase in your living room. 

“Are you Maxwell Lord?”