#maxwell lord imagine

[bumpolantern]

Roadside Surprise

Pairing: Maxwell Lord (Wonder Woman 1984, 2020) x original female character (Poppy)

Summary: It's 1985, and Max Lord finds himself driving his very pregnant wife to the hospital.

Warnings: MDNI. 18+. Very graphic and sexual birth. This is a fic for a very specific kink space. If this is not your thing, please scroll away.

Word count:  7,371 words

Author's note: This story is commissioned by someone who wishes to stay anonymous. 🙏🏻 Thank you so much for trusting me with this story 💜 I’m actually trying to raise funds to get myself a new laptop, so any donation amount is very much appreciated, if you'd also be interested in commissioning a story, my commissions are currently OPEN. Check out my commission's page here.

Divider credit @strangergraphics ❤🙏🏻

The air inside the car felt stifling as Max’s foot pressed down on the accelerator, the tension between him and Poppy thick and overwhelming. It wasn’t just the anxiety of the impending birth—it was the way the city around them seemed to grind to a halt, as if the world had chosen this exact moment to throw them into a slow, unrelenting standstill.

Poppy, in the passenger seat of the luxury sedan was not in the mood to appreciate the car’s smooth ride or plush leather seats. Her designer maternity dress clung to her swollen belly, the deep emerald fabric stretching as her body tensed under another contraction. She panted, her hands gripping the armrest and the edge of the seat, her face flushed with frustration and pain.

“Max, faster,” she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice sharp, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at the dashboard. “We are not going to make it if you don’t get me off this damn road.”

“I’m trying, sweetheart,” Max muttered, his own panic barely contained. He swerved around a slow-moving car, but the street ahead was clogged, the lights turning red in frustrating succession. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back, soaking the collar of his shirt as his fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

“You’re trying?” Poppy’s tone was biting, her breath coming in shallow bursts. “Try harder, Max! You—oh God—these fucking contractions… it’s coming too fast!” Her hand shot to her belly, her nails digging into the fabric of her dress as another wave of pain hit her. “I’m not having this baby in your car!”

Max’s pulse quickened as he glanced at her, then back at the nearly motionless line of cars ahead. The sun was sinking low in the sky, casting long shadows across the road, the last traces of light glinting off the chrome of nearby vehicles. It was almost dusk, and the city’s usual hum was replaced by a strangely eerie quiet, broken only by the soft growl of engines and the occasional honk. But the traffic wasn’t moving.

“Just hang on, sweetheart…” he stammered, panic rising in his chest as he scanned the road for any way out. The hospital was still miles away, and her contractions were coming too close together now. “We need to get off this road.”

“Then do it!” she snapped, her breath ragged. “Goddammit, Max, I don’t need you to tell me what I already know. I need you to move!”

Max’s eyes darted to the side streets, his mind racing. An empty side road appeared just ahead, a narrow street that cut through the quieter, less populated part of the city. It wasn’t ideal, but it was their only option.

Without hesitation, he yanked the wheel, veering off the main road and onto the narrow lane. The Mercedes bumped slightly as it hit the uneven pavement, but the road was blissfully empty. Not a car in sight, just the long stretch of asphalt leading out toward the more isolated parts of town.

“Thank God,” Poppy groaned, her head falling back against the seat as she struggled to catch her breath between contractions. “Finally… some fucking space. Max—" she gasped, her voice trembling as she gripped her belly again, “I don’t think we have much time. It’s coming too fast.”

Max’s heart thudded in his chest, panic clawing at him as he glanced at her, then back at the road. “Just hold on, Poppy. We’re almost there. Just breathe—”

“Don’t you dare tell me to breathe,” she growled, her face twisted in pain. “You think I don’t know how to fucking breathe through contractions? It’s not helping, Max!”

Max winced but said nothing, his hands trembling as he gripped the wheel tighter. The sun had almost completely set now, the road ahead dimming into a dusky twilight. His mind was racing, desperate for a solution. He needed to do something—anything—to help her.

His gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, and for a fleeting moment, an old, familiar thought crossed his mind. The Dream Stone. If only he still had it, he could wish this all away—wish Poppy’s pain away, wish the baby out of her without all the agony and fear. He clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling up inside him. The stone was gone, destroyed. And all he could do now was be there for her, helpless.

Poppy’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Max… oh God, I think my water’s about to break.” Her voice trembled with panic and anger as she clutched her belly, her body tensing with another violent contraction. “Fuck, there’s so much pressure… I can feel it...”

Max’s pulse spiked as he glanced over at her, fear and adrenaline surging through him. “Just hold on, Poppy. I’m pulling over.”

He slammed on the brakes, swerving the car to a stop on the empty side of the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The car jerked slightly as it came to a halt, and Max quickly shifted into park, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. He turned to Poppy, his hands shaking as he reached out to her.

“Okay, we’re off the road. What now?” he asked, his voice tight with panic.

Poppy groaned, her eyes squeezing shut as another contraction rolled through her. “What now?” she echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, you help me. Get your ass over here, Max.”

Max scrambled out of the driver’s seat, his heart racing as he rushed to her side. The road around them was eerily silent, the fading light casting long shadows across the deserted landscape. There wasn’t another car in sight, just the two of them, alone in the growing dusk.

Max rushed around to the passenger side, his fingers fumbling as he yanked the door open. The inside of the car felt even hotter now, the air thick with the mingling scents of sweat, tension, and Poppy’s laboring body. Her designer maternity dress, now damp with sweat, clung tightly to her skin, and her face twisted in agony as another contraction ripped through her.

She barely spared him a glance, too consumed by the intensity of her labor to acknowledge his frantic movements. “I told you… it’s coming too fast,” she growled through gritted teeth, her hands gripping the seat beneath her as her body rocked with the force of the next contraction.

Max knelt beside her, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to think of anything he could do to help. He wasn’t a doctor, wasn’t trained for this, but there was no time to second-guess himself now. The baby wasn’t waiting for anyone, least of all him.

Poppy let out a sharp, guttural groan, her breath catching in her throat. Then, suddenly, she gasped, eyes widening. “Max… I think my water—oh God, it’s going to—”

Before she could finish, a sudden gush of fluid spilled out, soaking the seat beneath her. Poppy’s breath hitched, her body trembling in momentary relief as the pressure of the contractions eased, the tightness loosening just slightly.

But the relief was brief. Poppy’s expression shifted, her eyes squeezing shut as she tensed again. “Oh fuck… Max, I feel it… the baby—it’s moving down,” she gasped, her voice tight with both fear and exertion.

Max’s pulse quickened as he positioned himself beside her. The dim light from the open car door cast long shadows across her body, but he could see her belly tightening again as another contraction rolled through her.

He glanced down between her legs, the designer fabric of her dress hiked up around her hips. The bulging pressure was visible now, her swollen lips parting slightly, the baby pushing down just behind them, causing her to stretch. The sight was intense, primal—and, to Max, it was achingly erotic. His throat tightened as he watched, the mix of fear and desire overwhelming as he saw her body respond to the pressure.

Poppy’s hand shot to her belly, her fingers trembling as she gripped herself through the dress. “Oh fuck—Max, I can feel it right there,” she groaned, her voice cracking.

Max tore his gaze away from her body, his heart thudding in his chest as he moved to help her. He leaned over, his hands trembling slightly as he positioned her carefully. “Here, let me help you, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

With a firm but gentle grip, he guided her to shift, helping her turn toward the open door. Poppy groaned as she moved, her body trembling with the effort. Max lifted her leg carefully, placing one foot up on the dash while the other rested over his shoulder, opening her up wide in the cramped space of the car.

Poppy’s breath came in short gasps, her body trembling as the baby’s head pressed lower, causing her lips to bulge even more. The tension between them was palpable, her need overwhelming, and Max’s hands shook as he reached out to steady her.

Max’s breath caught in his throat as he watched her body respond to the pressure, his eyes drawn to the way her swollen lips parted, bulging with the baby pushing down behind them. He shouldn’t be thinking about it like this—shouldn’t be turned on by the sight of his wife laboring—but he couldn’t help it. The rawness of it, the way her body moved, stretched, and trembled under the strain—it was driving him wild.

His hands shook as he palmed himself through his pants, his cock already straining painfully against the fabric. The urge to touch himself was overwhelming, but he fought to stay focused on Poppy, on helping her through this. Yet his hand betrayed him, pressing harder against his erection, trying to alleviate the pressure building inside him.

Poppy’s eyes flew open, her gaze locking onto him, and despite the agony coursing through her body, a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “Max,” she groaned, her voice low and throaty, a mix of pain and desire. “Are you… are you seriously getting off on this?”

Max’s heart stuttered, his face flushing as he glanced away, ashamed of how turned on he was. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his hand still pressed against his pants, unable to pull away. “I can’t help it—you’re just… fuck, Poppy, you’re so beautiful.”

Poppy’s smile widened, her breath hitching as another contraction rolled through her, but the heat in her eyes remained. “Don’t be sorry,” she purred, her voice thick with lust, even as her body trembled with the effort of pushing. “You like seeing me like this, don’t you? So spread open, so fucking raw…”

Max groaned, his hand pressing harder against his cock as he watched her, mesmerized by the sight of her body stretched wide, her swollen lips bulging as the baby moved lower. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Fuck, Poppy… you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Poppy’s laugh was dark, almost a growl as her head fell back against the seat, her leg trembling on his shoulder. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing to you,” she gasped, her hips rocking slightly as she bore down again, her body stretching even more around the baby’s head. “Look at you… getting hard while your wife is pushing out your fucking kid.”

Max whimpered, his cock throbbing painfully in his pants as her words sent another wave of heat through him. He couldn’t help it—couldn’t stop himself from palming his erection, even as he watched her body strain and tremble under the force of her labor.

“Don’t stop,” Poppy moaned, her voice thick with lust as she reached down between her legs, her fingers brushing over her swollen clit. “Touch yourself, Max. I want to see you lose it while I push this baby out.”

Max’s breath hitched, his hand trembling as he unzipped his pants, freeing his aching cock. He groaned softly as his hand wrapped around himself, his eyes locked on Poppy’s body as she moaned and writhed, her lips bulging even more with the baby’s head pressing down behind them.

“You like this, don’t you?” Poppy whispered, her voice shaking as she rubbed her clit in slow, firm circles. “You like watching me struggle… watching me push… fuck, Max, it’s so close… I can feel it.”

Max’s heart pounded, his hand moving faster on his cock as he watched her, completely lost in the sight of her body stretched wide, trembling with the effort of bringing their child into the world. “I’m going to cum, Poppy,” he gasped, his voice ragged with need. “Fuck… I can’t hold it.”

“Good,” Poppy moaned, her hips jerking as she rubbed herself harder. “Cum for me, Max. Cum while I push your baby out.”

Max let out a broken groan, his entire body trembling as he stroked himself faster, his eyes locked on Poppy’s swollen, bulging lips as the baby moved closer to crowning. The raw intensity of it, the primal connection between them—it was too much.

With a final, guttural moan, Max’s body shuddered as he came hard, his cock pulsing in his hand as his release tore through him. His breath came in short, sharp gasps as he watched Poppy, still trembling, still writhing as she bore down again, the baby’s head pressing lower.

Max’s breath hitched as his release overwhelmed him, his hand trembling as he stroked himself through the last waves of pleasure. His gaze remained fixed on Poppy’s bulging, swollen pussy, the baby pushing closer to crowning as her lips stretched wide. As he came, thick ropes of his cum shot from his throbbing cock, coating her already soaked pussy, slicking over the bulging lips with an obscene wetness that only heightened the intensity of the moment.

“Fuck, Max,” Poppy gasped, her voice low and throaty as she felt the hot, thick fluid splatter against her skin. Her hips jerked slightly, the sensation sending shivers through her overstretched body. “Look at you… making a mess while I’m trying to push this baby out.”

Max’s heart pounded, his eyes wide as he watched his cum drip down her pussy, mingling with her birth fluids as her body trembled with another contraction. The sight was primal, raw, and so incredibly erotic that he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Poppy let out a sharp gasp, her hand flying to her clit as another contraction rocked through her, but her movements were shaky, her body too exhausted to keep up the rhythm. “Max,” she growled, her voice thick with both pain and desire. “Help me. I need you to rub my clit. Now.”

Max blinked, his mind snapping back to the present as he quickly leaned in, his hands still trembling from the intensity of his own release. “Yes, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low as he shifted closer, his fingers slipping between her slick, cum-coated lips. He pressed down on her swollen clit, rubbing in firm, quick circles, just the way she liked it.

Poppy let out a guttural moan, her head falling back as she arched her back, her body trembling beneath his touch. “Yes, Max… like that… don’t stop.”

Max’s other hand slid up to her breast, squeezing her leaking nipple through the soaked fabric of her dress. The milk squirted out in response, soaking his fingers as he pressed his thumb over her nipple, massaging the engorged flesh with care.

Poppy’s breath hitched again, her body writhing as the sensations overwhelmed her. “Suck them, Max,” she gasped, her hips jerking against his hand. “Suck my tits while I push.”

Max groaned, the primal command sending another wave of heat through him. He shifted, carefully positioning himself so he could lean in between her legs. His fingers kept their relentless rhythm on her clit, but he slotted his body closer, his mouth latching onto her leaking breast. He sucked hungrily, the warm milk squirting against his tongue as he moaned into her skin.

Poppy’s entire body trembled violently, her hips jerking as she bore down again, her swollen pussy bulging even more with the pressure of the baby pushing down. The sensation of Max’s mouth on her breast, his fingers rubbing her clit, combined with the intense pressure inside her was almost too much to bear.

“Fuck, Max!” she screamed, her voice ragged as she pushed harder, her body convulsing with the effort. “I’m gonna come… oh God, I’m gonna come while I push this baby out…”

Max groaned, his mouth still latched onto her breast as he sucked greedily, his fingers moving faster against her clit. He could feel her body trembling beneath him, the way her pussy stretched and bulged, the slick wetness of his cum and her birth fluids coating his hand as she pushed.

Poppy let out a guttural moan, her hips bucking wildly as she reached the edge. “Don’t stop, Max… I’m so fucking close… keep rubbing… harder…”

Max’s heart pounded in his chest as he pressed his fingers harder against her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast as he sucked harder. His entire body ached with need, his arousal rekindling as he watched her writhe and moan, her body caught between the brutal intensity of labor and the raw pleasure of his touch.

Poppy’s entire body tensed, her back arching as she let out a scream, her orgasm crashing over her in powerful waves. Her pussy clenched hard around the baby’s head, the bulging lips trembling as the pressure inside her built to an unbearable level.

At that moment, a gush of birth fluids squirted from her, soaking Max’s hand as the baby’s head moved even lower, pressing against her overstretched lips. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain, pleasure, and the unstoppable force of life pushing through her.

Max groaned against her breast, his cock hardening again as he felt the rush of fluids and the way her body trembled beneath him. “Fuck, Poppy… you’re incredible,” he gasped, his voice thick with awe and desire as he pressed his fingers even harder against her clit. “You’re going to push our baby out… and cum at the same time.”

Poppy’s breath came in short, ragged bursts, her body shaking violently as she bore down once more, her orgasm still rippling through her as the baby’s head pressed even lower. “I’m doing it, Max… fuck, I’m doing it…”

Max sucked harder on her breast, his fingers relentless on her clit as he felt her body respond, pushing the baby closer and closer with each wave of pleasure. The sight of her, so raw and powerful, pushing their child into the world while her body convulsed with pleasure—it was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced.

Poppy’s body trembled violently, her back arching off the seat as another brutal contraction tore through her. Max could feel her pussy tightening even more around the baby’s head, the pressure building to an almost unbearable degree. His fingers pressed harder against her clit, moving in tight, desperate circles as he sucked greedily at her leaking breast, the taste of her milk flooding his mouth.

“Max… Max, it’s coming… I can feel it,” Poppy gasped, her voice breaking as her hips bucked against his hand. Her entire body shook with the effort, her legs trembling as she pushed with everything she had.

Max groaned, the raw intensity of the moment sending shivers down his spine. “You’re almost there, Poppy,” he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with desire and awe. “Just a little more, sweetheart. You’re incredible… so fucking strong…”

Poppy let out a guttural moan, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as she bore down again. “Fuck… fuck, I can feel it… oh God, Max, it’s so close…”

And then it happened.

With a sudden, violent gush, the baby’s head shot out, fluids squirting over Max’s hands, soaking both of them in a warm rush. Poppy’s belly shrank slightly as the pressure eased, but the sensation of the huge baby’s head stretching her open was undeniable. The sheer size of it made her groan, her body trembling as more fluid gushed out, pooling beneath her on the leather seat.

“Oh God, Max,” she whimpered, her voice shaking with a mix of pain and lingering arousal. “It’s so big… it’s so fucking big…”

Max’s heart pounded as he looked down, his hands trembling as he cradled the baby’s head. The sight of her swollen pussy stretched wide around the enormous head, the fluids dripping down her thighs, had his cock throbbing painfully again. “You’re doing it, Poppy,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. “The head’s out… fuck, you’re amazing.”

Poppy’s breath hitched, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her hips bucked slightly, her swollen lips stretched wide around the baby’s head, and she let out a sharp cry as the pressure inside her shifted again.

“I need… I need to push more,” she groaned, her voice low and ragged. “Oh God, Max, I can feel the shoulders… they’re huge…”

Max whimpered, his eyes glued to the sight of her body as it strained to push their child into the world. His fingers still pressed against her clit, rubbing in slow, firm circles, but the wet, slick sound of fluids squelching around the baby’s head only heightened the intensity of the moment.

“Push, Poppy,” he murmured, his voice shaking as he pressed a kiss to her leaking breast. “You’ve got this… just a little more, sweetheart.”

Poppy let out a deep, guttural groan, her body arching again as she bore down, her hips bucking against his hand. The sheer size of the baby’s shoulders stretching her was overwhelming, her lips bulging even more as she pushed harder.

“Oh fuck… Max… it’s so big… I can feel it stretching me,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she whimpered through the pressure.

Max groaned in response, his cock still exposed, throbbing heavily as he watched her body stretch wide, the fluids gushing around the baby’s shoulders as Poppy’s belly shrank more. His hand absentmindedly stroked himself, slick with the birth fluids that coated them both. “You’re so fucking incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “I can see it… you’re almost there, Poppy. Just keep pushing.”

Poppy’s hands shot up to grip the sides of the seat, her knuckles white as she bore down with everything she had. Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her face twisted in a mix of pain and pleasure as she pushed harder.

“Fuck… fuck, Max… it’s coming,” she whimpered, her voice barely more than a breathless moan. “I can feel it… oh God, it’s so big…”

Max groaned, his eyes locked on the sight of her swollen, bulging lips as the baby’s shoulders pushed through, her body trembling violently with each effort. The fluids continued to squirt and gush, soaking his hands as he cradled the baby’s head, the wet sound of her pushing filling the small space of the car.

“You’re almost there, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with both awe and arousal. “Just a little more… push for me, Poppy.”

Poppy let out a deep, guttural moan, her entire body shaking as she bore down again, her hips jerking violently as the baby’s massive shoulders began to slide free. “Max… oh God… I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum again…”

Max whimpered, his own body trembling with need as he pressed his fingers harder against her clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles. “Cum for me, Poppy,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breathless moan. “Cum while you push out our baby.”

Poppy’s entire body tensed, her back arching as another orgasm ripped through her. Her hips bucked violently, her pussy clenching hard around the baby’s shoulders as she let out a guttural scream, her body convulsing with the force of her release.

At the same moment, the baby’s shoulders slid free with a wet, audible squelch, more fluids gushing out around them as Poppy’s belly shrank even more. The massive baby slipped into Max’s trembling hands, slick with birth fluids, its weight heavy and warm as Max cradled the tiny, wriggling body.

“Fuck, Poppy… you did it,” Max breathed, his voice thick with emotion as he stared down at the newborn in his hands. “You fucking did it… you’re incredible.”

Poppy’s chest heaved with exhaustion, her head slumping back against the seat as she struggled to catch her breath. Her body trembled, still caught between the aftershocks of her orgasm and the sheer relief of the baby finally being born.

Max, his heart pounding in his chest, leaned in closer, his hands still cradling the slick, squirming newborn. He pressed a soft kiss to her belly, now shrunken and slick with fluids. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe as he looked up at her.

Max cradled the newborn boy in his trembling hands, still slick with birth fluids, his breath coming in shaky gasps as he stared down at their child. The weight of the baby in his arms was both grounding and overwhelming, the reality of the moment crashing over him like a wave. His cock still throbbed from the intensity of everything they had just shared, but the raw awe of holding their son in his hands overtook any remaining arousal.

“Poppy,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he looked up at her, his heart pounding in his chest. “It’s a boy.”

Poppy’s eyes fluttered open, her body still trembling from the exertion of birth. She let out a soft, broken laugh, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as she looked down at the squirming newborn in Max’s hands. Tears brimmed in her eyes, her face flushed with a mixture of exhaustion and joy.

“A boy,” she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper as she reached out weakly. “Max… let me hold him.”

Max smiled, his heart swelling with love as he carefully leaned in, gently placing the newborn on Poppy’s chest. The baby squirmed slightly, letting out a soft cry before settling into the warmth of her skin. Poppy’s arms came up shakily to cradle him, her breath hitching as she pressed a kiss to the top of the baby’s tiny head.

“He’s perfect,” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears slipped down her cheeks. “We did it, Max…”

Max’s chest tightened with emotion as he knelt beside her, his hand resting gently on her thigh, still slick with fluids. “You did it, Poppy,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “You’re incredible.”

Poppy smiled weakly, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned her head back against the seat, cradling their son to her chest. The baby let out a soft whimper, his tiny mouth instinctively seeking her breast. Poppy shifted slightly, guiding him toward her nipple, and with a soft, eager suckle, the baby latched on, his tiny lips working rhythmically.

Max watched, mesmerized, as Poppy’s body relaxed slightly, her breaths becoming more even as their son nursed. The sight of her, still slick with the fluids of birth, cradling their newborn in the aftermath of everything they had just gone through, filled him with a profound sense of love and peace.

For a few moments, they simply stayed there, the car filled with the soft sounds of the baby suckling and the quiet rustle of their breaths. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the three of them in the warmth of the car’s small space.

But then Poppy’s breath hitched again, her body tensing beneath Max’s hand. Her brow furrowed, and she let out a low groan, her hand instinctively pressing against her belly.

Max’s heart stuttered, concern flooding his chest as he looked up at her. “Poppy? Is it… is it the afterbirth already?” he asked, his voice filled with worry.

Poppy’s face tightened as another contraction rippled through her, but something about it felt different—sharper, more intense. She shook her head, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No, Max… it doesn’t feel like that.”

Max’s eyes widened, his pulse quickening as he realized what she was saying. “What do you mean it doesn’t feel like the afterbirth?” he asked, his voice filled with confusion.

Poppy’s eyes squeezed shut, her hand gripping his wrist as another sharp pain shot through her belly. “Max… I think… I think there’s another one.”

Poppy’s breath came in ragged gasps, her eyes wide with shock as the realization settled in. “Max… there’s another one,” she whispered, her voice trembling with both fear and disbelief. Her body tensed again, the pressure building deep inside her, even more intense than before.

Max’s heart raced, his eyes scanning her still swollen belly, which hadn’t shrunk as much as it should have after the birth of their first child. He could see her belly tightening, the unmistakable sign of another contraction rippling across her skin. “Another one…” he murmured, his voice filled with awe and concern. “A twin…”

Poppy let out a low, guttural moan, her hand pressing against her belly as the pressure mounted. “Max… it’s bigger,” she gasped, her body trembling as the new baby shifted inside her, pressing lower, the sensation almost unbearable. “Oh God… it’s so much bigger…”

Max swallowed hard, his cock still painfully hard from the intensity of everything they’d already been through. The sight of her, so raw, so powerful as she prepared to push out a second, even larger baby, had his heart racing and his body throbbing with need. He reached out, his hand gently stroking her thigh, slick with a mixture of birth fluids, his cum, and sweat.

“Poppy… you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire and awe. “You can do this… you’re so strong.”

Poppy’s breath hitched as another contraction rolled through her, the pressure almost unbearable. Her hand flew up to grip the seat, her knuckles white as she fought to steady herself. “Max… touch me,” she groaned, her voice thick with both pain and lust. “I need you to… rub your cock on me… on my belly, my pussy. I need to feel you…”

Max’s breath caught in his throat, the rawness of her request sending another wave of heat through him. His cock, still hard and slick from their earlier release, ached with the need to touch her. Without hesitation, he moved closer, positioning himself between her legs as her belly continued to tighten and contract.

His hands trembled as he reached down, rubbing the head of his cock against her swollen, birth-fluid-slicked belly. The sensation of her tight skin against him, still stretched from the first baby, made him groan softly. He pressed his cock against her, slowly sliding it down across her contracting belly, over the slick mess of fluids, down to her bulging, swollen pussy, where her lips were already starting to part again.

Poppy let out a guttural moan, her hips jerking slightly as she felt the warmth of his cock slide against her. Her head fell back against the seat, her body trembling as the pleasure mingled with the intense pressure of the new baby moving lower inside her. “Yes, Max… just like that,” she gasped, her voice low and breathless. “Rub it against me… fuck, it feels so good…”

Max groaned, his hands gripping her thighs as he rubbed his cock against her slick, swollen pussy, the mixture of birth fluids and his own cum making everything even wetter, more intense. His other hand moved up, finding her clit, swollen and throbbing with need. He rubbed it in firm, tight circles, his breath coming in shallow gasps as Poppy’s body trembled beneath him.

“Oh God, Max,” Poppy whimpered, her voice shaking as the baby pressed even lower, the pressure building to a nearly unbearable degree. Her belly, still huge, contracted violently as another sharp pain shot through her. “It’s coming… the water’s going to break…”

As if on cue, another violent gush of water exploded from her, soaking both of them as the immense pressure inside her was suddenly released. The sheer amount of fluid that poured from her was overwhelming, soaking her thighs, Max’s cock, and the seat beneath her. Her belly shrank considerably, the tightness easing for just a moment, but the massive baby was still pressing down, and the pressure quickly returned.

“Oh fuck, Max,” Poppy groaned, her voice shaking as her hips jerked against his cock. “It’s so much bigger… I can feel it stretching me… oh God, I need to push.”

Max’s heart pounded, his cock throbbing as he pressed it against her slick, shrunken belly, rubbing harder against her. The sight of her belly contracting, the baby pressing lower, and the slick, wet heat of her pussy against him was driving him wild. He rubbed his cock along the length of her body, sliding it back down to her pussy as his fingers continued to work her clit.

“You’re so fucking incredible,” he gasped, his voice thick with both awe and arousal. “Push for me, Poppy… push out our second baby…”

Poppy let out a deep, guttural moan, her body trembling violently as she bore down, the pressure inside her building to an almost unbearable degree. Her free hand which wasn’t holding up the newborn against her, flew up to grip the seat, her knuckles white as she pushed with everything she had. The baby’s head pressed lower, stretching her swollen pussy even more, the bulging lips trembling as the sheer size of the baby began to overwhelm her.

“Oh God… Max… it’s so big… I can feel it,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as her hips jerked against him. “Fuck, it’s stretching me so wide…”

Max groaned, his cock sliding against her slick, birth-fluid-coated skin as he rubbed harder, his fingers moving faster against her clit. “You can do it, Poppy,” he murmured, his voice low and breathless. “You’re so strong… so fucking amazing…”

As he rubbed his cock against her, the newborn boy in Poppy’s arms suckled harder at her breast, his tiny mouth working rhythmically as he nursed. The sensation of the baby nursing, combined with the intense pleasure of Max’s cock and fingers, sent shivers down Poppy’s spine.

Her body trembled violently, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she pushed harder, the baby’s massive head slowly crowning, stretching her to her absolute limit. “Oh fuck, Max… it’s coming… I can feel the head… it’s so fucking big…”

Max groaned, his cock throbbing painfully as he watched her swollen pussy stretch wide, the baby’s head pushing through, her body trembling violently as the pressure inside her built to an unbearable degree. “You’re doing it, Poppy,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire and awe. “You’re going to push out our baby… you’re incredible…”

Poppy let out a sharp cry, her body convulsing as she bore down with everything she had. Her breath hitched, her back arching off the seat as she pushed harder, the baby’s head finally slipping free with a wet squelch, more fluids gushing out around it. 

The sensation of her body stretching so wide, combined with the intensity of the moment, sent Max over the edge. His cock throbbed, and with a deep, guttural groan, he came hard, his release spilling over her slick, swollen pussy, mixing with the birth fluids as his body trembled with the force of his climax.

“Oh God, Max… the head’s out,” she whimpered, her voice shaking as the massive baby’s head stretched her wide.

Max, still trembling from his release, pressed his softening cock gently against her slick, swollen lips. His fingers continued to rub her clit, though slower now, still offering her the stimulation she craved. “You’ve got this, Poppy,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe and emotion, his breath steadier now. “Just a little more… push for me, sweetheart…”

Poppy groaned, her entire body shaking as she bore down again, the baby’s massive shoulders pressing through, stretching her even wider. The wet, slick sound of fluids squelching around the baby filled the car as Poppy’s belly shrank more, the pressure inside her finally easing as the huge baby slid free into Max’s trembling hands.

Max gasped, his heart pounding as he cradled the massive newborn in his arms, slick with fluids, the sheer size of the baby almost overwhelming. “Poppy… you did it,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he looked up at her. “He’s out… you’re fucking amazing…”

Poppy’s chest heaved with exhaustion, her head slumping back against the seat as she struggled to catch her breath. Her body trembled, the aftershocks of the intense birth still rippling through her as she smiled weakly, her eyes fluttering open to look at Max.

“We did it,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath as she reached out weakly to touch the newborn. “Max… he’s so big…”

Max smiled, his heart swelling with love as he gently handed the massive newborn up to Poppy, placing the baby on her chest. The newborn squirmed slightly, letting out a soft cry before nestling into her skin, his tiny mouth instinctively seeking her other breast. With a soft, eager suckle, the second baby latched on, nursing alongside his brother.

Poppy let out a soft, broken laugh, tears slipping down her cheeks as she cradled both of their babies to her chest. “They’re perfect, Max… they’re so perfect…”

Max leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, his hand gently stroking her thigh as he smiled down at their newborns. “You’re perfect, Poppy,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re everything.”

The air in the car was thick with the warmth of their shared exhaustion, the surreal calm that followed the raw, primal storm they had just endured. Max’s gaze traveled between his wife and their newborn sons, still latched to Poppy’s breasts, nursing quietly as if the intensity of their arrival had never happened. It was quiet now, but the weight of what they had done—what they had experienced—hung heavy between them.

Max chuckled softly under his breath, the sound low and full of disbelief. “I can’t believe we just… we just did that,” he murmured, his hand smoothing over the soft curve of her thigh, still slick with birth fluids and his own release. “In a car, no less.”

Poppy let out a tired, breathless laugh, her chest rising and falling as she glanced down at the two perfect, tiny lives she’d just brought into the world. “Yeah… not exactly the traditional way to deliver twins, is it?” she muttered, her voice thick with exhaustion, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Max shook his head, still unable to fully process the sheer madness of what had happened. His wife, giving birth to their twins in the cramped, intimate space of their luxury car, covered in a mix of birth fluids, cum, and the sweat of their shared pleasure—it was something out of a wild, forbidden fantasy. He never could have imagined this, not in his wildest dreams.

“I guess we don’t do things the conventional way,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips as his fingers traced delicate patterns on her skin. “But we did it. You did it. You’re amazing.”

Poppy sighed, her body finally relaxing into the seat, her muscles still trembling from the intensity of labor. She let out another soft laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know whether to feel proud or insane,” she muttered, her lips curving into a faint smile. “But… we made it.”

Max’s heart swelled with so much love and devotion as he gazed down at her, the disbelief and awe still flooding his chest. After everything he had been through—the power, the mistakes, the devastation of the Dream Stone—he had never imagined that life could give him this. A family. A second chance. The weight of it all threatened to overwhelm him, but as he looked at his wife, cradling their twins, a sense of peace washed over him.

“I never thought… after everything,” Max whispered, his voice catching slightly, “that life could still surprise me like this.”

Poppy smiled softly, her eyes closing as she leaned her head back, still cradling the newborns against her chest. “You deserve it, Max,” she murmured, her voice soft but certain. “We both do.”

Max swallowed hard, his hand resting on her belly, which was still soft and contracting slightly, the aftershocks of what her body had just endured. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice filled with emotion. “Maybe we do.”

For a long moment, they sat in silence, the air around them heavy with the strange, wonderful reality of what had just happened. The twins suckled contentedly, the car now filled with the gentle sounds of their breathing and the occasional rustle of movement.

Max had never thought his life could still hold this kind of joy, this kind of raw, unfiltered connection. Not after the chaos and destruction he had brought into the world. But as he sat there, with his wife and their newborns, he realized that this—this strange, unconventional, messy moment—was everything he had ever needed.

Poppy shifted slightly in the seat, a tired but amused smirk on her lips. “Max,” she muttered, her voice hoarse but teasing, “you might want to tuck yourself back in. I don’t think the hospital’s ready for that much of you.”

Max blinked, glancing down at himself, his still-exposed cock, and laughed softly, the absurdity of it all hitting him. “Right, yeah, that might be a bit much.” He quickly tucked himself back into his pants, zipping up with a sheepish smile. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

But as soon as the moment of levity passed, Poppy let out a low groan, her hand flying to her belly as another contraction rippled through her. “Max… oh God, it’s not over,” she whispered, her face tightening in discomfort. “The afterbirth…”

Max’s pulse quickened, but this time, he wasn’t panicking. He moved with calm efficiency, carefully helping her shift her position in the seat. “I’ve got you,” he murmured softly, his hand gently supporting her back as she bore down again. Poppy’s breath came in short, labored gasps, her body expelling the afterbirth with far less intensity than before, but still enough to leave her trembling.

Max reached back to the go-bag in the backseat, pulling out clean towels. He worked quickly, wiping down her legs and carefully cleaning up the aftermath as much as he could in the small, cramped space. Birth fluids soaked the towels, and Max wrapped the afterbirth with steady hands, placing it aside before turning his attention to his wife and their newborns.

With tenderness and care, he grabbed the soft, baby-blue blankets from the go-bag, wrapping each of their newborn sons snugly. The twins squirmed a little but quickly settled into the warmth, content against Poppy’s chest as she cradled them.

Max glanced up at her, the weight of everything hitting him as he brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and filled with concern.

Poppy smiled faintly, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Never been better…” she whispered, exhaustion evident in her words, but there was a softness there too.  

He moved back into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life as he carefully pulled the car back onto the road. The world outside was quiet now, the chaos of their wild birth experience behind them, though the warmth and smell of it lingered in the small space of the car, but they didn’t care.

As they drove toward the hospital, Poppy stirred, glancing down at the two tiny bundles in her arms. “Alastair’s going to lose his mind,” she said softly, a tired but warm smile tugging at her lips. “He’s been waiting for this moment forever.”

Max smiled at the thought, his heart swelling. “He’s going to be the best big brother,” he murmured, pride flooding his chest.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 8th

Day 8: Sex Pollen/Fuck or Die, Chastity, Sexual Competition

Max Lord x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Magic stones, ancient inscriptions, DUB-CON, compulsion to have sex, wordless consent, public sex, frantic sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of biting

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The TV guy has been hanging around for the last few days. Causing a disruption in the everyday workload as the director had pushed for a personalized tour to the CEO of Black Gold since he was promising a sizable donation to the foundation. If there was one thing that could turn your normally stalwart director into a groveling slut, it was the promise of funds. 

You hear a booming laugh and roll your eyes. Unsure of what the joke was down the hall, but you know it was Barbara that was giving him the tour so it couldn’t be that funny. Nothing against her, but she wasn’t the joking type. You look back down at your large magnifying glass, looking through it at the inscription etched into the stone that has been a source of intrigue to you over the past few days since it had arrived. 

When your name is called, you try not to get annoyed, knowing that your boss would want you to place nice. Looking up and plastering a smile on your face as you watch Barbara and the TV guy, you forget his name, walk in. 

Well, she walks. He seemingly saunters in like he owns the place. Perhaps he thinks that because he’s going to write a check, he is an owner. 

His eyes are quick, clever. Far more clever that you would imagine seeing those cheesy commercials he always has played on the tv during Jeopardy. The smile you could do without. It’s screaming slightly sleazy, put on and false in order to get what he wants. The only question is, what does Max Lord want?

Introductions are made, Barabara bouncing almost nervously as you shake the salesman’s hand. Pulling your hand away quickly and turning towards her so she can tell you what she wants. She never approaches you unless she needs something. You aren’t one of the posh, beautiful scientists she wants so desperately to be close to. 

“Can I ask a favor?” She asks, clapping her hands together and giving you a pleading look. “I have a meeting that I can’t reschedule.” Her eyes flicker over to the suit and then back to you. “Could you please finish up the tour for Mr. Lord?” “Please….” He winces. “Call me Maxwell.” He offers with a sugar sweet smile that he seems to think to be a gift. He’s not bad looking, but he would look better if he took the Sun-in out of his hair and lost the boxy shoulder pads. You were one of the few that hated the way fashion has gone. 

“I have a lot to do here.” You protest but Barbara gives you an even more pleading expression. “But…..I can finish it up.” She nearly claps in relief. “After I finish up my work.” You warn seriously. 

“Yeah….sure….” She’s bobbing her head quickly and looking over Maxwell. “That’s great. Well, I know you’ll have a great time, so I’ll just run along.” 

You ignore the flirting and flustering as Maxwell makes a slight scene at Barbara leaving, kissing her hand and making her giggle like she’s five again. Soon enough, there’s blissful silence back in your lab so you can concentrate. 

“So what are you studying?” The question comes after two blissful minutes of silence. Two minutes that you had obviously hoped would be longer. Your eyes cut up from your magnifying glass to find Maxwell looking at the stone curiously. 

“A rock.” You glibly answer, keeping your tone just as dry as you possibly can. Barely resisting the urge to smirk when his grin slides off his unfairly handsome face. 

Maybe you feel a little guilty, but it’s not enough to make you apologize as you look back down at the inscription with a frown. While your Latin was rusty, you swear this is talking about fertility. Just as you tilt the glass down more, a finger appears in front of your magnifying glass, making it look even larger than normal, showing you the grooves in his skin. “What’s-”

“No!” You cry out, knowing that the stone cannot be touched without gloves. The instructions had been very clear in the crate that the stone was packed in. “Don’t touch it!” 

Your fingers collide, both of you touching the vivid jade stone at the same time. The piece seemingly glows at the contact and both of you gasp as you snatch your hands away, knocking over the magnifying glass. 

The next few moments are nothing short of a blur of pain and confusion. Nearly blacking out until a pair of lips smash against yours in the most inelegant, needy kiss of your life. 

“Ohhhh!” Your eyes fly open, finding Maxwell’s face right in yours and his mouth opens, groaning. 

“I can’t- I need-” He doesn’t stop kissing you, his words are just cut off by the tongue sliding into his mouth. Your tongue. The feeling of him pressing against you awakening something base inside you. 

You don’t know why, but you need him. The word fertility flashing in your mind and you push it away because of the burning of your skin and the throbbing of your cunt. 

He apparently feels the same way. Something hard and pulsing starts to push against your hip as he backs you up against the table you had been working at. Nothing but fervent kisses being exchanged, and his hands start to pull at your clothes. 

You never even think to push him away. It doesn’t even cross your mind. Too busy grabbing handfuls of him and ripping open the obvious faux Gucci belt so you can rip those ridiculously baggy pants off of him. 

His hands are bigger, harder than you ever would have imagined when watching those commercials of his. Wonderful on your skin as he slides them up  your thighs under your skirt. Hot as find the edge of your panties and hooking under them to start dragging them down. 

It’s not like you’ve talked about this, but neither one of you cares. Both of you groaning when your own hand dives into his briefs and wraps around an impressive cock. He hides it well under those bulky suits. 

Both of you need each other in a way that can’t even be described. The pain flaring in your stomach drives you, squeezing and pumping his cock, pulling back the foreskin and smearing the bead of precum around the head while he pants into your mouth. 

Your name, not even spoken by him before, sounds like ambrosia as it drips from his tongue. His own fingers sliding through your folds before he is pushing you up onto the table and spreading your legs to step between. 

Your cry would draw any number of personnel if there had been anyone. It had already been late in the day, and then the meeting had drawn everyone else away, leaving your floor empty with the exception of you and Maxwell. “Max!” Your eyes widen when he pushes inside you, filling you to the hilt with a needy, frantic thrust. 

He groans again, twitching violently inside you and gripping the edge of the table behind you. Pulling his hips back and shuddering when he thrusts forward again and moans at how tight you are. 

Rocking the table with how hard he’s fucking you, you can’t do anyting but hold on and whine for him. Every piercing thrust of his cock pushing the pain away and making your cunt feel amazing. Hitting all the best spots, deep inside you and scratching an itch you didn’t know you had. 

Kisses are littered on your skin, his teeth being used far more that you ever thought possible as a man fucks into you as frantically as Maxwell does. Chasing that same goal with the urgency that is burning underneath your own skin. Both of you pulling and grabbing at each other, clothes bunched between you as you grind your hips, your legs wrapped around his waist. 

“I didn’t- fuck, it’s so good.” Maxwell rambles. “You’re so good. I can’t - it’s so- fuck.” 

You can only moan in agreement, not even coherent enough to speak right now. Your entire focus on the connection of his cock in your pussy. 

Your body is so sensitive that you are shocked by how quickly you cum. Taking you by surprise as your head falls back and your hands hold onto his broad shoulders. Cunt clenching down around him and the heat of your orgasm rushing through your body and seemingly quenching that fire that had been burning since you touched the stone only minutes before. 

“Oh fuck, oh mierda.” He groans, clenching his teeth and shouting when he thrusts once more, pulsing heavily inside you as he paints your womb with his seed in hot spurts. Panting and whining as he rocks his hips to push every drop into your quivering cunt until he’s spent and collapsing against you and both of you drop to the table top. 

Gasping for air, you try to catch your breath as you roll your head to the side and feel Max nuzzle against your neck, his own breath still undstead. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the stone. “What the fuck was that?” You ask, bewildered and almost giggly as you look at the fertility stone that had compelled both of you to fuck like wild animals in your lab. 

“I don’t know.” He pants. “But I might need a minute if we do it again.” 

Breaking into a giggle, your hand slides up to pet the hair that you had been snorting at earlier. Maybe Max Lord wasn’t soooo bad. “Hell of a tour, huh?” 

“Fuck.” He chuckles, still not moving on top of you and snuggling into you even more when your fingers scratch his scalp. “The best.” 

[tropes-and-tales]

Hiiiii! I would like to request <<person b trying to cook person a's fav dish>> with Max Lord please. I can see that flashback scene in WW84 with his business Blacc Gold Cooperative, trying to make everything perfect. Get well soon! Thanks so much!!

A rare Max Lord ask in the inbox!

Maxwell Lord knows he’s worthless.

He hides those feelings underneath a glib façade, a blustering bravado.  He talks a good game.  He schmoozes with the best of them.  And yet, when he goes to sleep each night, he knows that he’s nobody special.  He’s nobody of substance; he’s just an empty shell in a slick suit.

And if he was nobody before the Dreamstone, before Black Gold went bankrupt, then what is he now?  

He’s less than nobody now.

He lives in a shitty apartment in Baltimore, and he works a shitty job in a grey cubicle.  He sees his son every other weekend.  His nice cars, his private plane, his fancy suits and giant mansion?  All gone.  

Despite it all, he found you:  his neighbor in his shitty apartment complex, a sweet, gorgeous woman who teaches at the nearby university.  You know who he is, what he’s done…and you still seem to like him.  You haven’t broken up with him yet.

Which is why he’s struggling right now.  It’s your birthday, and the old Max would have taken you on a shopping trip in New York, or flown you to Paris, or taken you out to the most exclusive restaurant on the eastern seaboard.  New Max doesn’t have that option, so he tries his best and plans an entire evening in.

The plan?  Cook your favorite meal.  Use your favorite flowers as a centerpiece.  Open a bottle of your favorite wine.  Then watch your favorite movie on VHS before taking you to bed.  It’s all supposed to be a surprise, but when you walk through the door that evening, the plan is in shambles.

Your favorite meal is a charred mess smoking in the sink.  Your favorite flowers—wildflowers he picked along the river—are limp and already shedding pedals.  He punched through the cork in your wine and ruined it.  And Blockbuster was out of their only copy of “All About Eve.”

When you walk through the door that evening, you find Max sitting on the floor of your kitchen, his head in his hands.

He waits for you to break up with him.  He waits for the words—stupid, worthless—to fall from your mouth the way they’ve fallen from everyone else’s mouths.  He waits for cruel laughter at his pitiful attempt to make your birthday special despite having no money, no talent.  It’s just like those pathetic early days with Black Gold, how hopeful and naïve he’d been, how stupid—

“This seat taken?” you ask quietly, and you don’t wait for him to respond before you sink down onto the linoleum beside him.  

“Rough day?” you ask, and your voice is still quiet, but you’re right beside him.  A beat later and he feels it—your hand brushing his hair away from his face, then a gentle press of your lips to his temple.  Then you settle your head against his shoulder and just…sit.  You just sit with him, neither of you speaking for a long moment.

“Just wanted to make it special for you,” he finally says, and his voice is rough with emotion.  Frustration. Sadness.  Everything bubbling up at once, everything he’s pushed down…it’s all threatening to come out now.

“Who says it isn’t special?”

He scoffs, gestures helplessly around you.  

“You know, my last boyfriend never even thought to make me dinner for my birthday.  So, if I say it’s the thought that counts…that’s the truth,” you tell him.

“The thought means nothing,” he snaps.  “It’s action, results…thoughts are worthless.”

This should make you break up with him too:  him getting snippy and edging against an argument.  But you don’t rise to the bait.  You settle your head against his shoulder again, and you tell him a story about your childhood, how your mother had been in the hospital for your eighth birthday, how your father was away for work.  How it seemed that no one remembered your special day until a girl in your neighborhood—older than you, far cooler than you—saw you crying on your front porch.

“She was a high schooler,” you explain softly.  “Literally the coolest girl in the neighborhood.  She dressed like Stevie Nicks and had a voice like Blondie.  I was just a little dork that no one noticed, but she did.  She was driving past in her beat-to-shit Beetle and saw me sitting alone and crying, and you know what she did?”

“What?”

“She asked me what was wrong, and when I told her, she drove away.”

Max scoffs again.  That sounds right to him.  The world is a cruel place.

“And then ten minutes later, she came back,” you continue.  “She went to Dairy Queen and got me a banana split.  Remember those giant banana splits they used to make?  She bought one and sat on my porch and we ate it together.  She didn’t have a candle, so she held up her lighter and made me blow it out.”

“That’s really sweet,” he tells you, begrudgingly.

You shift your head from his shoulder and you reach out, grip his chin lightly.  You turn his face and make him look at you.

“It’s the thought that counts, Max,” you say, and your voice is more stern now.  “Being seen?  Being remembered?  That means more than any gift or whatever is smoldering right now in the sink.” 

“It’s a soufflé.  Or was.”  As bad as he feels, he can’t help but smile at you.

You roll your eyes.  “Why on earth would you try to bake me a soufflé?  You can barely boil water.”

“I thought—” he starts, and then he catches himself, realizes what he’s saying.  You catch it too, and you grin back at him.

“See?  You thought of me.  You see me.  That’s all I need from you.”

He wants to say that you deserve so much more—diamonds and designer dresses and expensive purses and luxurious trips to exotic locales—but you don’t let him reply.  You lean forward and kiss him, and the feeling of your mouth on his does what it always does:  it pushes the anxious thoughts away, makes the self-doubt melt under the ardor with which you kiss him.

“Now c’mon,” you say once you break away from him.  You stand up and offer your hand, and you help him stand too.  “There’s a Dairy Queen three blocks from here.  You’re buying me a banana split, and you’re gonna eat the pineapple bits because I hate pineapple.”

[muldermuse]

i have maxwell lord brain rot ok- i couldnt stop thinkin about this all niiiiiiight

ok so max hires you as his personal assistant like before he gets all powerful and whatever

he's really honest about his lack of funds but he guarantees you that he's getting close to a big break and honestly you need anything and the work seems flexible so you can do it. u end up spending a lot of time looking after his son and max is in awe of how you are with alistair and hes developing feelings for you (and you are for him- he's a great dad and its such a turn on)

so as the months go on you end up taking alistair back to your home in the evenings as otherwise he's just at the office, waiting for his dad to finish. you make him grilled cheese with chips for dinner and watch some cartoons on the couch together. the evening gets later and you both end up falling asleep

max has a key and he lets himself into your apartment. he's holding a bunch of flowers and some of your favourite candy as an apology for how much you've been doing for him and his son. like he knows you're doing far too much for him but he loves seeing you and he can't bring himself to ask you to stop. when he sees you both asleep, he feels his heart triple in size

he presses a kiss to alistair's head and then your own. you wake up just for a moment as he joins both of you on the sofa, placing a blanket over the three of you. he thinks you're asleep as he whispers in your ear that he loves you.

and just before he passes out with pure exhaustion, he feels you press a kiss to his cheek and whisper that you love him too <3333

tbh i was going to go smuttier with this and write in DETAIL about max going down on you...mayb next time

[bearforceone3]

overworked boss max lord

[jpbpxma]

hi, this is a new writing blog for pedro pascal & his characters. I have many ideas of my own to post but I'm also accepting requests for scenarios, specific characters of his you'd like to see written or just anything really, even if it's just to talk so shoot me an ask :)<3

(yes the picture is a way to bring your attention to this post)

[jerrythebug]

They should've fucked nasty. Actually they probably did behind the scenes

[pascalsbby]

a long museum, walk-around-and-fall-even-deeper typa day

[galaxyedging]

When you are bored and honry with a mild Canva addiction.

[penciltopbear]

Hey max enjoyers what's his best outfit. I know one of you has a folder somewhere of screenshots of all of his outfits don't lie to me

[awhoreintheory]

You know that story about a motorcycle gang that, essentially, adopts child abuse victims? Like, they go to court with them, stand guard outside their houses, and even make them little jackets?

Imagine Jason, who didn't have the best childhood, who always looks out for the kids of crime Alley (enough so one of his huge rules is "don't deal to kids or I deal with you") and his people catch onto this, yknow

Yeah. That's Red Hood gang fs.

Some of them are only there because Red Hood is the new top dog, sure, but some are also there because they like working under Red Hood. He's really not a terrible guy once you get past the 8 heads in a duffle bag!

And so I think, it wasn't Red Hood himself that started going to child abuse court cases and standing guard around their house at night first, but rather his men. It wasn't something he ordered them to do, and it wasn't ever explicitly brought up, but I Red Hood seamlessly integrated this new little division into his Crime Lord activities.

There was a schedule for who was on Crime stuff, and who got to beat the shit out of little Maxwell's abusive shitbag dad.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[mypoisonedvine]

81:"just come to dinner with me. it doesn't have to be weird." 89:"keep the lights on, I want to see you." 88:"kiss me like you mean it." With Jack Whiskey or maxwell Lord.

Hope your having a lovley day<3

-❄

I know he's not everybody's favorite but I want a sugar daddy maxwell fic sooo bad! to make it fair I decided to take some liberties with his look lmao

length: 2.5k (no clue how that happened...)

warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), oral f receiving, sugar daddy relationship, alcohol consumption, possessiveness <3

You’d never done anything like this before— you made that perfectly clear to him, to the point that you wondered if it would scare him off.  But it didn’t, which was equal parts comforting and concerning.

However, even with all your complex emotions towards the idea, you agreed to it.  Just come to dinner with me, he’d told you, it doesn’t have to be weird.  Nothing has to happen— it’s just dinner, no expectations.

That relieved you enough to get you to go out with him.  He’s not expecting anything, you promised yourself, it’s just dinner.  Nothing has to happen.

But you still put on your nicest lingerie under your dress… just in case.

The whole thing made you feel out of place, honestly: you’d never been to a restaurant this nice, you’d never worn a designer gown before (let alone one that someone had picked out and sent to you for your first date), you’d never been picked up by a private driver—you didn’t even know what to do when you got to the restaurant, so you were a bit relieved (if certainly surprised) when you walked in and they seemed to already know you.

The host greeted you by name, took your coat, and informed you that Mr. Lord is already waiting for you at his usual table.  That made you wonder if a girl like you was his usual guest.

Your heart picked up its pace when you saw him from across the restaurant; he looked like he fit right in, with his hair slicked back in a black tux.  He looked so natural like that, you couldn’t even imagine him without a tux.  (Well, you could, but you were trying not to.)

But, your heart didn’t really start racing until he saw you.  His eyes lit up, and a tilted smile filled his face as he stood to greet you.

“Don’t you look gorgeous!” he purred, leaning in to kiss your cheek as you approached— even that caught you off-guard, but you realized it wasn’t meant to be especially flirtatious, it was just one of those rich people greetings.  Then again, the arm that reached around you so his hand could rest momentarily on your lower back felt a bit more than friendly.  “You like the dress?”

“Y-yes, thank you,” you smiled nervously as you looked down at the floor-length black gown again, “it’s beautiful.  And more comfortable than it looks.”

He laughed a bit, squeezing your arm briefly before gesturing for you to take your seat.  One waiter was already pouring your water and another was draping a white napkin over your lap and pushing in your seat;  “White or red, miss?” the one pouring drinks asked.

“O-oh, um—” you began, but Maxwell interrupted.

“Why don’t you bring her a glass of the ’61 Chateau Haut-Brion?” he suggested.  “To go with mine.”

“Of course, sir,” the waiter nodded, and soon him and his fellow servers departed.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Maxwell addressed you again, “the house wines are fine— but I think you’ll like this one, it’s excellent.”

“Oh, I trust you,” you smiled, “you know a lot more about all this than me.”

“Try not to feel too intimidated,” he assured, “almost everyone here is worrying just as much as you about looking like they belong—probably even more than you are.  The only difference is, you actually have enough beauty to not be outshined by a place like this.”

A little uncomfortable with the compliment, you looked around the modern space— so much glass and crystal sparkling under pleasantly-dim lights, with a view out over the ocean just outside the window you’d been seated against.  It was sleek and ornate all at once.  “It really is a lovely place, thank you for taking me here,” you announced.

“Oh, I come here all the time— more than I should,” he laughed.  “I’ll warn you now, you might become addicted once you get a taste.”

A brief moment passed before he quirked a brow.

“Of the food, I mean,” he winked, and you giggled a bit.

“Right— should I, um, look at a menu?” you wondered.

“It’s actually a set course tonight,” he explained, “I hope you don’t mind.  Honestly, I prefer not having to think about it— and the chef here never misses.  He’s a good friend, actually.”

“I get the feeling you’re good friends with a lot of people,” you observed, and he gave you a knowing smile.

“Should I be offended?” he asked.

“No,” you laughed, “but you seem like you’re always getting in places, always getting special treatment or private access— ‘cause the theater owner is a good friend, the executive producer is a good friend…”

“You make me sound much more popular than I am,” he shrugged.

The waiter returned with a bottle in hand, showing the label to you and Maxwell.  “The Chateau Haut-Brion you requested, Mr. Lord?”

“Fabulous, thank you,” Maxwell smiled as the waiter uncorked the bottle and poured glasses for you both.

“The first course will be out shortly,” the man explained before he departed; you reached for your glass, about to take a sip, but your date raised his own.

“A toast,” he suggested, making you stop pulling your glass closer and holding it up in anticipation instead, “to… new friends.”

You smiled and clinked your glass against his.

~

You tried not to look too starstruck as you looked around the penthouse apartment, but it was hard to hide your awe at all the fine art on the walls, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittery city below, the vintage and baroque furniture…

“I haven’t been here in a few weeks,” he explained as he sauntered inside after letting you in, “forgive me if it looks a little barren— I’ve been in my home in California for some time to manage my work there, I only visit my apartments occasionally—”

“You have more than one?!” you realized, unable to suppress the urge to gawk, and he smiled as you looked back over your shoulder at him.

“I have quite a few properties, yes,” he nodded.  “Miami, Berlin, Hong Kong— all of these, of course, would be available to you whenever you’d like to visit, if you were to…”

He trailed off, approaching you as his eyes darkened a bit.  “If I was to…?” you prompted.

You shivered slightly when he reached up to run his fingers gently along the curve of your jaw.  “If you were to accept my offer.”

You swallowed, turning to face him properly, and sighed when his other hand came to rest on your waist.  “A-and, if I was to…” you trailed off, apparently still not proud enough to say it, “would there be… anyone else?”

“No,” he shook his head, “not for either of us.  That’s not what I want.”

He’d explained to you before, in a few different ways, what he did want.  He’d explained that he enjoyed ‘dating’ this way because it took out the guesswork, because he was too busy for a traditional relationship.  He needed a partner who could work around his complex schedule— and to soften the blow, he would send gifts to fill the time while he was gone.  All he really asked was that you stay ready and waiting for him to return— or even to be ready to drop everything and hop on a private jet to come see him wherever he was when he needed you most.

The look in his eyes certainly showed that he needed you now.  You knew that if you told him you didn’t want this— or even just that you didn’t want anything to happen tonight— he would be polite and sweet and have a car take you home.  But you also got the feeling that if you said any of that, he would see right through it.

You wanted this too.  It was sort of obvious, especially as your hands snaked up his chest over the fabric of his tux, resting on his shoulders as you looked up at him expectantly.

“Why don’t you tell me what you want, beautiful?” he suggested in a low voice.

“I… I want,” you began hesitantly, having to look away to find the courage to say it, “I want you to tell me what to do.”

He smiled a bit, lifting your chin and guiding you to look up at him again.  “Kiss me like you mean it.”

You felt strange about that wording— like he thought you didn’t genuinely want this and just tolerated it in exchange for the money.  Which wasn’t true, but then again, it is hard to turn a man down when you’re wearing the thousand-dollar dress he bought for you.

And, of course, you kissed him.  You wove your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck, shutting your eyes and sighing as he tightened his grip on your waist; he wrapped you up in his arms, slowly and gently, and hummed lowly against your lips.  There was something about it that was different from every other first kiss you’d had (or possibly every other kiss you’d ever had) but you completely lacked the words to describe it.  Maybe it was how careful he was with you, how oddly patient; or maybe it was how quickly you found yourself wanting more.

You opened your mouth slightly, letting him delve deeper with his tongue, though he wasn’t too aggressive about it at first.  It was still sweet and slow, and you relaxed further as you pressed your body to his.

He broke away sooner than you wanted him to, and you watched his eyes scan over your face before they drifted to your shoulder— where his hand was tracing over the strap of your dress, teasing that he might slide it down at any moment.  You found yourself wishing he would, but instead he brought his eyes back to your own.

“Would you mind if I showed you the bedroom?” he suggested.

“Not at all,” you breathed.

You didn’t get a very thorough tour, not when you were stumbling backwards through the door as his hands ran all over you.  He quickly flipped on the light switch as he walked past it, only for you to reach and turn it off again.  He smiled playfully at you as he broke his lips away.  “Now, darling, how am I supposed to show you the bedroom in the dark?” he mused.

“You can show me after,” you sighed, trying to tug him by the jacket into another kiss, but he resisted with a smug grin.

“After,” he repeated with a low, rich voice that seemed to wash right over you.  “But what we’re about to do, I don’t want to do in the dark, either— you’re much more exciting to look at than some boring old bedroom that’s been on the cover of Architectural Digest…”

You laughed a little, but he bit his lip as he pulled you closer to him.

“Keep the lights on,” he pleaded— or maybe demanded, “I want to see you.”

You flipped the lights back on, and he almost turned that designer gown to shreds getting it off you.

He growled as he got a glimpse of your lingerie, and you bit your lip through a smile when he met your gaze again.  “Oh, angel— you’ll spoil me.”

He dropped to his knees in front of you, making you gasp slightly as he delicately ran his fingers along the lacy hem of your panties.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he sighed, “I need to taste you.”

“Fuck,” you mumbled, “o-okay, whatever you want.”

Looking up at you, he shot you a glittering smile.  “Get used to saying that, beautiful.”

You shuddered, just as he pulled the panties down and dove between your legs.

You felt a bit undignified with him burying his mouth against you while you were standing up; your knees wobbled and he grabbed onto your hips to help keep your balance, sliding his tongue out between your lips.

“Fuck!” you gasped, reaching down and grabbing a handful of his hair greedily.  He moaned against you, shutting his eyes tighter, lapping at you eagerly.  He pulled away far too soon, and you whimpered before he beamed up at you with slick lips.

“Get on the bed,” he demanded.

You didn’t need a tour of the room to find that: you stepped out of your panties and fell back onto it, smiling at him as he quickly slipped off his jacket and climbed up over you with an insatiable look on his face, his dark hair broken out of its style by your touch and dangling down around his face.

“Take this off,” he instructed, running a finger over your bra as he balanced himself to hover over you.

You sat up enough to reach behind your back, unfastening the garment and shimmying out of it to toss aside onto the floor.

His gaze raked over you lasciviously.  “Forgive me,” he breathed, “if I can’t find the heart to take my time with you like I imagined.”

You felt your heart skip, just before he descended and kissed you again, the tangy taste of your own arousal making you moan in the back of your throat.  The kiss was filthier and needier than ever, and quickly moved down to your neck; your back arched up off the satin sheets as his tongue traced your pulse.

“I could spend all night,” he panted between heady kisses, “tasting you everywhere.”

“God,” you whimpered, “I won’t stop you.”

“And what if I want to spend the whole night inside you?” he challenged further, making you whine and stir under him.  He pressed his weight down on you as you slowly spread your legs; you felt suddenly aware of him still being almost entirely dressed while you were stripped to nothing, and it somehow only made you more desperate for him.

“Please,” you begged, feeling his teeth scrape your neck as his hips rocked against yours.  You gasped feeling how hard he was, and it turned into a proper moan as one of his hands groped roughly at your chest.  “Fuck, Max—”

“When you say my name like that, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to control myself,” he growled, pulling back to look down at you.

“Then don’t,” you offered with a smirk.

“Just promise me one thing,” he began, surprising you with the change of his tone.  “If we do this… you’re mine.”

Your throat caught on nothing.

“If you can’t handle that, I understand,” he mitigated, “but I can’t pretend that I feel any differently— I need you, all to myself.  I need to know that you belong to me.”

You found yourself nodding before you even really thought it through.  “I’m yours,” you promised as you clutched desperately at his shirt, making him smile proudly.  “Fuck, I’m all yours.”

He kissed you—not as ruthless as the last one, but still plenty passionate.  This time, you were completely sure you’d never been kissed like this.

“I want you to say that,” he purred against your lips, “every time I make you come.”

[owl-with-a-pen]

Outside of superhero emergencies, Kara didn’t tend to lean into her super hearing where she could avoid it. Girl’s night at her apartment, for example, definitely shouldn’t have called for it. Then again, she wasn’t usually the subject of discussion in just about every apartment block on her street.

So, maybe that wasn’t completely true. She’d certainly heard her name mentioned a lot more since the whole secret identity reveal thing; it was just, nowadays, instead of hearing Supergirl, it was usually Kara Zor-El.

She was used to it. She’d been used to it for years; her name was normally a hot topic days, if not weeks after a major save was broadcast. The only difference now was… not all of those voices were as positive as she’d come to expect.

Like right now, for instance. No matter how hard she tried to shut it out, she couldn’t help but listen for that same voice echoing from hundreds of homes across the city, streaming from earbuds, speakers and laptops alike. His voice was charismatic and quick, like a less polished Maxwell Lord, and while he may have been a nobody just a few weeks ago, he’d certainly gained enough traction now to give Kara one hell of a headache.

Unfortunately for her, she’d inadvertently tuned herself in at just the right time for her downstairs neighbour to hit play:

“Alright folks, if you missed our last episode I’ll catch you up to speed. Last week, we rounded off at the crux of the Supergirl Problem; that she hasn’t just been living in our midst this whole time, but that she’s been actively working as a journalist for CatCo Worldwide Media. And, just a few weeks ago, she was publicly put in charge of the editorial process for that same media outlet minutes after she came clean about her alter-ego to the world. And, as I doubt Supergirl will want to speak for herself on the matter, we have one of her self-proclaimed super-fans in the house today to speak on her behalf. Say it with me at home folks, debate me, Supergirl!”

The aforementioned ‘super-fan’ let out a surprised scoff at her introduction. She didn’t waste a minute of her airtime, jumping immediately into the conversation: “Well, for starters, I think you’re taking this whole thing out of context. Supergirl didn’t just become a journalist for CatCo overnight. If you knew anything about Kara’s story, you’d know that she worked her way up the food chain for years! I mean, how empowering is that? She started as a PA!”

“Yeah, a PA with superspeed, how difficult. No wonder she ended up in Cat Grant’s palm! And yes, I do know her origin story, thank you very much.” The host’s voice crackled as Kara imagined him relaxing into his microphone. “Let the audience not forget that she was a PA for Cat Grant before she became a journalist. Are we really going to pretend that wasn’t her foot in the door?”

“Cat Grant wasn’t even her boss when she got into journalism,” argued the young woman. “And by the time Kara made a name for herself, Cat wasn’t even leading the company anymore! She got to where she is now on her own merit, no one elses!”

The host spoke over her: “It begs the question, did Cat Grant know this whole time? She takes a sabbatical only to re-emerge just in time to offer Supergirl a promotion. On top of that, she’s been promoting Supergirl for years! She created her – her words, on record. And now she’s put her in charge of media distribution. Get this: Supergirl is now in charge of the media we consume. Isn’t that a little self-indulgent?”

The young woman didn’t back down. “Kara Danvers was a Pultizer winning journalist long before we found out who she really was,” she argued. “She’s been standing for truth and justice just as much as Supergirl has. In fact, she’s just as much a hero as—”

“But what’s the agenda here?” the host continued with a conspiratorial air. “How can we even believe the news now it’s being headed by a liar? And she did, didn’t she? She lied to us all! She had a secret identity this whole time, and what? We’re just supposed to accept that? What’s the bet that this story will make a headline at CatCo magazine tomorrow morning, with my comments made out as Supergirl’s latest villain story? Or, better yet, will I be Kara Danver’s first official nemesis?” He barked out a laugh into his microphone. “There’s no freedom of the press anymore, folks, not when CatCo is bias towards the very hero that made it so popular in the first place!”

Before she could hear any more, Kara was thrown from her super-eavesdropping rather unceremoniously when a hand shot out in front of her face, waving impatiently.  

“Earth to Kara,” Alex said, snapping her fingers in front of her sister’s nose. “Hey, anyone home?”

“Huh?” Kara said before screwing her eyes shut, swatting away Alex’s offending hand. “Hey, hey, stop that!”

It was only then that she realised that it wasn’t just Alex who had been trying to get her attention. Lena and Kelly were staring at her from the opposite sofa. Nia sat cross legged on the footstool by the coffee table, nursing her drink with an expectant expression.

Kara glanced lamely at the TV. It didn’t look like anyone had been paying attention to the movie for quite some time.

Just how long had she been…?

Kara tried not to cringe.

Kelly cleared her throat, smoothing her hands over her lap. “From your expression, I’m guessing you were listening in on something pretty important.” She hesitated. “Is everything okay?”

Kara’s eyes widened. “What? Oh, oh no, it’s not a superhero emergency, I swear. Girl’s night continues uninterrupted, I promise!”

“Okay,” Nia said with a slow smile. “Then what was with the—” She mimicked Kara’s spaced-out expression a little too well, earning a few grins at her expense.

Kara pursed her lips. “Uh—I mean. It was nothing. Just…” She sagged in on herself awkwardly. “Okay, so I may have been listening to this podcast…”

“Oof.” Alex winced. “You don’t wanna do that.”

Kara groaned, falling back against the sofa. “I’ve been trying not to, but it’s kinda hard when half of my building’s listening to it.” She rubbed aggressively at her ears. “Super hearing can really suck, you guys.”

“Wait,” Nia said, perking up. “Are you talking about the Debate Me, Supergirl podcast?” When everyone turned to stare at her, she shrugged. “What? Brainy’s been keeping tabs on all social channels for this stuff ever since your interview first went public, y’know, calculating the odds on them picking up any real traction. In case things go… south.”

“And what are the odds on this guy?” Alex asked seriously.

Nia made a vague gesture. “I mean, until a few days ago, Brainy had him in the unlikely category. But his latest interview with a Supergirl stan got a whole lot of attention on social media. They were basically at each other’s throats the entire time.” She took a mild sip of her drink. “People ate it up.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Of course they did. And I’m guessing from your tone, not much of the audience were on this super – uh – stan’s side?”

Nia pulled a face, taking an even larger swig.

Kara groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “This is awful. I- I just can’t believe how little faith they have in me now that they know the truth!”

Lena smiled her sympathy. “Take it from someone who was once deluded enough to fall right into that same category of hatefully ignorant.” She toasted her scotch glass to no one in particular, swirling its contents with a gentle twist of her wrist. “It’s not easy for people to accept that their larger-than-life hero was living amongst them.”

Kara’s head shot up in protest. “I never wanted anyone to put me on a pedestal.”

“Want has nothing to do about it. Like it or not, they did.” Lena paused, tucking her legs into the sofa’s arm. She fixed Kara with a level look. “Kara, I say this as your friend, but you have to understand how powerful you are in the eyes of a regular citizen. You fly, you shoot laser beams from your eyes, you’re bullet proof and fire proof. Your power is limitless and even though this city has seen you fall, they’ve also seen you get back up time and time again.”

Kara bit her lip. “That part I can understand, but it’s not just that. This podcaster isn’t only targeting my Supergirl persona. It’s Kara Danvers, Kara Zor-El that they don’t trust.” She snorted, throwing her hands wide. “They think the fact that I’m working as CatCo’s Editor-in-Chief makes the whole platform inherently bias. And – yes – I know I’ve fought my own biases in the past, and it’s not like being impartial was what won me a Pulitzer, but to them— a superhero in the press just doesn’t appeal. They think I’m a fraud, that I’ve been manipulating public opinion.” Kara could feel her face begin to flush in frustration. She ran a hand through her hair, standing just to put her energy somewhere. She slammed a fist against her palm, taking a step around the coffee table with every beat. “But, I mean, don’t they remember how CatCo turned on Supergirl after the Red Kryptonite incident? And rightfully, too. I lost the people’s trust then, and now—now it’s happening all over again and I just… I don’t know how to win them back,” she laughed through her teeth, “or if I can win them back!”

Alex took Kara’s arm swiftly as she passed her by, tugging her to her side. “Hey, no one said this was gonna be easy.”

“I think those were Cat’s exact words, actually,” Nia said helpfully, pointing in Alex’s direction.

Kara huffed, anchored by her sister’s steadying hand. “Yeah? Well, they didn’t say it would be this difficult, either.”

“Don’t listen to a few angry voices,” Nia insisted, her voice sobering. “They aren’t worth your energy, trust me.”

“Are they just a few?” Kara asked grimly. If she tried hard enough, she was sure she could still tune into hundreds of versions of that same podcast playing from across the city. Whether they agreed with him or not, the people of National City and beyond were listening to this nameless podcaster, and that was dangerous enough on its own.

Nia smiled tightly, balling her knuckles against her lap. “Just don’t listen to them, okay?” She closed her eyes. “Look, people like to make a lot of noise when they feel like they’ve been lied to, but the truth is, they were never entitled to that information to begin with. When I did my Dreamer interview with you, a lot of people were so supportive; some of them even saw themselves in me, but there were always hateful voices that tried to drown out the positive ones.” She straightened her back, opening her eyes. “But, y’know, they make that much noise because they know they’re in the minority, and they do not have the power that they think. Putting it into perspective like that… it’s a lot easier to ignore them, especially when I know how many people I’ve helped by sharing my story.”

“You’re right,” Kara said softly. Because she was. Of course she was. A single podcast spouting a single negative view didn’t diminish everything good that had come out of Supergirl’s identity reveal. Yes, the celebrity-level thing took some getting used to and openly flying to work made her something of a spectacle when it came to the office situation, but for the most part, Kara was relieved to have that weight off her shoulders, and it was a joy to know just how many aliens felt more confident to live as themselves now that they knew Supergirl had also shared their struggle.

In truth, the world knowing where she had come from, who she had been ever since she’d landed on Earth, grounded her to the people in a way that had never struck quite the same as just Supergirl. And that was worth any amount of growing pains.

Kara reached out for Nia’s hand over the coffee table, squeezing tight. “Thank you.”

Nia’s smile softened. “Any time.”

Lena cleared her throat, shifting higher against her pillow. “And, as for your job,” she said with a sly smile of her own, “let’s just say I know a thing or two about the public coming for your throat, deeming you unworthy of the position you’ve fairly worked your way up to. It’s just like Nia said, you ignore it, Kara. You ignore it because you have nothing to prove to anyone, you’re already doing one hell of a job as a journalist. Remain honest with yourself, and eventually people will see it. Not everyone of course.” She tilted her head, raising her glass to her lips. “You’ll never have everyone’s approval. If you did, well, I’d say you were on another planet, because that’s certainly not how the human race are wired.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Nia chimed in, leaning up to clink her glass with Lena’s. She caught Kelly’s glass on her way back.

Kelly smiled fondly, though there was a strained edge to her expression when she said, “We’ve all had to work twice as hard to prove ourselves. And as much as it hurts, that extends to Supergirl as well.”

Kara sat back down with a sigh, leaning into the embrace that Alex readily offered her. “Cat once told me the same thing; right after she’d first claimed Supergirl, actually.”

“Exactly,” Alex said with a sage nod. She kissed her sister’s hair. “And, hey, Cat Grant won’t let a podcast beat down her creation. Hell, her empire is built on powerful women, it always has been, always will.” She gestured to everyone in the room. “You are all prime examples of that.”

Kara nudged her sister playfully, pushing out of her arms. “Hey, well, the amount of times the DEO has personally kept that building from crashing to the ground, I’d say you’re an honorary member of Cat’s empire, too.”

Alex’s nose crinkled. “I think I prefer the title of badass DEO leader, but I’ll take it.” She grinned, rolling her eyes. “The point is, you have us, Kara.”

“Yeah.” Nia beamed. “And our opinion is worth a million times more than some crappy podcast.”

“Oh, cheers to that, too!” Alex laughed and they all converged with their glasses, meeting with a raucous clash over the coffee table.

Cheers rang out all ‘round, and Kara let the simple joy of that moment infect her. Their combined laughter easily blotted out any chances of hearing another word from that podcaster’s mouth.

She'd lost the taste for eavesdropping, anyway.

[muldermuse]

Maxwell Lord is so fucking insanely into stockings

I will be taking no more questions at this time, thank you

[ghostofaboy]

I Can Bring You In Hot

Summary: Maxwell is Din's latest bounty but in an attempt to ensure his freedom he's willing to offer the Mandalorian anything.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Maxwell Lord Rating: Explicit | Word count: 2616

Warnings: Oral sex, face fucking, facial, Dom/sub elements, Din's helmet stays on, light bondage

Note: This has not been beta read, so apologies for any mistakes. This was a request from @boliv-jenta as part of my 200 Follower Celebration. Divider by @saradika-graphics

"Please wait! I'll do anything you want, just let me go."

Din frowned under his helmet at the cowering man before him and sighed. Jobs had been slim on the ground for a while, and this one was barely going to cover the cost of his fuel. Usually he preferred to stick to the Outer Rim, but some rash young group of bounty hunters had snatched up all the local jobs by the time he'd gotten back to Nevarro last week. So it had been this, or a trip to Balmorra and Din really didn't want to be that close to the Core.

So here he was on Ord Mantell in the Mid Rim chasing some 'businessman' who ran out of his investors. Maxwell Lord had apparently been the toast of Coruscant just after the Empire fell, but three years on it didn't look like things were working out for him.

"Please." Maxwell repeated. "I just need another week or so, and I'll be able to pay them. Then the bounty will be called off. Please. I'll do whatever you want."

Din snorted. They all said that. This man probably could never imagine how many times Din had heard that over his career as a bounty hunter. 

"I can bring you in warm, or I can-"

"Please!" Maxwell cut him off, getting shakily to his feet from the spot he'd dropped to his knees to the moment Din appeared in his office. "I can't pay, I need the money to settle this debt, but there are other things I could do."

"Such as?"

"I can compensate you for your trip here." Maxwell gestured over to his terminal. "Refuel your ship, for example. I know the bounty on me isn't that high. To be honest, that's why I was so surprised someone took it. My investors, well, I think they put it out to scare me into getting their money."

Every instinct was telling Din to just grab this guy and take his payment. He would get his credits, be able to refuel... and then what? Damn it! Maxwell was right. The bounty was half what he'd usually consider taking. Most of his pay would go on fuel, with barely anything left over for food or to hand to the Covert. 

"I'm listening." The words were out of his mouth before the rest of Din's brain could engage.

"Good!" Maxwell smiled brightly at him. "Well, yes, I can refuel your ship and... and... if you let me go..." Maxwell trailed off, diverting his eyes from Din as he thought.

"You're going to have to do better than just fuel." Din shook his head. "Something much better."

Maxwell swallowed hard, nodding as his eyes rested on Din. For a few moments, he just stared, and the Mandalorian could feel the other man analyzing him. Those dark chocolate eyes were filled with worry, but there was an intelligence behind them that Din rarely got to see with his usual quarry. Finally, Maxwell straightened himself, brushing a few errant hairs from his forehead before looking Din directly in the visor.

"If you let me go, I promise to not only refuel your ship, but I will make any dream you have come true."

"Make my dr-" Din shook his head, almost laughing. "What?"

"You must have wishes, dreams, desires." Maxwell gestured to Din. "I've heard Mandalorian's have high libidos. Surely you have needs that require fulfilling."

This was a new one. Usually when trying to get away from him his bounties would offer Din credits but this definitely new.

"And what if my dreams are not to your taste?" Din cocked his head. He was intrigued now. If Maxwell was truly offering sex in return for freedom, Din wanted to see just how far the other man was willing to take it.

But to his surprise Maxwell laughed, not a dismissive one aimed at Din, but a soft surprised chuckle.

"I assure you my tastes are quite broad, Mandalorian. If you promise to let me go tomorrow morning, you can do whatever you want to me tonight."

He should have said no and placed the businessman in carbonite. He should have done his job, gotten his measly credits and taken the reputation merits with the Guild. But instead, Din let out a long sigh. 

"Deal."

The room Maxwell led him into was much more modestly decorated than Din would have expected. When studying him to learn where he might be, Maxwell had given Din the impression of a brash extrovert. The other man wore well tailored suits with bejeweled cuff links and large gold rings that screamed for attention.

His ads on the holonet were all smooth talking pitches aimed at making the viewer feel as though he were talking directly to them, all the while appealing to as broad an audience as possible. Some called him a con-man, but Din was sure Maxwell would have preferred holo-personality. The type of person who thrives in that environment of influencing others. But this room had Din second guessing his assessment.

While it was a large suite, with huge bed and plush furniture, it was by no means extravagant. Din had seen how some bounties spent their credits and the type of gilded facade that passed for wealth. This was understated, classy even. 

"Welcome." Maxwell spread his arms after throwing his suit jacket over the back of a chair. "I'd say relax and make yourself at home, although I doubt you'll be taking any of your armor off."

"No." Din turned back to face Maxwell, who simply nodded with apparent understanding.

"In that case," he swallowed hard, "what would you like me to do?"

In the short walk here from the office, Din had found Maxwell in his mind had been running through every fantasy he'd ever had. Some were immediately off the table. Either involving Din removing more clothes than he was comfortable with or requiring a level of intimacy that was part and parcel of the dream. 

Finally, he'd settled on something he'd always wanted to try but had never had the guts to ask for. With partners he knew Din wasn't sure how to bring up the subject, and when paying for sex he preferred to keep things simple. But with Maxwell, well, Din had the opportunity to really push things both for himself and the charismatic businessman.

"Take your clothes off."  Din's command was brief and to the point as he set his rifle down on a table close to the door. Never taking his eyes off Maxwell, Din's cock twitched to life as the other man didn't hesitate and began efficiently removing his clothing. 

With each layer more sun-kissed skin was revealed and Din started to marvel at the differences between them. By necessity Din tried to keep himself in good shape, not bulging with muscles like some of his brothers back at the Covert but toned at least, but Maxwell was beautifully soft. 

Thick, full thighs, a small round belly and a pair of tantalizingly grabbable tits were all bared for Din. Finally, as Maxwell pulled down his underwear, Din’s eyes locked onto the other man’s erection jutting out from under the slight swell of his stomach. He was much smaller than Din, but thick, with a heavy set of balls that swung as he kicked his underwear away to the side.

Din’s legs moved of their own accord and he began circling Maxwell, who to his credit stood proudly nude and erect for Din to appraise. As he reached Maxwell’s back, Din reached out and firmly pushed the other man’s shoulder down. Maxwell understood immediately and bend forward, planting his feet further apart to steady himself as he gave Din a better view of his ass.

Gently pulling Maxwell’s cheeks apart, Din could see a flushed pink ring of muscle and as ran a finger to teased at the flesh, Din smiled as Maxwell’s hole briefly gaped. He could hear a short intake of breath as Maxwell showed off for him, and Din instinctually knew the Maxwell must have a dildo he used on a regular basis. Slapping Maxwell’s ass, Din glanced back towards the bed. Perhaps he’d make Maxwell ride it for Din later, make the businessman put on a show for him with his favorite toy.

“Hands behind your back.” Din unclipped his cuffs from his belt and waited for Maxwell to obey.

After a slight hesitation, Maxwell shifted, positioning his hands behind his back, letting out a quiet whine as Din secured them with the cuffs. Then, with another firm hand on his shoulder Din helped lower Maxwell onto his knees.

Walking back over to the table where he’d left his rifle, Din quickly and efficiently removed his bandolier, explosive charges and any weapons he had on him. The last thing he needed during this was an accident and he was confident Maxwell wasn’t going to try anything stupid. After removing his vambraces and gloves Din returned to Maxwell, who had remained on his knees, his short, fat cock dripping onto the tiles between his knees.

Striding over, Din planted himself in front of the submissive Maxwell watching as the other man raised his head to look up at him. It was time. Now or never for Din to play out this fantasy or call it off and carry Maxwell back to the Crest as he was. Last chance to turn back.

Tugging open the fly of his jumpsuit, Din took in a slow steady breath as he pulled out his achingly hard cock. From his seat on the floor, Maxwell beamed up him, licking his lips as he waited for his instructions.

“You bite, you die.” Din growled, grabbing a fist full of Maxwell’s hair.

“I would never.” Maxwell sounded genuinely offended before leaning forward to gently suckle on the fat tip of Din’s cock.

He’d always wanted to try this and as Din watched Maxwell expertly work his length into his mouth he had to admit it felt better than he’d ever imagined. There was a certain amount of trust needed for oral sex and it pained Din that he’d never been in the position before to either give or receive. But here he was watching his bounty swirl his tongue around the head of his dick, each lap and flick of the other man’s tongue sending spikes of desire through him.

Din let out a long moan as Maxwell began tracing the vein along the underside of his shaft before returning to the head, teasing at his slit for entrance. Looking up at Din through long dark eyelashes, Maxwell parted his lips and began to work Din’s full length into his mouth, saliva running out of the corners as he opened wide enough for Din’s girth. As each inch disappeared into Maxwell’s hot wet mouth, Din’s skin prickled with arousal as he fought the urge to close his eyes. As much as he wanted to give into the bliss, he wanted to watch, to see Maxwell’s beautifully flushed face take his cock, to savor this moment.

Without the use of his hands, Din could tell Maxwell was struggling slightly. Obvious used to using mouth and hands in tandem, Din had stopped him from employing his usual techniques, but he was slowly adapting. After working along the shaft a few times, Din could feel as Maxwell flattened his tongue and finally took Din to the back of his mouth. As Maxwell’s nose nestled in Din’s unruly bush, the Mandalorian marvelled as he felt the tip of his cock hit the back of Maxwell’s throat. 

The burning wetness closing around him, enveloping his cock was almost overwhelming and Din’s head swam with heavy fog. Holding himself there for a few seconds, Maxwell spluttered slightly and withdrew, leaving Din slick with drool as he returned to gently suck and teasing on the fat cockhead. 

“Can you take more?” Din growled, tightening his grip on Maxwell’s hair and watching as the other man’s eyes flickered up to him.

“You want to fuck my face?”

“Yes.”

“I can take it.”

That was all Din needed as he pushed his length back into Maxwell’s throat, firmly and steadily, until the other man’s lips were stretched taut around the base. Slowly at first, Din began to move his hips, testing Maxwell’s limits as he used the other man’s mouth. Looking up at him, Maxwell was adjusting his breathing, sending puffs of hot air against Din’s exposed skin as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. 

“You’ve done this before.” Din teased, bringing his other hand up to grip Maxwell’s head fully. Maxwell responded with a wink and hummed around Din’s cock, making Din curse and buck his hips.

Shifting his feet further apart to steady himself, Din took a deep breath as he began to quicken his pace. The fire inside him was a roaring inferno now, and Din was not accustomed to ignoring it. Usually quickly seeing to himself in his bunk, Din was used to rapid bursts of pleasure, sprints not marathons, and this entire encounter with Maxwell was quickly undoing him. 

Each thrust into Maxwell’s waiting throat sent powerful thrums of pleasure coursing through him. Each time he hit the back of Maxwell’s throat, Din blinked away the dizzying urge to cum. His cock throbbed inside Maxwell, who gazed up at Din with lust blown eyes, urging him on, begging for more.

Din’s balls swung against Maxwell’s chin as the pace increased. Frantic, save for the briefest of pauses to allow the businessman to catch his breath, before pondering his mouth once more. Maxwell’s eyes watered, yet still he stared up at Din’s visor, as each blink sent tears cascading down his cheeks. 

The sound of the outside world melted away. There was nothing else now except the wet gagging sounds of Maxwell choking on Din’s cock as the Mandalorian hungrily fucked his face. Then with a vibrating whine, Din watch Maxwell pinch his eyes shut and felt the other man shudder. Peering down past his own length, Din could see Maxwell’s own untouched cock twitch as it shot bursts of cum onto the floor.

Din felt the tension inside him snap. Pulling roughly out of Maxwell’s mouth, leaving a long trail of connecting saliva, Din was just in time to stop himself from cumming down Maxwell’s throat. Instead, Din grunted and moaned as he began to paint the other man’s face with his seed. Rope after rope covered Maxwell’s beautifully disheveled features as Din spilled himself in hot spurts that landed and ran together.

Stepped back on trembling legs, Din panted as he took in the scene before him, the heady rush of his climax ebbing away and allowing him to fully appreciate his actions. A small puddle of cum sat between Maxwell’s legs, as his small dick soften and retreated, while Maxwell himself sat back to rest on his kneels panting heavily. His face was covered in cum and drool, dripping from onto his chest as the businessman gasped for air. Slowly, Maxwell reopened his eyes, searching the space in front of him until he found Din’s visor. 

“Face fucking and a facial.” Maxwell’s chest heaved as he blinked at Din. “Hard, fast and filthy. Was it everything you wanted?”

“I’m not through with you yet.” Din ran a finger through the sticky release covering Maxwell’s face before offering it to him to suck. As Maxwell suckled on the digit, swaying slightly with a playful smile on his face. “You look so perfect on your knees, ready for me to use.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Maxwell grinned. “What’s next?”

[prolix-yuy]

Sheer

(Moodboard by @missredherring)

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Plus Sized F!Reader

Summary: You owe more to an unlikely savior than you could ever imagine.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: T, discussion of off-screen character death (cancer), negative body image and self-worth talk, light spicy thoughts, angst. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: This story was a real surprise and a treat to pop out of my head one morning, especially with a Pedro boy I haven't written for! Our reader is a plus sized girlie in this story, and we're dealing with some negative body image and self-worth talk on both sides. The reader also discusses the death of a friend, so if that may be triggering to you feel free to scroll along, lovely reader.

This should have been your best first day. The first day at the job that will finally get your head above water. The first time you’ve felt qualified, and that you’d fit in. And the first where you could see the stepping stones to something bigger and better in front of you.

It was your fucking thighs that ruined it all.

You’d wanted to make a good first impression. Bought a whole new outfit just to show how committed you were, down to the thigh-high stockings and matching underwear. That was for you, something under the pencil skirt and blazer that made you feel even more powerful. It had cost a pretty penny too. Your ample bottom and full figure needed good support, and that plus lace was always the highest price at the lingerie boutiques. But you shelled it out, along with their recommended garters and thigh highs “for peak professionalism,” and were feeling yourself as you strutted off the subway. There was practically a soundtrack playing behind you. Maybe “Uptown Girl,” the notes making a smile come to your face and your head bob as you exited the train.

You’re normally more careful, aware of how much more space your body takes up than the other knockout New York girls streaming around you. But confidence had you swinging your hips and stepping confidently…right until you bumped into a woman’s handbag with an aggressive closure, the metal skimming past your calf and over the delicate nylon.

It ran instantly, a testament to how much of a rip-off these undergarments were. You felt it split along the length of your shapely leg as you hurried out of the station and towards the gleaming monolith of your office. Scurrying inside, you slipped into the bathroom unnoticed to assess the damage.

The run had split into a gaping maw down your leg, the smooth fantasy of the nylon revealing the more mottled flesh underneath. You held back tears as you wracked your brain for a solution. You could run to a shop, get a replacement pair. You’re still early to clock in, wanting to arrive punctually to impress your supervisor. That’s it, you’d just pop out to a drugstore for a new pair and no one would be the wiser.

It was a perfect plan. You just needed to move. But you can’t. You’re rooted to the spot. 

The mirror mocks you, internal monologue screaming to the forefront from where you battered her back this morning.

Wouldn’t have ripped them if you were smaller.

Why do you need to take up so much space?

Did you think all this would change what you are?

Nastier names you call yourself only in the torture chamber of your mind echo in your ears. Your mascara is dangerously close to running, eyes catching on every flaw in your outfit, every wrinkle, everything that screams don’t look at the parts I hate, every unflattering angle. You reach deep to return to that carefree state you held just fifteen minutes ago but it’s dissipated like steam from a coffee cup. 

Grabbing a handful of tissues you storm into a stall and lock it, leaning over to let the tears drip onto the floor without ruining your makeup. The minutes are ticking away, time running out to fix your minor wardrobe malfunction, but the ache in your head and behind your eyes has become the only thing you can focus on now. Your sobs are quiet little sniffles and short gasps, thankful for the privacy.

Suddenly, the door to the bathroom slams open, and you shoot up, holding your breath. You’re not alone anymore.

Someone in smart leather shoes smacks across the floor, walking past the stalls and coming to a stop. A zip, then the tinkle of urination. Your expression crumples on itself in confusion.

Then a deep, masculine sigh reaches your ears, and your face quickly burns with embarrassment.

Fuck, did you walk into the men’s room?

You didn’t even check, just burst in to the first door with a toilet on it. There may have been urinals, but you were too preoccupied in the moment to pay them any mind. You clap your hands over your mouth, lightheaded at the fact that you’re listening to a grown man piss and he has no idea you’re in here. This day has turned from amazing to devastating to mortifying so quickly you could throw up. 

The man finishes, striding over to the sinks to wash up. You breathe a sigh of relief, ready to make a mad dash out before someone else enters. The water turns off, a few flicks of his hands in the sink, and then…

He starts talking.

“This is your day,” he says, an order that you can imagine him doing in the mirror. “You will succeed in what you do, and you will find satisfaction in that success. You will continue to grow, and be proud of yourself. You will start doing that today.” With every word you cringe inwardly. He’s so earnest-sounding, really enunciating his daily affirmations in a public restroom. His voice is pleasing to listen to at least. If he was a late night radio DJ you would certainly tune in to him to fall asleep. 

A moment of silence, a silent hope.

“This is your day…”

Oh for fuck’s sake, embarrassment be damned, you can’t keep listening to this.

“Hi there,” you squeak out, your whole body tense as his monologue cuts off sharply. The pause is at least ten months pregnant before he speaks.

“I-I’m so sorry, I thought I was alone,” he stammers out, two quick steps heading towards the door.

“No, I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t even be here, it’s…” Your words run out of steam when you realize his footsteps have stopped.

“You’re a woman. In the men’s room.”

You can’t help but smirk. He’s a little slow on the uptake. It’s surprisingly sweet.

“It’s been a rough morning.”

Another pause.

“Are you in trouble?”

You peal out a weak laugh.

“Nothing like that, just…” Taking a deep breath, you blow it out. Might as well admit your failures to a stranger. “I ripped my pantyhose on the way here, and it’s my first day and I wanted to make a good impression, and then I got overwhelmed and…” Your breath starts to quicken, and below the Pepto Bismol pink stall you see two shoes slowly approach. They’re well cared for, supple shining leather, but scuffed all along the toe. Tan slacks overtop the laces, a crisp pleat ironed into the length. You even see a glimpse of striped socks underneath, a collection of garish colors that makes you smile.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the voice says soothingly, closer than before. His accent sounds Spanish before he manually flattens it, forcing it back into his throat in favor of an all-American good boy accent. It eases the tension in your shoulders, sitting down on the toilet seat and dabbing at your eyes. 

“I know it’s stupid. And I should just go out and get another pair. I just…” you say, but struggle to voice what’s really bothering you to a man who hasn't seen your face. Who probably doesn’t care who you are beyond a bizarre Monday morning anecdote. Most don’t, after all. You can’t remember how many times a man has looked through you because of the roundness of your tummy, or the thickness of your thighs. Or even worse, devoured your curves with roaming eyes but won’t look you in the eye, or call you back. 

“It’s not stupid. You wanted to feel ready to take on the day, and something bad happened. We all deal with it,” he says, the gentle register he’s taking on soothing to your frayed nerves. “Do you have a place to go for another pair?” he asks. You bite your lip, shaking your head before realizing he can’t see you.

“First time out here, but I can manage,” you say timidly. The embarrassment of your predicament is climbing back up your throat, the thrumming need to get out and away making your hands shake.

“I know a place, but it’s probably quicker for me to run out for you. Do you want to stay here while I get them?” 

You sputter, a thousand excuses why he should not do that roiling in your brain. “You don’t have to,” is the only one you manage to get out, heart hammering. A little chuckle wafts to your ears, and the heat in your cheeks blooms in your tummy as well. He sounds handsome, and that is short-circuiting your brain even more.

“I have gone on an errand or two in my life,” he jokes, feet making their way towards the door. “Lock it behind me so no one else comes in. I’ll do this -” He knocks on the door in a quick but recognizable pattern. “- when I’m back. It should only be a few minutes.”

“You’re that good huh?” You stammer again, your whole body threatening to light on fire in this stall. This man may come back to a pile of ash instead of a woman dying of embarrassment. 

“Eh, I could be better,” he says, and the door to the outside opens with a rush of lobby noise. “Be right back.”

A thick slam lets you sneak out to bolt the lock. Returning to the mirror that betrayed you just minutes before, you watch your reflection. Behind the roundness in your face you pick at and criticize, you recognize another emotion. Determination, and fortitude you push yourself to stop downplaying. You can overcome this setback. Nothing is lost. If anything, you might have gained a confidant, someone you could laugh about this comedy of errors with over coffee in the break room. 

You’ll be sure to thank him properly when he gets back.

Maxwell Lorenzano hurries out of the office building he’s worked in for six months, down the street and to the Macy’s two blocks away. He knows these roads like the back of his hand, and all of the stores that line them. A good thing to keep in his back pocket when he was pitching new products and charming sales people. Especially good when he knows exactly which door to go through to get to the women’s delicates section.

He strides in with all the glorious purpose of a man on a mission, and people part for him. He likes to think it’s because he cuts an impressive figure, tan suit over a white button-up, brown and yellow striped tie flapping with urgency. But there’s always the nagging worry that it’s because they recognize him. That the scurry away is fear. He’d been confronted in the past, a handful of angry men and women who wanted to take out their frustrations with their fists. But worse is the anxiety, the fear, like he could snap his fingers and magic them out of existence.

The aftermath of that damn stone still hangs heavy around his neck.

“Can I help you?” a petite saleswoman asks when Max comes to a stop in the nylon section. His sudden drop in demeanor from confident to hesitant must have signaled her over. In his eagerness he didn’t even ask his damsel in distress which kind she needed, or her size. He chews his lip in contemplation.

“I’m looking for a pair of nylons for my…” He pauses, no words coming to mind. His unlikely acquaintance? His mystery girl locked in the men’s room? His noble quest? The saleswoman - Karla, her name tag informs him - puts him out of his misery.

“I can help you with that. What kind does she wear? Control top? Thigh highs?”

Max’s mouth dries out. The most he knows of her is the glimpse he got of her feet, sensible black heels, well worn. The sight warmed something in his chest. She must be a hard worker, someone on her feet all day and always up to run an errand for a friend. He bets they ache at the end of a long day. Does she have someone to rub them for her?

“What do…most women wear to an office?” he asks, flitting his eyes over the variety of styles and shades.

“All the professional women I know use thigh highs. Easier in the office than a full set.” Karla directs him to the right section. “What size is she?”

Damn, this is where his lack of foresight fails him. He should have asked, but the intimacy of that question died on his tongue. Why did they size nylons in weight and height, the two most sensitive topics? He’d rather swallow a mouthful of glass than ask. Picking up one of the packets, he flips it to the size chart. There are only four options, which is easier than he expected.

“I can’t remember, better safe than sorry. One of each,” he says, Karla’s well-manicured eyebrows shooting into her hairline.

“And what color?” Karla asks. He noted that at least. 

“Sheer black.”

Karla moves to grab a handful of the basic style, the cheapest on the display, before Max stops her.

“These ones,” he amends, tapping the more expensive set. If she’d already torn one pair, another flimsy set wouldn’t do. It had nothing to do with the fact that the lace edging the expensive ones is more delicate, a prettier pattern, and thinking of giving it to you raises goosebumps on the back of his neck. 

He doesn’t even know you. It’s just…practical.

Karla rings up his purchases without further question, though maybe a little side-smile. She gives Max a brighter one when he takes the bag.

“You’re a good boyfriend,” she comments, scurrying off before he can respond. His face burns hot as he exits the store, checking his watch. The innocuous word - boyfriend - pings in his mind.

It had been some time since Max had run an errand for anyone. A few empty flings followed his divorce but nothing substantial enough to require a trip to the drugstore, or even a coffee shop. It was one of his favorite things about being a husband. He lived for the little memos on his desk blotter - Mrs. Lord needs you to pick up hairspray and milk - and followed them to the letter and beyond. He prided himself in knowing her favorite scents, what brands she preferred, what she turned her nose up at and what feminine products she needed. Sometimes he’d slip in something extra, a bouquet of flowers, a simple card. She’d groan at the expense, especially in the most dire times, but it always ended with her on her tiptoes kissing him, whispering, “My hero,” in his ear. 

He really enjoyed being her hero, even after everything that happened. 

It’s still early enough that his bathroom stowaway won’t be late to her first day. He’ll get to swoop in and save the day, be a hero to one person for a short moment. Jogging back into the office, the clash in humidities making his shirt stick to his back, he returns to the bathroom door. Rapping his pattern on it, he waits for the shick of the lock and a few moments more in case she wants to be back in the stall when he enters. 

Stepping in and locking the door behind him, the open space is still empty, her shoes in her stall. Her toes are pointed towards each other, legs nervously rubbing.

“I, uh, forgot to ask your size,” Max blurts out, cringing immediately at the first thing that comes to mind. He knows she’s holding her breath, so he speeds through the next part. “Those sizing charts are more invasive than a doctor’s visit, so I just got one of everything, and the shop lady said that thigh highs are what everyone’s wearing but I’m not an expert so I hope it’s…okay.” He trails off before stepping further in and sliding the bag under the stall door. He scolds himself not to look further but he does catch a glance at her shapely calves before straightening back up. 

“I can…leave now. Unless you want me to stay until you’re ready to go. What…whatever you want.”

She still hasn’t said anything and it’s heavier than his anxiety on his chest. He’s sure he’s offended her, or completely screwed this one small task up. Leave it to him to take helping a stranger to new, wildly creepy levels. Should he have just gone to reception to ask a woman for help? Is she mortified a man she’s never seen bought her something so intimate? 

He waits in agony.

You try to comprehend what this stranger has handed you. In his absence you practiced thanking him for what you assumed would be the wrong size of pantyhose. You planned how you would reassure him that he could leave so you could escape to the women’s room and struggle into whatever he returned with. 

But instead, he surprises you with a folded bag tucked discreetly under the bathroom stall. 

Four identical pairs of thigh-highs, all matching your outfit, and in every size you could hope for. Pulling out the correct packet, your breath catches in your throat. They’re nicer than you allow yourself to buy, the high-quality nylon silky under your touch. The lace along the edge is finely textured, beautifully designed.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, your voice faraway to your own ears, a ball forming in your throat. The man’s feet shuffle against the tile floor. 

“I hope you don’t think I’m being a creep. My ex-wife always said I was good at finding exactly what she needed.”

His voice is tight, and it plucks at your heart.

“Not a creep, you’re definitely my hero today,” you manage to say, rolling down the ruined pantyhose. The other follows, tucking your bare toes into your shoes to protect them from the cold floor. The man paces outside while you stretch each new nylon up your legs. 

“Definitely not how I thought my day would start,” he says, the smile in his voice making your first real one grace your lips. 

“Me neither. I can pay you for these.”

“I could never accept. I’ll return the extras, but please. Consider them a ‘welcome to the office’ gift. Or consolation after the morning you’ve had.”

“Oh, so you work here too? Great, now I’ll have to worry about bumping into you in the other men’s bathrooms.”

“I would gladly approach all bathrooms with caution if I got to run into you in one again.”

A softer pause than before.

“Would you like me to leave?”

Smoothing the lace band around your plush thigh, you let your fingertips trace the edge. Briefly, you imagine fingers other than your own following the same path before hooking underneath to slide them down inch by inch, replaced by soft lips. 

“I’d like to thank my savior face to face,” you tease, smoothing your skirt and toeing your shoes back on. You dab some toilet paper under your eyes, pat your hair, and take a deep breath before exiting the bathroom stall.

The stall door slams shut as the man who saved your day turns to face you. His eyes light on your face first, open curiosity melting into a charming smile that is…familiar. In fact, a lot of him is familiar. His wide shoulders, suit jacket stretching against them. The sweep of his blond hair, not as light as it used to be but still caramel with burnt sugar strands. His large hands, no longer sporting a Rolex or an ostentatious pinky ring. And his face, one of the most recognizable in recent years, wearing an expression you’ve never seen. If you weren’t so dumbstruck you’d think it was appreciation. It was the look someone might give before calling you beautiful. 

“Max Lorenzano…”

“Max Lord.”

His introduction trips over your recognition, dazed expression sharpening and shattering under those two words. The hope in his eyes dims as he schools his expression into acceptance, honey-golden aura swapped for the cool light of cold winter mornings.

“I’ll go. My apologies,” he says, simple, direct. You’re sure this has happened to him many times, possibly followed by shouts or sneers. Your own words stick in your throat as he claps his hands together and moves to leave. Thankfully your hands are fast enough, wrapping around his arm and pulling him to a stop.

“No, please, wait,” you finally manage, your bodies so close you’re burned by the heat radiating off his jacket. He turns in your grip, which you release to clasp your hands in front of your stomach. 

“I didn’t mean…you startled me, I never expected…” you start, rolling your next words around in your mouth. He watches you, half wary, half hopeful. This close you can see how the edges of his lips are slightly chewed, how close his shave is, the sheen of sweat along his neck. He must have ran to get back here so quickly. Your heart thumps weakly against your ribs.

“I never thought I’d ever come face to face with the person who granted my wish,” you say, watching his jaw tighten in anticipation of vitriol. 

“When I saw you on TV, and you asked me what my one desire was, I had…so many things come to mind. To be prettier, thinner, beautiful.” You can tell he wants to say something but you barrel on before you lose your nerve. “But I’m not a complete idiot, I’ve seen a few movies about wishes. I know those things can blow up in your face, and I don’t think I could take being hurt about how I looked by some magic rock.” 

Max’s hand cups your elbow, thumb rubbing a soothing path.

“So I closed my eyes and I wished exactly this: I want one more day with my best friend at the time in her life when she was happiest.” The next breath you take in shakes. “She died seven years ago. Breast cancer. I miss her every day, and I just wanted one more with her. And I got my wish. And it was the best fucking day. The world outside might have been a mess, but we watched our favorite movies, snuck out to the spots we loved before she got sick, ate our favorite foods and talked all night. And I know it was real because she handed me my own ass and made me come to terms with some shit I did not like about myself. Only she would do that.” You fight against the tears, a sniffle coming out instead, as Max watches you with blossoming wonder. 

“And when it was done she hugged me and told me to kick ass and eat cake and break hearts and I’ve been doing my best ever since.” You let out a watery giggle, Max’s smile warming your cheeks. “I never thought I’d be able to thank the person who gave me my best day, but then, here you are, giving me something I needed again. So, wow, thank you. I…thank you.”

Max clears his throat, his own eyes glassy.

“Can I hug you?” he asks, and you push into his arms without further preamble. He holds you with deep breaths, both of your hearts cracking open and healing pressed together. The overwhelming scent of sweat and spicy deodorant and the warmth of his skin is a balm to your frazzled nerves. His cheek rests against your forehead and when you squeeze him a little tighter he returns it. 

When you part, your reddened eyes and sniffling noses make you both snort out laughs, moving to the sink to freshen up. You powder your face, surprisingly unselfconscious after all that just happened. Max straightens his tie and sweeps back his hair. It looks soft, barely styled. His shoulders seem lighter.

Both presentable, he lets you into the hallway, hazarding a peek to prevent any scandal. You walk side by side as he asks you where you’re starting work - transcription - and you ask where you’ll be able to find him - the mailroom. He waits for you to sign in with the front desk before leading you to the elevators, not so surreptitiously angling for the empty one before leading you in. He’s meant to be going down a floor, but rides with you up to the sixth.

“I’m glad you made that wish,” he says once the doors shut, the elevator whirring to life under your feet. “And that you didn’t make the other ones. You’re already beautiful.” He says the last three words quietly, like they would spook you if he said them with his whole chest. Your cheeks burn, the smile dimpling them. “And…thank you. For telling me. No one’s ever told me they’ve been happy.”

You ride in silence until just before your floor, turning to look at the man who gave you so much. He’s watching you like a miracle, like he wants to wrap you in his arms again, like he wants to say something very stupid to a person he barely knows. He swallows it instead, but you can’t help yourself. You lift up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek, and savor the way he leans into it.

“My hero,” you whisper, stepping out to let the doors close between you.

Your lips, and your words, linger on him for days. Your impressions lingers on his heart for longer. After a week he tries to forget, to push you to the background in a futile attempt at self-preservation. You don’t know him, and he doesn’t know you. Fate smashed you together but you should part just as quickly, save you both the heartache. He’s still a complicated man, and you deserve better than that.

It works until he gets a piece of mail for you, two weeks later, and possessed by some boldness he’s forgotten he has, he plasters a sticky note on it.

“I hope your first week has been better than your first day.”

He wants to write so much more, but knowing anyone could see it stops his hand. 

He doesn’t expect a response, at least not right away. You might still be embarrassed. So when he’s closing up at the end of the day and you come up beside him, the shock on his face breaks you into laughter. 

“My week has been nowhere near as good as my first day,” you finally say. “But I did find a good place to eat a few blocks away. Great dinner options.” Max’s heart pulls between stopping and beating uncontrollably in his chest until he finally says, “We better check it out then.”

The laughter is just as easy as the first day, the conversation even better. He refuses to let you leave without trying the milkshakes, and beams when he watches something heavy fall off your shoulders as you look at him. 

You tell him more about your life, your friend that brought you both together more than she’d ever imagined. He tells you about the life he lives now, of Alistair and how proud he is of him. Questions and anecdotes and words both loud and soft wrap around you in the wooden booth. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s felt like Maxwell Lorenzano.

When he walks you to your subway stop Max’s hand falls to your lower back and remains. The soft way you look at him makes him think that maybe all his heroics have finally gotten him somewhere after all.

And next time he finds himself in a bathroom with you, it’s very much on purpose.

END

I didn't want to spoil the turn, but yeah that's the face he gives her and it makes me emotional just looking at it.