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wardenparker · 1 year ago

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In the Heights, part 1

Maxwell Lord x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 17.5k Warnings: Cursing. Alcohol/food consumption, single dad Max, mention of divorce and unhappy marriage, probably inaccurate portrayal of being a high school student in the 60s, yearning, mutual pining, friends to lovers, the love is requited they're just idiots, the one that got away, high school crush, poor communication, mistaken sexuality assumptions, people being skeptical about Max, reader is full of sunshine, tipsy behaviours. Summary: A long time ago in a life that seems completely forgotten, you had a crush on your classmate Max Lorenzano. The world has changed a lot since then - but when you discover that your old friend is your new neighbor, it seems like some things have stayed the same after all. (This story contains flashbacks.) Notes: Part 1 of 2! I won't lie to you, guys. I love Max Lord. I love him in a way that is probably not healthy at all, so Keri has once again humored me and allowed for a little One That Got Away story with this sad puppy of a man. Also, I apologize for any errors I may have missed in editing. Cold medicine and being sleepy is a bad combo.

The sight of a moving truck isn't odd in any part of New York City. People come and go from these buildings so quickly that some people never bother to get to know their neighbors at all. The only reason you'd really noticed the one this morning was because it was out front when you were leaving for work and causing a little bit of a commotion with traffic. You'd skirted it and strode across the street to grab your usual cup of coffee and bagel with cream cheese from the bodega across the street before hitting the subway. Midtown doesn't seem far when you get to just sit and read during your commute, and you've never minded. But you tuck away the information about having a new neighbor and consider baking a batch of welcome cookies for them when you get home from the office tonight - it seems like the neighborly thing to do. You can take the girl out of the small town, but you can't take the small town out of the girl.

******

Max sighs as he hauls the last box up the stairs. Alistair has already started unpacking his room, and thank God he managed to pay the moving company to at least get the large items upstairs to the third floor wall up, but then the rest of the boxes had been left on the curb when they had figured out where they knew him from. He’s just lucky they didn’t take what he had with them, but it was again a reminder of how he had fucked up. New York is supposed to be a fresh start, a new beginning, but he doesn’t know if that’s possible for him.

The positive of someplace busy like New York was supposed to be that people would ignore or look past him. They always say New Yorkers are too busy to bother with their neighbors, and that’s something he wanted this time. To just blend into the background if he could so that Alistair could have a fighting chance and not be despised because of what he had done. Alistair, for the most part, remains as optimistic and sweet as ever. He knows that people are upset with his Daddy but his love never wavers. It’s enough to push him through the bad days, thank god, and to remind him that he’s doing this for a good reason. Starting over is for his son. He will find a way - any way - to make this work.

Things are different than D.C., the energy is different. He’s reminded of the days that he was in school, hopeful for the future. Max Lorenzano was teased and bullied in school, made fun of because of his poverty, his weird foods that he ate, the holes in his shoes, and his proclivity for learning. It had been his first life lessons, but the bullying in school was better than the beatings at home. Unsure of why he is thinking about those things, he takes the first load of boxes to the trash chute.

****

It’s sometime after dinner that the batch of chocolate chip cookies you put together are finally cool enough and ready to pack up. Stacking them neatly on a plate, wrapping it in cling film, and tying it up with ribbon, you head across the hall to meet the folks that just moved into Mrs. Cristian’s old place. An empty box marked Toys in the trash chute had clued you in to a child being present, so cookies seems even more appropriate now.

Even though Max is a miserable cook, he’s unpacking the kitchen when he hears the knock at the door. Frowning slightly, he wonders if the pizza he had ordered has already gotten here. He had assumed that it would take longer than fifteen minutes. “Coming!” He dusts his hands on his jeans and walks towards the door. Opening it up as he reaches for his wallet.

“Hi neighbor!” The words - bright and sunny - are out of your mouth before you even look up, having gotten distracted by the Torres’ cat in the hallway. But the second you do, your eyes go wide. “Max?” There’s no questioning it. It’s not like you hadn’t seen him all over the news or that you didn’t remember what had happened. Everyone remembered. Just…most of the billions of people in the world hadn’t known Max Lord since he was Max Lorenzano in Lubbock, Texas.

Instantly on guard, he’s halfway expecting to be attacked, or cussed out. That was the reaction of the majority of people who recognized him. He needed to dye his hair back to his natural brown. When the diatribe doesn’t come, he frowns and takes a closer look at the pretty woman in front of him for a moment before his eyes widen and your name comes off as a whisper like a ghost from his past

****

“Hey Lame-zano!” Max hunches over his books and speeds up, trying to ignore the boys behind him. Knowing that it would do no good to turn around and confront them. It would just speed up the beat down he knows is coming. “Hey weirdo! Fuckin’ stop!”

The boys don’t stop hollering as Max speeds up. They never do. Torture is the specialty of high school jocks, or at least these particular ones, and Max is their favourite target. “Max!” His name is hisses from somewhere off to the side, and an arm shoots out to pull him out of the hallway like he’s a bad Vaudeville comedian. He’s almost yanked off his feet, but for the girl he crashes into in the disused classroom. You hush him immediately, hand over his mouth, and quickly shut the door so the scions of the football team won’t see where he’s disappeared too. “Quiet.” You warn, carefully peaking through the window to make sure they walk by.

He crouches down, grateful that you had pulled him out of the line of fire, face burning in shame at the same time. To be rescued by the prettiest girl he’s ever seen seems to be his luck, knowing you are completely aware of his lack of masculinity. “Thanks.” He murmurs quietly.

“They’re shitheads.” You mutter, shaking your head as the group of boys howls on their way by. “Absolute shitheads.” There’s no real reason for any of the other kids to be so mean to Max, but logic never stopped cruel people from being cruel. Max is different so they’re mean. It’s as simple as that.

“They are still better than I am.” He huffs, terrified they will find him and humiliate him in front of you. It’s a dirty feeling, to know that you are going to be here to witness his utter ruination.

“How?” That doesn’t make any sense to you, and your brow furrows at him as you lean back against the door. You’ll give it another minute or two before you both go out there. Maybe the trio will move on to another target for a while. Sometimes that target is you, but you’d take it every time if it meant they would leave Max alone. “You mean they’re better at playing football than you? Who cares?”

“They are popular.” He reminds you. “Their parents are influential. People respect them.” Respect is what he craves, yearns for.

"They're bullies." And it stings, because one of those awful idiots out there is your own cousin. But because you have different last names, most people don't know. You want nothing to do with him and vice versa. "People don't respect them, they're either ass kissers or afraid." Shrugging slightly, you cross your arms over your chest, knowing that you don't exactly sound very ladylike at the moment. You could care less at the moment, though. You would only care if cussing offended Max.

“You don’t understand.” Max shakes his head and stares at you. “Why are you hiding from them? They don’t torment you.” He’s jealous of that, if he’s honest, but he’s also grateful that they don’t. Knowing that you are too good for that, for him to even talk to.

"Sure they do." It might not be as loud or as often, but they still pick on you. "Yesterday Lewis Sinclair practically pulled up my skirt in chemistry class because I answered too many questions correctly." You shake your head again, scowling this time. "They're all awful. You shouldn't listen to what they say."

“They are right, I am a loser.” Max snorts, standing up when they have passed by and don’t seem to be doubling back. “Everyone knows it.” He’s learned that he will have to reinvent himself, become someone people want to know. It’s how he will become important and successful.

"You're not." At least, you've never thought so. But maybe that doesn't count for much in his view of things. It's not like the boy you've had a quiet crush on since seventh grade has ever looked at you more than a few times - and even then it was to ask you for help in class. This might be the longest conversation you've ever had with him. "They're mean because you're different from them. That doesn't mean you're a loser."

“I guess it doesn’t matter.” He sighs and looks down at his feet. “Are you going home after this? I think we’ve missed the bus.” That means he will get home late to do his chores. Which means he will get yelled at if his father comes home early.

"We could walk?" Neither of you lives too far from the school despite most of the town being spread out to small farms or ranches, or even just decent-size patches of land. You know for a fact that the Lorenzanos live pretty close because you moved closer to them just last summer. The implosion of your family's happily little bubble wasn't public knowledge, thank goodness.

“Okay.” He bites his lip and wonders why you want to walk with him. If it’s some sort of trick. He nods and decides that walking with you is better than being alone. “Do you need anything from your locker?”

"Yeah." Nodding, you hold up the books in your arms. "I need to swap these and grab my jacket. It will only take a second, I promise." It shouldn't make you feel so warm and pleased that a boy - this boy - wants to walk home with you, but he's sweet. He's always been sweet. Ever since he moved here when you were kids. It was a shame when he came to school one day with no trace of his accent left, but it hadn't made him any less cute.

“Hopefully they won’t double back, so you can take your time.” He doesn’t want to rush you, even though every second counts. It’s the most he’s ever talked to you and he likes it. You are nice. It doesn’t hurt that he has been harboring a crush on you.

Opening the classroom door carefully, you poke your head into the hallway to see it mostly cleared and swallow a sigh. "I think they're gone," you murmur, reaching back to wave for him to follow you. "C'mon. We'll be on our way home in no time."

“Hopefully I beat my father home.” Max huffs as he follows you out of the classroom and both of you hustle down the hall.

"Will you be in trouble if you don't?" That idea bothers you, but not knowing anything about his father, you're not sure if it's realistic or not. He wouldn't be the first kid to get yelled at or even hit for not following a rule.

“It- it’s best if we hurry.” Max admits, biting his lip. “I don’t know if he planned to stop by the bar before coming home and he doesn’t like it when my chores are not done.”

"I can help." You promise instantly, tugging your locker open to exchange your books and shove them into your bag to go home. Your mother is still working and will be for hours. As long as you're home and have dinner ready for her when she gets there, she doesn't keep track of what else you do.

“You-“ he’s momentarily lost for words at your offer. No one has ever offered to help him. With anything. “You don’t have to do that.” He promises.

"It's okay." The smile you give him at the opportunity to be helpful and spend a little more time with him, is brilliant. "Come on, we should hightail it and between the two of us we'll have everything done in no time."

“Are you sure?” He frowns, not wanting to take advantage of your kindness.

“Absolutely.” Slamming your locker closed, you grab his hand and head for the exit, feeling positively brave. Your crush on Max might be unrequited, but at least you can be his friend. Everyone deserves a friend.

“My house.” He grimaces and swallows slightly. “It’s not….fancy.” He feels his face get hot and he’s a little defensive. “But it’s clean. My mother says that being poor is no excuse for being dirty.”

“My house isn’t fancy, either.” When he doesn’t pull his hand away you just keep it, wondering why it’s taken you all the way to senior year to even do this much. You’ve never been particularly brave, but this is just…it’s just talking to someone. Right? “It’s okay. Fancy doesn’t automatically equal better.”

“Yes it does.” Max argues, looking at you like you are crazy. “Fancy is always better. It means that you can have the best.” He sighs. “One day I will have the best of everything.”

****

“You remember me?” As much as you remember him - every detail, down to the curve of his nose that he hates and the hair that he had dyed and apparently dyed back again - you didn’t expect him to remember you. It’s been years since the last time you saw him face to face. A whole ten years or more. He stopped coming back to Lubbock after a while and you didn’t exactly blame him. There was never anything exciting going on there.

“Of course I remember you.” You were one of the few good memories he had from Lubbock. “What are you doing here?” Of all the people in New York, he had never anticipated seeing you. And apparently his neighbor. He had expected you to be married and have kids, although that could still be true. His eyes drop down to your left hand and he can’t see it because it’s holding a plate of cookies.

“I—I live across the hall.” As startled as you are, you’re still standing in the hallway of your apartment building and you shift your weight nervously from foot to foot. “I saw a box in the chute marked for toys, so I thought I’d bring cookies and introduce myself.” Now that you know it’s Max, though, your cheeks are burning hotter than the early July heatwave. “Just…wanted to be friendly, that’s all.”

“It’s- it’s good to see you.” Max opens the door wider, motioning for you to come in. “How long has it been?” He knows exactly how long it has been since he’s seen you. Twelve years, two months and six days since he’s last seen you.

“Twelve years.” You answer far too quickly, but you step inside his apartment anyway. It’s identical to yours except being flipped - a mirror image that lets you know where everything is with only minimal thought. “It’s good to see you too. You’ve…well, it’s been a long time. I’m sure you’ve been up to a lot. You always had big dreams.”

He frowns, certain that you must have known about the dream stone incident. Been affected by it. “Yes, I did. That is over now.” He looks back at the closed bedroom door at the end of the hall. “All I want is to be a good dad.”

“Who says that’s not a big dream?” Carefully setting the plate down on the corner of his kitchen counter, you wipe your hands nervously and shove them in your pockets. “If you ask me, that's about the biggest dream there is. Parenthood is a big deal.”

“Yes.” He nods seriously. “I let Alistair down once, but I will not let him down again.” He sighs and looks up at you guiltily. “Do you have kids?”

“I was never lucky enough.” Something that your mother considers the ultimate failing. She considers your choice to be a career woman to be a betrayal of her plan for you. The fact that you wouldn’t just settle for any guy who would have you was a tragedy in her book. “I have a job I love, and a cat to keep me company.”

“I like cats.” Max offers nervously, looking around the apartment and wondering what you think of the mess he has accumulated. “Sorry I’m not unpacked.” He offers, eyes finding you again and finding you just as pretty as he remembered. Maybe more so.”

“I didn't expect you would be.” A smile quirks up the corners of your mouth and you can’t help being glad to see his hair back to its natural brown. You had seen the blonde in his tv commercials and on the news — it didn’t suit him. “Hell, I think it took me a month to unpack and it was just me and Dantes.” You fluster slightly, finding his eyes on you. “That’s…that’s my cat.

“Dantes huh?” His lips quirk up in a grin, something that hasn’t happened in a long time. “Like the Inferno?” He jokes.

"I named him after the Count of Monte Cristo, but he's as temperamental as a volcano." He still has the most beautiful smile, it twists your stomach exactly the way it did when you were teenagers. "You can come over and say hi anytime you like. I'm just across the hall...and even if I'm at work Dantes loves company."

“Alistair would love that. He has always wanted a pet, but….” He frowns, remembering that he had always said that he would get him one later and later never came. Another failing. “He would love it.” He finishes lamely.

"Come over anytime," you repeat, smiling a little brighter when that old, familiar crease notches in Max's forehead. "I'm sure Alistair and Dantes will get along famously." It will have the added benefit of getting to see him sometimes, and despite feeling ridiculous for still nursing your schoolgirl crush, you won't deny yourself a small, private pleasure. "It's nice to have an old friend around again."

You had been a friend to him, one of the few. The bittersweet pang of regret thumps inside him and he nods. “That would be good.” He agrees. “My- my ex-wife had animals and he- he misses them.” He admits.

“No problem.” Instinctively your hand goes out to him, touching him gently on the arm. “But I’m…I’m sorry to hear that. The ex part…”

Max can only blame himself. He had spent too much time chasing his dreams and Genji had grown tired of waiting for him to pay attention to her. He was lucky she let Alistair live with him, although it left her able to travel with her new husband. He shrugs. “She is happier and I am grateful for our son.”

“Sounds like you got the winning end of the deal to me.” You offer him a smile, knowing that transitions can be difficult. And divorces are never easy either.

“Only after almost losing him.” Max acknowledges, frowning as he remembers how frightened Alistair was, and how he had to run away because of Max’s mistakes. “But that is now the past. We are here for a fresh start.”

“New York is a great place for a fresh start.” He’s probably more than sick of talking about what happened, and you have no desire to sully this unexpected little reunion, so you don’t say a thing about it. “Definitely more to do than in Lubbock,” you joke instead.

“What brought you here?” Max asks, interested in your life since he last saw you.

“The intense desire to get away from my mother.” It’s only half a joke, and you chuckle when the corners of his lips turn up in understanding. “I work for a publishing house in Midtown. It’s good work and decent pay. And it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than editing articles for the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal and sitting through tedious dinners with whatever men my mother was trying to set me up with.”

“You never married?” He frowns slightly, unable to believe that someone would not have snatched you up.

“I was engaged once. It…didn’t work out.” Finding out he’d been cheating on you for half your relationship doomed that marriage before it could even start. You’re just glad that you had found out about it before walking down that aisle. You’re almost grateful that that girl out in St. Louis had decided to call you up and cuss you out. “What they say about airline pilots might not be true of all, but it’s certainly true of some.”

“I’m sorry.” He winces and shakes his head. “He must have been an idiot to let you slip away.” You had been his dream girl for a long time until he had met Genji.

"He wanted the world on a string." It was what he always said. It just wasn't until later that you had realized what he meant by it. "Sounds like we both had idiots in our lives. Otherwise she wouldn't have let you get away, either."

“I was never there.” Max admits. “Even when I was. I was too focused on becoming someone.”

"You'll be there for him now." You can hear him playing in the back bedroom, crowing happily over a spaceman toy. "And he's lucky to have you."

“I hope so.” Failure is one of Max’s greatest fears and he’s already done that.

"You never could see how special you are." It slips out before you can stop it, a slight shrug of your shoulders is the best you can do in pseudo-self-defense. He never did think much of himself, but the more you had gotten to know Max, the more obvious it was to you that that was a result of how his father treated him.

“You don’t know the things that I’ve done.” It’s selfish but he hopes you never find out. “I better finish unpacking the kitchen before the pizza gets here.” He knows you wouldn’t want to stay and he doesn’t want to be rejected so he doesn’t invite you for the pepperoni pizza.

"I, uh--I'll get out of your hair." The way he shuts down breaks your heart a little, but you nod your understanding. You've overstayed your welcome and he has never felt as strongly about your friendship as you did. That's just...well, it's just life. "It's...it's really good to see you, Max."

“It’s good to see you again too.” He promises, smiling slightly. “I’m sure we will run into you again. We are neighbors.”

"Yes. It's good to see you, too." With your heart in your throat, you nod and make yourself smile as you step back to go out the door. "I'll see you around, neighbor."

****

“So prom is coming up.” Max frowns slightly as he walks with you. He’s nervous because you haven’t said anything about prom and you talk about everything. He wonders if you have a date that you don’t want to tell him about. “Are you going?”

"I don't think so." Walking home together has become a ritual. Today you wrap your jacket a little tighter as you walk to block out the early spring chill and try not to get excited about the question he's just asked. No one else had asked you to prom, that's true. But you would have turned them down anyway -- you've been holding your breath hoping that Max would ask. "Can't go to prom without a date."

“We should go.” Max argues. “It’s Senior Prom. We can’t miss out on memories like that.” He’s been working on the weekends with his dad to save up for a tuxedo rental and a corsage. “The theme is ‘Enchantment Under the Sea’.” He reminds you.

"You...want to take me to prom?" You know the smile on your face is far too wide, but this is exactly what you've been dreaming of. These walks home, spending a little time at his house before his dad gets home from work, even starting to chat a little with his mother sometimes. You may not be Max's girlfriend, but you want to be, and you've made every effort possible to show him that.

“If you want to.” Max bites his lip. “I know you will probably have someone else ask you, and it’s okay if you’d rather go with them, but I’ve been saving up to buy a corsage and take you out to eat.” He admits. “I’ve been working with my dad.”

"I want to." It's too quick of a reply to be ladylike, but you don't much care about that. Not when you're actually being asked by the right boy. "With you. I want to go to prom with you. Yes."

“Yeah?” He’s surprised, but grins happily. “Then let’s go to prom together.” He nods, beaming and his posture straightens proudly. “You and me, we will have fun.” He promises.

"Yes, we will." Already convinced of it, you don't care a single second for anything or anyone else in the world right now. Max asked you to prom. That's all you've wanted for ages. "I'm going to make my dress," you announce, smiling up at him as you walk down the sidewalk. "My mother has some extra fabric from a wedding that she made dresses for. It's the most beautiful shade of blue you've ever seen."

“That will be good.” He nods. “Do you want me to match your dress?”

"If you want to." The idea is a little thrilling - looking like you belong together - and you nod. "I think you'd look very handsome in blue."

“Then that will be the tuxedo that I order.” He promises, looking forward to the idea of going with you and seeing you dressed up. For him.

It doesn't seem real that he would actually want to go with you, but as you walk alongside him toward his house it feels like the very best kind of dream. He isn't shy about wanting the best of everything, and you always encourage him, but it isn't like you're the prettiest or most popular girl in school. There are other, arguably better choices. But he still asked you. "I can't wait."

He smiles, amazed that you had said yes. He doesn’t know why, but you seem to like being around him. “We will have a good time. Dance and see what the fuss is about.”

"I don't think I've ever seen you dance." There's no reason you would have, all things considered, but the thought spreads your smile a little further.

“I can dance.” He huffs, almost insulted by the idea that he couldn’t. The fact that he’s been practicing in his bedroom by himself is irrelevant.

"I never said you couldn't!" When he pouts like that it makes you want to find out if his lips are as soft as they look but you would never try to kiss him out of the blue. Only fast girls kiss boys they aren't going steady with - and your mother warned you what happens to fast girls. Well...she's said 'And you know what happens to fast girls, don't you?', but you were always too scared to admit that you didn't have any clue what she was talking about.

“Good, because I can.” Just to prove his point, he stops walking and grabs your hand to pull you into his arms to dance a small little circle around right there on the sidewalk.

It's like a movie scene when he reaches for you, his hand on your back burning through you despite the chilly weather. You could just melt right into the pavement on the spot. "Well, look at you," you hum, feeling breathless with your heart beating so fast. "A real dancer."

“All gentlemen know how to dance.” He informs you, grinning widely as he lets go and steps back to bow gracefully.

"Then I'll have to work on becoming a little more ladylike for you before prom." A soft giggle escapes you when he bows, and you shift your bookbag on your shoulder.

“Don’t change a thing about yourself.” He protests, shaking his head. “You are just right as you are.”

"You're very sweet." As the two of you turn to start walking together again, your hand itches to reach for his so you shove it in your pocket. "The sweetest boy in the whole world is taking me to prom."

There’s nothing that he can say to that, his mind going completely blank except to repeat that you think he’s sweet over and over again. He bites his lip and tries not to look too happy about your comment.

"Have you heard back from any colleges yet?" He has talked about wanting to go. You've talked about it together, and he has so many ideas for what his business degree could turn into that it makes your head spin. But he hasn't said yet if he has had any acceptance letters so it's made you wonder.

“A few.” He sighs and wishes that he were rich or his family was rich. “I can’t go though.”

"You have to have been offered scholarships." You know what trouble he would have with being able to go. It's the same one you have which is exactly why your own mother told you to stop being stupid and forget about it. Colleges, apparently, aren't for girls.

“Not enough for Harvard.” He had already done the math, several times and just couldn’t afford it. “I have to turn down an Ivy League school because I’m too poor.” It stings and he hates it.

"I'm so sorry, Max..." His dreams mean the world to him, and you know it. But there are some things that are beyond even his grasp. If you could find a way to make the world perfect for him you would do it instantly, but that dream is still out of your grasp.

“It’s not your fault.” He swallows. “Have you been hearing from colleges?”

"No." You shake your head, staring down at your shoes as you walk. "All that work you helped me put into the applications and my mother took them out of the mailbox and threw them away." The words ring in your mind, her voice echoing in your head. "College isn't for girls."

“College is for everyone.” He argues, immediately upset for you. You had worked hard on those applications and they were really good. You would have gotten three of your choices for sure. “We can redo them, hope they accept them late?” He offers quickly.

"She wouldn't help me with tuition." And unfortunately, he knows that you would need financial help to go to school, too. "I would have to get a full scholarship somewhere, and even with good grades I just don't know if it would happen."

“If you don’t try, you won’t ever find out.” He reminds you. “Great rewards sometimes require great risks.”

He has no idea that he sounds wise when he says things like that, and when you tilt your head to peek up at him again he's looking at you so earnestly that you sigh quietly. It makes your heart ache to know how special he is to you and that he couldn't ever feel that way about you, but you'll soak up every ounce of his attention while you can possibly get it. Before he goes off and conquers the world or something. "You really think so?"

“I do.” He nods seriously and frowns as he thinks. “After- after my parents are asleep, I could sneak over and help you.” He murmurs quietly. “Apply to your top three and I’ll mail them off from my house. That way she can’t throw them away.”

"Tonight." You decide, ready to believe anything is possible if he has that kind of faith in you. "Do you really think you can manage to sneak out? I don't want you to get in trouble on my account." His father could lose his temper over almost anything, and the last thing you wanted was for Max to suffer any extra. Not for you.

“I can.” He smirks slightly and straightens proudly. “We will make sure you go to college.” He knows you want to be an editor, maybe even a writer one day and he knows that a good college will make that happen.

Overwhelmed with the idea that it could be possible, you surge forward and grab his arm, planting a grateful kiss on his cheek before you pull away again just as fast. Your own face is burning, but just in this moment you find that you don't actually care that much. "Thank you," you murmur, beaming at him with gratitude and excitement. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve such a good friend. Thank you, Max."

“Thank you.” He murmurs quietly. “You are the one who befriended me.” He reminds you. You had pulled him into that classroom and saved him for another beating.

"I should have done it a long time ago." The embarrassment of not being braver stings, but there's nothing you can do besides swallow it down.

“No.” Max shakes his head. “You did nothing wrong. We all do what we have to. You were just trying to protect yourself.”

"Still." There isn't any point in wishing to change the past. You know that and he's right that you were trying to protect yourself. "You deserve the world, Max. Really."

“One day I will have the world.” He vows, grinning at you. “And so will you.”

****

It's a random, seemingly unimportant Saturday morning when a small knock sounds on your door. You had been sitting with a cup of coffee and a muffin trying to convince yourself to work on the draft of the book that you had been chipping away at for years when you heard it. Dantes mewed at the sound like it was rude for interrupting his long morning of staring at the ceiling, and you just laugh. "No, no," you chuckle at your cat. "Don't disturb yourself. I'll get it." The prim Russian Blue doesn't move when you get up from your seat and you peer through the peephole to see no one standing there at all. Opening the door curiously, you find a little boy with impossibly wide eyes standing on your doorstep. "Well, hello." You've seen this little boy before, coming in and out of the building or on the stairs, always hugging tight to Max's side. "You must be Alistair."

“Dad said that you have a cat that I could play with?” He asks, curious to find out the truth of this. “He knows I was coming over. He said he would be just a minute behind me. Is that okay?”

"Of course it is." Stepping back to let him inside, you point through the kitchen to the cat tree. "That's Dantes. Let me get you some of his favorite toys and a few treats you can give him, and you guys can play in the living room, okay?" This is a cat who loves kids, so you're sure everything will go well, but you want Max's son to go into the first meeting armed with all the right tools.

“Okay!” He grins at you and nearly bounces on his toes with glee. “I’m excited to meet him. I’ve wanted a pet for a long time but dad didn’t have time, but I don’t blame him.” He tells you seriously, nodding for emphasis.

“Your dad is doing his very best for you, and that includes making sure you had a neighbor with a cat to visit. You’re welcome to come over any time you like, and your dad is too.” You leave the door cracked open for Max to follow, careful that it isn’t enough for Dante’s to escape, and bring Alistair to get the cat’s favorite things so they can meet.

Max had been washing your plate to bring it over to you again. Alistair had been too eager and had decided that he couldn’t wait to go meet Dantes. Max didn’t have the heart to tell him to wait, so he had sent him over and hoped you would understand.

When he tentatively pushes the door open a few minutes later, Alistair is on the living room rug dangling a toy for Dante’s to bat around with a bowl full of kitty kibble and assorted small treats for the cat and a muffin and glass of juice for himself. You’ve set yourself back up at your little kitchenette table a few feet away, though your manuscript is now pushed aside in favor of the New York Times crossword. “Hey.” When you spy Max’s head peak around the door, you wave him in. “Morning, neighbor.”

“It’s not too early, is it?” He asks, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “I wrangled him as long as I could.” He grins and shrugs. “But then breakfast was over.”

“It’s never too early.” Not for him is what you want to say, but instead you say, “not for friends.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Not until coffee for me. I used to take all these supplements and herbs, but now it’s just pure caffeine.”

“Can I pour you a cup? I always make a full pot for some reason and never drink it all.” Up and out of your seat before he can even answer, you’re grabbing a mug out of your cupboard and pulling out the bakery box from your trip down the block this morning. “I also have more muffins than one human can manage. I guess the wind told me to be ready for guests today.”

“I’m sorry we showed up unannounced.” Max winces and looks around. “If you have plans…..” He doesn’t want to intrude on your day if you are busy. It would be easy to get Alistair to leave. He’s been promising to take him to Central Park.

“I was going to sit and curse at my manuscript all day,” you admit with a shrug and pour out his cup. “You saved me from getting frustrated with myself.”

“Oh! A book?” He asks, remembering your dream of writing a book. “Is it your first? Or are you published under a pen name?”

"This would be my first. I've been fighting with it for years and I'm still not satisfied with the second half of the story." Coming back to the table, you set down a mug of coffee and the box of muffins for him with a plate. "Alistair asked for the chocolate chip, I hope it's okay that I said yes."

“Of course.” He can’t help but huff in amusement. “Probably better than the burned eggs and cereal we had for breakfast.”

“Help yourself,” you insist, motioning to the box. Sitting down across from him like this is oddly familiar - like your high school cafeteria should materialize around you any second - but you don’t dislike it.

“I appreciate it.” He’s remembering all the times you had eaten together over the years. Including the one meal he bought you before prom.

“How is the job search going?” The few little talks you had had in the stairwell or while grabbing your mail from the boxes in the lobby had clued you in to how Max’s life is running these days and it’s an unfortunate reality. Since the incident people have been wary of him and even downright rude.

“I will find something soon.” He forces out cheerily. “I am hoping that a few places will call me back.” He doubts it, but all he can do is hope someone gives him a chance.

“I know it isn’t…Your dream or anything, but the publishing house I work for is expanding so they’re hiring all sorts of positions.” It was something you had been discussing ad nauseam in the office and had been meaning to mention to him anyway. Now is as good a time as any. “I can get a complete list from my friend in HR if you like? And I’ll vouch for you if you decide to put in for anything.”

“Are you sure you want to be associated with me?” He asks seriously. Some of the comments you have made lead him to believe that you know what happened last winter. “I don’t want to put your profession or your own job at risk.”

“I’m sure.” You’ve always been sure about him. He might not understand it - hell, sometimes you didn’t always understand it - but that’s just how you feel about him. “I know you, Max. I trust you.”

“You haven’t seen me in twelve years before this week.” He reminds you quietly, looking down at the blueberry muffin in his hands. “I wasn’t a good man.”

“I might not know anything about Maxwell Lord,” you lower your voice, not conspicuously but not wanting to perk Alistair’s ears. “But I know Max Lorenzano. He helped me get into college. Took me to prom. Listened to every story and fear and triumph that I had for years. You were my best friend, Max. Let me repay you for helping me believe in myself.”

Max swallows harshly, overcome with the glowing review of a boy who had been so ashamed of being poor. It sounds like you preferred him. “Thank you.” He replies hoarsely.

“I know it’s been a while.” But you’ve thought about him constantly, and even though you might not admit that to him so that you don’t have to have an awkward conversation with your first love about him actually being your first love, you’re not shy about wanting to help. “I’d like to be friends again. Like we used to be.”

“Like we used to be.” He nods. Friends where a shy and awkward boy had an unrequited crush on you. He had survived it once and he could do it again to have you back in his corner.

“Alistair’s very sweet.” It changes the topic cleanly because you don’t want Max to get a whiff of the fact that your feelings for him have come back nearly full force. Not that he had any idea the first time around. Or if he did, he hadn’t let you know it. Instead you put your focus on his son, the excitable little boy that he has put all his focus in himself.

“He is a good kid.” Max can easily agree with that. “I don’t deserve him, but for some reason he loves me.” His eyes drift to the living room and he smiles when he sees Alistair petting Dantes and cooing happily at the attention loving cat.

If you were bold, you’d promise him that he’s not difficult at all to love, but you’ve never been bold. You hadn’t even been bold enough to kiss him at prom. Instead you smile warmly and pick up your coffee. “You deserve much more than you think.”

“I think we will have to disagree on that.” He murmurs, snorting softly. “I didn’t realize what I was doing until I almost lost him. An angry mob, coming for me, scared him and he was wandering the streets of D.C. by himself.” He stares down at his coffee mug, glad to get this off his chest. “I would have never forgiven myself if he had been hurt.”

“What is life if not making mistakes and learning lessons?” You had been watching right along with the rest of the world while it all happened, but being on the outside must have been a very different experience than being where he was on the inside. “He’s okay. He’s safe, and he has a father who loves him. In time you’ll learn to forgive yourself like he’s already forgiven you.”

“Perhaps.” Max won’t agree with that, but he also won’t count it out. “First I need to prove that I can be useful. Helpful.”

"Sometimes it's okay to just have fun, too." But you won't push. Or press. "I haven't seen you since college," you say instead. "What have you been up to, besides having that angel of a little boy?"

“Married…divorced.” Max sighs and shrugs. “Tried to make Black Gold work. I really did. Convinced I was going to find oil.”

"There are lots of places in the world with oil. It isn't so crazy to think that you would find some." Anytime you had seen his name in the papers, you had tried to follow it. Unfortunately it seemed to be more bad news than good for the last few years.

“Except I never did.” He has made an uneasy peace with his past and shrugs slightly. “Perhaps it was for the best. I certainly learned humility.”

"There must have been bright spots." You can't believe that his entire adult life has been miserable.

“Not as many as there were during our senior year.” He admits with a small chuckle. “I was chasing the dream and didn’t stop to admire the roses.”

"Maybe that's what this is, then." The urge to take it as a compliment to you is there, but it would be conceited to think that he means you were what made it good. "Time to stop and admire the world around you."

“Admire the world around me, huh?” He contemplates it for a moment, wondering where you go so wise, but then he remembers that you have been living your dream for some time. Max just needs to figure out what his new dream is. “I think you are right.”

****

It took a couple of weeks for Max to go through the interview process, and your bosses had pulled you into a conference room with an HR rep for an hour of round table "Are you fucking serious?" about the fact that your name is listed as a personal reference on his resume. In the end they had relented. In eight years with the company you had never had a single mark against you on your file and you're one of the most productive editors on staff. If they're going to take anyone's word at all about a potential new hire, it's going to be yours. Now, two weeks into Max's time as a member of the office's janitorial staff, your coworkers are starting to take notice. They've noticed that you arrive together every morning and leave together every evening, and that sometimes you chat quickly in the hall in passing. Almost all of them have recognized him at this point, of course, and it seems like they've deputized your closest work friend to ask you about him.

Max is eager to please, finding that the work is not beneath him as he might have once imagined. He pushes his cart around the offices with pride and tries to ignore the dirty looks and comments. Especially the prick in editing that purposefully made a mess for him to clean up. Seemingly enjoying watching Max clean up after him. He sees one of your co-works walking up to you so he doesn’t stop, just giving you both a respectful nod and a small smile as he makes his way to the bathrooms for their twice a day cleaning.

It’s good to see him taking pride in what he’s doing now. Tangible results of his work being something that seems to satisfy Max in a way you hadn’t expected but are grateful to see. “Hey Kim.” She’s buzzing directly over to you without being subtle, so you slow down to talk to her.

“Soooooooooo.” She lifts her brows and looks at Max’s retreating back. Instead of the boxy power suits he had been wearing, he was wearing a pair of work chinos and a polo shirt. Perhaps a little more dressy than most janitors but it’s an effort to look professional. “This is interesting.”

“The hallway?” You raise a skeptical eyebrow at her, continuing to walk back toward your desks at the other end of the floor. “I don’t know that I would call it interesting.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She huffs and jostles your shoulder lightly. “Max Lord.” She clarifies, rolling her eyes. “How do you know him?”

Yes, you knew, but that doesn’t mean you’ve exactly been excited for someone to come asking about it. You know what people still think of him. “We grew up together,” you tell Kim honestly. “Same home town in Texas.”

“You grew up with Max Lord?” Her eyes widen and flutter back towards the hallway where Max’s cart is sitting outside the Men’s restroom.

“Yep.” Trying to not make it seem like a big deal, you shrug. “We were friends. Now he’s my neighbor and we’re friends again.”

“Friends.” She’s skeptical about that, but she can’t deny that Max is far more attractive in person than he was in those horrible television ads. “Uh huh, if you want to keep your cards close…” she eyes you, waiting to see if you say anything else.

“What?” Her face says she doesn’t believe you, and she’s fucking right not to but you do your best to look innocent.

“You haven’t noticed that - despite being Max Lord - your friendly, neighbor janitor is a very good looking man?” She scoffs slightly and sends you a knowing look. “And just your type based on the men you like looking at when we drag you out to happy hour.”

“There isn’t any despite being with Max,” you defend instantly, feeling a little indignant. “He’s a good guy who did wrong and he’s doing everything he can to rebuild his life now.” It’s bad enough he got bullied in school, he doesn’t deserve that bullshit at work, too. “And—” Clearing your throat carefully doesn’t help you sound less guilty at all. “I…don’t have a type.”

Her brows shoot up at the vehemence in your voice and she doesn’t remind you that he almost destroyed the entire world with that wish granting trick he had pulled. She doesn’t think that you would listen and you are a good friend. “If you say so.” She murmurs quietly. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

"There's nothing for me to get hurt about." A fact which makes swallowing hard for longer than you're proud of, and you avert your eyes back to watching your shoes tread the carpet like you used to do in the halls of your high school walking side by side with him.

“Do you want to come out with us tonight?” Sensing that you are wanting to change the subject, she obliges. “We are going out for apps and drinks.”

“Sure.” It’s been a while since you had a night out with the girls - since Max appeared in your life - and it sounds like a good idea. Like having fun instead of sitting in your apartment hoping and wondering if he’ll come over to say hello after already being at work together all day. “The usual spot?” There’s a bar not far from the office that does great food, and sometimes there’s single guys from other nearby offices to flirt with. It usually makes for an entertaining Friday night.

“Absolutely.” She nods, shooting you a grin.

“Okay. I’ll just let Max know.” It will be the first time since starting his job that he’s committed home alone, but it’s not a difficult trip. He already knows the connections by heart.

“You…..you should bring him.” Kim says after a moment. “Let him hang out socially. Might help.”

"Are you sure?" The look you give Kim is skeptical, knowing that some of the girls you usually get drinks with might not be so warm about getting to know Max. And usually there aren't many guys that tag along. "Are any of the guys coming tonight?"

“There’s Brad and Dan.” She acknowledges, shrugging slightly. “It could be good for them to see him as a normal man.”

"It would be good for them to see normal human interaction." You roll your eyes, but only playfully. Brad is more than a little bit of a horndog and Dan seems to have learned everything about how to be manly from Brad. It isn't a bad thought. Getting to get to know some people outside of their roles at the office is probably a really good idea, actually. Contemplating it for a second, you nod. "I'll invite him. But if he ends up not being able to come it's probably because his babysitter couldn't stay late on short notice, not because he doesn't want to be social."

“Then I won’t tell anyone that he might come.” She decides, knowing that surprising them might them best thing anyway. You both stop at your desk and she reaches out and touches your arm, “I don’t want you to be cross with me.” She tells you. “I just wanted to see what was going on.”

"I'm not cross." Kim has always been a good friend, and you squeeze her hand back gently. "I just wish it were easier for him to get the clean slate he came here for. But you're right. Socializing will be good."

“It doesn’t help that he broadcasted his mistake.” Kim reminds you quietly. “But I have to admit, he’s been nothing but polite since he’s been working here. And the bathrooms are spotless.”

"He knows he did wrong. And everyone deserves a chance to start fresh." At least, that's what you've always said. And so far you haven't had too many people who made you briefly regret your optimism. "It's nice of you to think of inviting him. He really is a good guy underneath everything that happened."

“He’s attractive.” She has to admit, “especially with the darker hair that looks more natural on him.”

“The blonde didn’t suit him.” A nostalgic smile drifts across your face that you barely even notice but Kim surely does. “He dyed it back to its natural color. The way he looked when we were growing up.”

“And you didn’t date?” She smiles skeptically.

“No.” A thing that makes you glance away and fluster more than you’re proud of. “We went to prom together, but we never went steady or anything.”

“Oh.” She nods and bites her lip. “Well, let me know about tonight, okay?” She doesn’t want you to be upset if it’s a case of unrequited love and that seems to be what it is.

“I will.” Your nod is enough to make her comfortable taking away, and it’s about an hour later that you catch Max moving across the hall to restock the kitchenette that services this floor of the building.

Max reasons that the staff of the publishing house is lucky. The management provides complimentary snacks and drinks beyond packs of peanuts and coffee. It’s really impressive and it makes him think of what he would have offered his own staff if Black Gold had actually become successful. He regrets how he had to tell Raquel that he couldn’t pay her that last paycheck, but he had managed to send it to her three months later when he had sold his house.

“Hey.” Slipping into the kitchen to pour a fresh cup of coffee, you grin seeing Max so diligent and seemingly satisfied with each thing he gets done. Any job is good that can be satisfying. “How’s your day?”

"I do not know how some people can be so disgusting in public." He shudders and shakes his head. "The men are the worst....but," he grimaces and lowers his voice. "I do not know how some could keep their....sanitary products unwrapped when they are used."

"Women are absolutely gross." You tell him sagely, nodding with a solemn expression to keep from giggling. "If Alistair had a sister you'd see it full force, I promise."

"I am not unused to women's monthly issues." He insists. "I was married to Alistair's mom and would often buy her the things she needed." When he remembered, which was less often than he should have. It was another regret he had, but he couldn't make up for it now.

"Speaking of things we do monthly." Waggling your eyebrows at the lame segue to make him laugh, your smile spreads when you get a confused look out of him. "Some of our coworkers are going out for drinks and stuff after work tonight. You're invited, if you'd like to call Señora Ramos and ask her to stay with Alisitair a little later."

His expression is one of shock and then he frowns. "I don't know if I should." He admits, glancing towards the door of the break room. "I don't want to cause you issues." He knows that you have taken some flack since you had convinced your bosses to give him a chance. Even if you deny it, he's caused you problems. The last thing he wants is for you to suffer more when you've been an incredible friend to him.

"You're not." And no matter how many times you need to repeat it, you always will. Max is never going to get his confidence back as long as he thinks of himself as a burden. And to you? He is anything but. "It might be good to spend time with people out of the office. Make some new friends?"

"I doubt that." He scoffs slightly and bites his lip. It would be nice to spend some time with you outside of the apartments and the office. Socially. Like that one dinner that he had managed to pay for all those years ago. "Do you want me to go?"

"Of course I do." There is no possible way you would want anything else, unless going out would truly make him unhappy somehow. "I love spending time with you." Yup. That's how that sentence goes. Absolutely.

He quietly thinks about it for a long moment before he nods. "I will call Señora Ramos and see if she can watch Alistair for a few more hours." He decides and despite his worries, his posture straightens and he looks excited.

"You deserve a night to be an adult," you remind him, but the way he straightens has you hoping that he's looking forward to it now. "I'll see you at the end of the day, okay? We can walk over to the bar together."

"I will see you then." He nods, knowing he will have to call the babysitter right away before he can really start looking forward to the idea of going out with you and your friends.

******

When the end of the work day comes, you're eager to leave your desk behind. Max hadn't come by your desk to tell you that there was a problem with plans for the evening so you're looking forward to being able to just relax with your friends - both old and new.

Max finishes up his work early, busting his ass to make sure he was done and able to put all of his supplies away and be ready for you at the elevators on time. He has gotten the go ahead from Señora Ramos and was looking forward to buying you a drink.

"Ready to go?" Though you beg your mind not to brim with memories of him picking you up for prom, they're at the top of your mind anyway as the elevator opens and Max strides out into the lobby.

"I am." He had to dry his hands on a paper towel on the way down to the lobby and shove it in his pocket. "Are you?" He asks, lifting his brows and giving you a chance to reconsider. He wouldn't blame you.

"Absolutely." You would take his hand under different circumstances. As it is, your fingers twist around the strap of your purse as you nod toward the doors. "Kim and some of the others just went ahead to grab us tables."

“Oh.” He frowns slightly but nods. “Then we should hurry, no?”

"It's not a race." It does make you chuckle, though, and you nod toward the doors before starting to walk. "We're five minutes behind at the absolute most."

"Where do you normally go to do this 'happy hour'?" Max asks as he guides you out of the building and lets you turn him in the right direction.

"There's a place called Pollard's a couple of blocks away that has really good drink deals and small plate stuff. I'm a big fan of filling myself with margaritas and flatbread on a Friday night." In fact it was something of a ritual, and you're glad to share that with him if he's inclined to it. Alistair is a strict cheese-only kind of kind when it comes to pizza but there is a whole world of more adult flavours to get behind.

"It has been a long time since I have had a margarita." He admits, wondering how you act when you have alcohol. Genji used to make fun of him for being too earnest, too eager to please when he was drunk. He had switched to champagne to make himself seem more sophisticated but actually hated the taste.

"Then you'll have to share with me." The idea lights you up inside and you nudge him while you walk. "They do this margarita tower thing...it sounds impressive but it's two or three drinks each and ridiculously cheap. Best margaritas in the city."

"Then we will have that." Max grins and nods. "And you like the...flatbreads?" He doesn't know what it is, but you seem happy about having one.

"It's just fancy pizza." You grin when he sounds confused and put your nose in the air while you walk. "Fancy metropolitan pizza. I thought you might like a change of pace from all the cheese all the time."

Max groans and rolls his eyes. "Aliastair has to try something else." He pouts slightly. "Even if it's just pepperoni."

"One day we'll have him eating a huge variety. But not quite yet." That pout hasn't changed in twenty years. It still makes you want to wrap him up in your arms and cuddle it away. Which is why you immediately shove your hands in your pockets when you see it. "For now, we'll have some adult treats."

"Something other than Fruit Loops." Max snorts with a grin. "He had me buy two boxes when we went to the bodega last weekend."

"I promise." You hold up your pinky to him after scurrying across a busy street. "No Fruit Loops."

Chuckling as he rings his own pinky around yours, he feels like he's back in high school with you. Promising that he won't become friends with your cousin, as if that could have ever happened. "I want to buy your drinks and food tonight." He tells you.

"You don't have to do that." In fact, you had been planning on just paying the tab for both of you. Considering that you're the one who invited him, you didn't want him to feel pressured or have to count pennies.

"I want to. To say thank you." He shoves his hands into his pockets and concentrates on the steps in front of him. "For helping me find the job, for being a good friend." He lowers his voice slightly. "For not hating me."

"I could never hate you." Sure there had been things you didn't understand. Or times you were hurt when he lavished attention on other people. Like the girls at college that he had told you about during their holiday breaks. But hate? You could never. "I'm glad to have my best friend back."

Friend. He reminds himself that was what he was to you. No more. He frowns slightly as he suddenly thinks about something that makes his heart drop. "You- is there someone you meet at your happy hour meetings?" He asks, slightly jealous of the idea.

"There's a couple of people who always come. Kim, Jennifer, and Gretchen for sure. And usually Carmen. Apparently this time Brad and Dan are coming, too," you tell him, fully misunderstanding the question.

"And which one are you happiest to see?" Max asks, happy mood suddenly souring.

"I mean...usually Kim, I guess?" It's impossible to stop on the pavement in the middle of Midtown, but you tilt your head and your forehead furrows when he looks upset. "Why? Do you...not like some of them?"

"I see." He shakes his head. "No, I do not know them." He reminds you. "I understand now why it never...." He breaks off and shakes his head again, adopting a charming smile. "Never mind, I am eager to meet your friends."

There's a train of thought there that you can't quite follow, but you nod vaguely and keep walking. The two of you are quiet when you pull open the door to Pollard's and Kim waves enthusiastically from a place in the corner where a half dozen small tables have been pushed together for your group. "Looks like we're over there."

Max hangs back slightly, both wary of everyone's reception of him and mulling over the knowledge that you had never been interested in him because you liked women. He had wondered why you never seemed to want to take things farther with him. One of the reasons he had looked so hard for someone in college, to get you off his mind.

After giving hugs to your friends and sitting down beside Kim, you pull out the chair on your other side for Max. The group looks like they've been told to behave themselves - something you'll thank Kim for later - and you look around you only to notice that he hasn't sat down yet. "Max?"

"Hello." Max nods to everyone and bites his lip. "Do you mind if I join you?" It's important that he doesn't insert himself where he's not wanted. Something that he would do too often in his bid for respectability and investments.

"You're more than welcome," Kim insists, waving her hand at the chair on your other side. Everybody had agreed to play nice tonight for your sake. Generally speaking you're just too nice for your own good, and most of your extended work-friend group is curious. "Food here is great. I don't know if our girl told you or not on the way over."

Our girl. Max smiles politely and sits. "She has told me about the margaritas and the flatbread pizzas." He nods and looks around at everyone and wonders what they really think about him being here. "So I believe I will like it."

"Let me guess," Kim hums, one eyebrow raised in amusement. "Margarita tower?" "Of course." It's kind of your go-to anytime you have someone to share it with, and you stretch out with a happy grin at the table. "Max needs a rest from the world of juice boxes and cheese pizza."

"You have a child?" Jennifer asks curiously. "I didn't know that."

"His son's an angel." You offer, smiling at Max, who looks uncomfortable again. "He's my cat's new favorite playmate."

“Alistair is eight.” Max tells them. “The best son anyone could ask for. Sweet and kind, loving.” All traits that Max needed to improve on as an adult, but Alistair’s faith in him, your faith in him, kept him pushing forward.

“Eight is such a good age.” Gretchen goes a little dreamy. Everyone knows her kids are hell on wheels now that they’re teenagers, and she misses when they were little. “Curiosity is at a premium at that age. They’re like little sponges. And so sweet. Oh you’re so lucky.”

"Very lucky." Max can wholeheartedly agree with that. "We have been exploring the museums on the weekends and he asks so many questions that the tour guides don't know." It makes him regret not taking him to more museums while they were in D.C., but he is enjoying the outings with his son and is proud of his curiosity.

“Does he have a library card yet?” She asks, obviously enjoying memories of that age. “My youngest loved the themed story hours until she was eleven or twelve.”

“He doesn’t, but I should get him one.” Max tilts his head in interest. “He loves to read and watch movies.”

“It’s worth it.” Gretchen promises with a smile, and she picks up her menu. “No matter where you are in the city, you can always find a branch.”

“Thank you.” Max replies sincerely. “I will take him to get a card this weekend. We are planning on picnicking in Central Park.” He chuckles. “Which, to Alistair, means pizza at the park.”

“Central Park and the library sounds like a perfect day.” It twists your heart a little - the number of times you’ve thought about what would have happened if you have been brave enough to tell Max how you felt years ago. If Alistair would be your little boy instead of someone else’s. The result has been that you soak up every minute of time that Max’s son is willing to spend with you.

“Would you like to come with us?” Mac is always happy to have you with him. You make the even brighter with your company, just like when you were in high school.

"I'd love to." There's no hesitation for you. No question or even need to consider. Any chance you get to spend with Max, you're going to take it. "You guys have been spending a lot of time together, huh?" Kim asks, amusement twitching in the corner of her mouth. She had thought that you were acting a little defensive earlier because of some unrequited thing, but now she thinks you might just be oblivious to how requited it could be. Not that she would ever get mixed up with a guy like Max Lord, but you seem to have a unique history with the guy.

“She has been very kind to us.” Max is careful to not sully your reputation with telling them how most evenings are spent together and you’ve taught him to make more than mac and cheese with hot dogs for dinner. “New York is very different from D.C. and we are grateful to have someone who knows the area like she does.”

"Rekindling the old friendship, right?" It's a little bit of prodding, sure, but she's also trying to peel away at that Maxwell Lord veneer that they all saw on tv for so long and make him a real person to your other friends.

“I was very lucky to have her as my friend.” Max admits, looking down at his hands shyly. “Believe it or not, I was not well liked when I was younger.” He chuckles at how true that still was, although that was because of his mistakes rather than his misfortune of being poor or an immigrant.

"Neither of us was," you amend, not wanting him to feel singled out by that fact. "If not for Max, I wouldn't have survived senior year. And I definitely wouldn't have gone to college."

“That was a long night.” He remembers, smiling slightly at the memory. “But your admission papers were perfect.” He had sent them off like he had promised and you had been accepted to all of them, with scholarships.

"My mother was furious." A fact which makes you giggle now, so many years later. "Until it became a bragging point. She found out that one of the colleges I applied to was all women, and suddenly I was making a modest, pious choice to educate myself to be a good wife." You roll your eyes heavily, knowing that your years at Sarah Lawrence had radicalized you in ways that your mother could never have dreamed of. "Imagine her disappointment when I went and got a career after college instead of a husband."

“She should be proud of you.” Max shakes his head, still unable to believe what your mother had put you through. “I was. I am. You are in a prestigious position and working on becoming a published author.”

"All thanks to you, it sounds like." Kim is actually smiling, and Gretchen's expression has turned from curious to fond. "You know, this is the most we've ever been able to get her to open up about the old days. Normally she just glosses over any hometown or family questions."

“Oh.” He tosses you a look, hoping that he has not overstepped. “Life was not great for us, but we managed together and we had fun. Prom was possibly the best night of my life until the day Alistair was born.”

"Did you go to prom together?" Gretchen looks like she might melt at that, while Brad and Dan are clearly regretting that there isn't something less girly to talk about.

“Yeah.” Max nods and grins slightly. “It was a good night. We had fun and I still have the pictures we took.”

"You still have those?" Somehow you hadn't expected that, and it makes you light up and soften at the same time. "My mother got rid of my copies...along with pretty much everything else."

“She was always a…difficult woman.” Max sighs. “Genji made sure that she kept them when we divorced but returned all my stuff when we moved to New York.”

"Sounds like your ex-wife and my mother would have gotten along well," you grumble sympathetically when the waitress appears to take your drink orders.

Max defers to you, letting you order first and adding a glass of water in addition to the margarita tower.

Several beers, Gretchen's Long Island Iced Tea, and Kim's white wine selection later, you're all engrossed in looking through food options. The reason you like this place that is it's easy to blend into the background and still get decent service. Yours isn't the only office that empties into this building on a Friday night, and a group of tables nearby is taken up by some folks from a nearby marketing firm that you recognize as fellow regulars. It's just a cordial, relaxed atmosphere that is more than welcome after a long work week.

“They have a lot of options.” Max hums as he looks through the menu. “Have you had anything other than the flatbreads?”

"Not much," you admit with a guilty grin. "Do you want to try something else? I don't mind broadening my horizons a little."

“We could always get the appetizer thing.” He points to a sampler. “And your flatbread. Splitting it and trying more things?”

"If that's what sounds good to you, I'm in." He could suggest almost anything and you would go along with it, so this is barely a compromise. All you want is for him to enjoy himself tonight.

He nods, smiling at you and relaxing slightly. No one has been rude yet and it feels almost like the old days, although he’s still slightly upset he never realized that you were into women.

It's a comfortable evening, with people loosening up after some drinks and food. Brad drags Jennifer away from her seat to dance at one point, even though this is definitely a bar that does not have a dance floor. It's warm and comfortable and there is something extra in the air tonight that is probably just the margaritas talking, but it has you smiling and laughing even more than usual.

As the evening goes on, Max relaxed a little more. Somehow the buttons of his polo pop open and he leans back and ruffles his hand through his hair as the alcohol mellows him out. Sticking close to you and to Kim, he has tried to figure out the dynamic and it’s driving him crazy. He wants to be a good friend and be supportive of you, but he also wishes that he had taken that chance so many years ago and kissed you when it seemed like the right moment for it.

You're just too good to be true...can't take my eyes off of you...you'd be like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much... Frankie Valli croons through the speakers in the bar, making your head jump up and your eyes snap over to Max. Like the memory of senior prom wasn't enough, that song throws you back in time harder than a slingshot.

******

Max tries to suppress his nerves, praying his hands aren’t sweaty as he guides you through the song. It’s romantic and one that he’s heard before, making him think of you. At long last love has arrived….And I thank God I'm alive “Are you having a good time?” He asks, desperately hopeful that you don’t hate the night with him.

"Of course I am." You're here with him, there's nothing realistic that you could think of to make it better. Realistic being the key. Those little daydreams you've had about going out to Lover's Lane with him or cuddling up under the stars? Those are just fantasies. "A--are you?"

“I am.” He nods and smiles at you. “Your dress is the prettiest one here.” You had taken his breath away and he was grateful that the corsage matched and his suit complimented it.

"Do you think so?" The pattern is a little old fashioned probably, but you love it. the flowers that you had carefully embroidered for embellishment and the few crystals that you managed to get your hands on had made you hopeful that he would like it, but your mother had scoffed that boys don't care what dress you wear. After that, even though you had finished the dress, you had been a little less giddy about it.

“It is beautiful. I cannot believe that you made it yourself.” He smiles and reaches up from your back to rub the edge of your shoulder strap. “If you wanted to, you could be a very accomplished seamstress.”

"Maybe I'll just make my own dresses." You beam at him, unable to contain how hard you're smiling at such a compliment. "Dinner dresses to go out in. Or even my wedding dress one day."

“It would be breathtaking.” His heart pounds in his chest thinking about your wedding day. Painfully wishing that he was the lucky man who got to meet you in front of the priest.

"Not that...that I think that will happen any time soon." Mostly because you can't picture the day at all with anyone but him, and he doesn't seem to like you that way. Even all through the nice dinner he took you to before the dance tonight, he hadn't tried to hold your hand or anything. Which is okay. It's not like you don't know that boys don't like you. But you're trying not to lose hope before the night is over.

“No, you must get through college first.” Max insists seriously. “It is important that you establish your dreams first.” Max decides that he will become wealthy before he asks you out, not wishing for you to pity him. He had been so nervous tonight he couldn’t form the words to ask you to the movies, even though he wanted to.

"I've been waiting for the right time to tell you." Deciding that this is it - this moment, this dance, this song, you are absolutely beaming at him. "I spoke with the financial department at Sarah Lawrence yesterday. They're actually going to give me enough scholarships and grants that I can manage it."

“What?” Max gasps, lighting up. “That’s great.” He lunges forward to hug you tightly, excited that you were getting to have your dream despite your mother trying to sabotage you.

“It’s all thanks to you.” You hug him back tightly, nearly giggling with excitement. “I never could have gotten it all done alone.”

"You could have." He protests, but he beams at your praise. "We will both have our college degrees in no time and I will know a famous publisher and you will know a powerful businessman."

Know. You will know each other. Nothing more. You try so hard not to let your smile dim and end up clinging to him a little harder. If you weren't so terrified of losing him altogether then you wouldn't care what the other girls said. You could live with being considered 'fast' for kissing him first if you were just brave enough.

You seem so happy by the prospect, he bites his lip and wonders if he imagines that you sometimes look at him like you want to kiss him. Perhaps it is just his own wants projecting onto you, he has a habit of doing that, but he cannot help it with you. If he had one person in the world to save, it would be you. Whispering your name, he gathers the shreds of his courage and presses slightly closer to you.

For a second you can't tell if it's your imagination or if the world really has stopped moving around you. Your vision has narrowed down to just him and he's filled your other senses -- but when does he not? When do you ever think of anyone in the whole world before Max? Sometimes you could swear he thinks of you as more than just a friend, and right now his hands grasping you a little tighter has your heart jumping directly into your throat as it starts to beat wildly out of control.

Staring into your eyes, Max wets his lips, finding them suddenly dry and chapped. He doesn't want your (hopefully) first kiss to be dry. He swallows again and decides to go for it. His fingers flex on your hip and his eyes drop down to your lips as he leans in more. "Ladies and gentleman! It is time to crown our prom King and Queen!"

The sheer volume of the announcement has you both jumping out of your skins, startling apart from each other like a cartoon and breaking the moment. You could have sworn that he was inching closer to you. He looked like he was going to kiss you. And now you've completely lost it.

Max's heart sinks down to his toes and he gives you a small smile before the two of you turn towards the stage. Cursing himself for not being fast enough, the moment is gone and with it, his courage.

******

“Did you have fun tonight?” Walking from the subway stop to your apartment building, you have your hands once again shoved into your pockets in that long-established custom of keeping yourself from reaching for him. A few margaritas each has you feeling loose and relaxed, but it isn’t like you’re not in control of yourself.

"It was really fun." Max sounds bewildered, as if he was surprised that having drinks with your co-workers, his co-workers could be a pleasant time. "I see why you like her." He still feels bad that he hadn't noticed it before, but he's trying to be there for you.

"Bars are girls?" You ask him, wondering why he gave a building a pronoun. Maybe it's one of those weird things like how cars and ships are female somehow.

"Nooooooo." He manages to giggle slightly, fully feeling the effects of the alcohol now. "Not the bar." He snorts and nearly trips over a piece of the sidewalk that has lifted up and he stumbles forward before straightening and looking down in bewilderment. "Kim."

"Did you not like her before tonight?" If he had disliked her you hadn't noticed, and that makes you feel a bit silly. But the silly might also be the couple of margaritas you had.

"No, I like her." He shakes his head, not willing to let you think he doesn't like your crush. "I think that she's nice. I see why you like her." He stresses. "I'm jealous."

"Why are you jealous?" That makes you frown very deeply, and your nose wrinkles. "She's just my friend." Not your best friend, or anything more -- like you've always considered him to be.

"I can't help it." Max hangs his head and his shoulders round slightly. "I will get past it. Support you."

"Stop." At the front door of your walk up, you swing around in front of him and put both hands on his shoulders, forcing him to stand a little bit taller and actually look at you. "What are you talking about? Support me how?"

"By being happy for you." He frowns and motions towards you like it should be obvious.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Your head drops and shakes animatedly, a pout turning down the points of your lips. "I'm fine, I guess? But I'm not...happy happy."

"Because you have not told her." Max nods, understanding and reaches out and takes your hand. "You must, otherwise you will live with regret. Like I do."

He isn't making any sense, but his large hand covering yours is warm and making you fuzzier than even the tequila had. "I should tell Kim that she's my friend?" You ask, trying to understand him. "She knows that already."

"No." Max winces and shakes his head. "You should tell her that...." he closes his eyes, in pain for the lost chance, or maybe the chance that never was. His unrequited heart aching. "That you love her." He whispers.

The swirling confusion that started at your toes and went all the way up to fogging your brain stops dead, and all of a sudden you're standing up - stone sober - in front of Max with a clarity that makes you feel more foolish than you ever have in your life. More foolish than the first time you ever met a lesbian, way back in college. "But..." you look at him with resignation in you somewhere. "I don't. I mean she's my friend and I love her platonically but...did you think I was gay this whole time?"

"You shouldn't have to hide it." Max swallows and opens his eyes. "I figured it out, it- it hurts because I know that my feelings would never be returned, and I wondered if I imagined the times you looked like you wished- it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I am your friend and I will be here for you. Be your friend, no matter if I am jealous."

If the last revelation hadn't instantly sobered you, this one certainly would. You're practically gawking at him in the middle of the sidewalk as people move around you in all directions. "What feelings?" You insist - demand - feeling your heart strangle in your chest so tightly it could rip into pieces.

His shoulders round again and he sends you a look that is a mixture of humiliation, apology and heartache. "Please don't- I had tried so hard to move on from you in college, to pretend that it didn't matter that you would never date poor Max." He chokes out. "You- you have been exactly like you were in high school, of course my infatuation with you came back."

"Is this some kind of joke?" You never thought that Max would be cruel enough to pull a practical joke this personal on you, but your hands retract and you cross them over your chest like a very poor set of armor. "If it is, it's mean, and I never thought you were mean. But pretending you had a crush on me when I've spent my entire life in love with you is just cruel."

Max frowns, unsure of what you mean when he has just told you his feelings, but he swallows harshly. "I- I didn't- I'm sorry." He gulps, having completely missed your confession of love. "I know you don't - it's - I can't help it. You have always been the girl I wish I kissed that night at prom." He murmurs quietly, shoulders slumping even more and he turns to walk away, sure that you want nothing to do with him now.

It's too much to process and yet your mind gets through it at lightning speed. Fast enough with your reflexes to throw yourself through the other door of your apartment building and end up in front of him, your body is reacting a lot faster than you can even tell it to. He's barely inside the lobby before you're in front of him, and both of your hands hit his chest at the exact same time. Grasping the collar of his shirt to bring him down to you, this is the moment of boldness that all missed opportunities has been building to. If you miss this, you miss everything. And unlike prom, there is no dj to interrupt you this time when you pull him down to you and press your lips to his.

The alcohol and the melancholy fade instantly and his eyes widen, his groan of surprise loud against your lips but he doesn't pull away. He can't. Not when he has you pressed up against him and kissing him. His arms snake around your body and he pulls you close, deepening the kiss and feeling you melt against him.

It seems completely impossible for this to be happening, but he has deepened the kiss instead of pushing you away, letting you slide your tongue along the seam of his lips and inviting you inside the map the contours of his mouth the way you've dreamt of ten thousand times. Your hands clutch each other inelegantly, holding on for dear life, but you don't care how awkward it looks from the outside - you've been waiting for this moment for more than twenty years.

All he can think of is you. How you sound, how you taste. So much better than his imagination twenty years ago and even just today. Unable to believe that this is real as he fulfills a fantasy he never thought he would get to have.

In true city-life fashion, what breaks you apart is not a lack of enthusiasm, but the grumbling of a loud neighbor who shouts, "Get a room!" As he storms out the front door with his arms thrown up in disgust, as though two people kissing is the most offensive thing he has seen in his entire life.

Max flushes and looks back at you, wondering how you feel about the kiss that was just shared and his heart is pounding in his chest. “I- what was that?” He asks, unable to stop the goofy grin from spreading across his face.

"It's what I wish I had done in high school," you admit, the adrenaline making your heart beat wildly in your ears as you seem to vibrate in place. "What I wish I had done every single day. I was scared my whole life, Max. But then I finally said it and you didn't hear me and that scared me more than anything else in the world. That I could have told you and you still didn't know."

“You- you like me?” He asks dumbly, shaking his head and points to himself. “Me?”

"Yes, you." But since Max has had as terrible a time believing in his own self-worth as you have, there is no bite to your insistence. "Since well before senior year, if I'm honest. But courage isn't my strong suit."

“I- you don’t like Kim?” He frowns in confusion and closes his eyes. “Me. You like me. You’ve liked me.” He repeats softly. “Why?”

"Because...even though we were different we had important things in common. We had a whole town and our own families telling us to give up on our dreams and we worked our way up from the dirt. Both of us. You're...you're so smart, Max. And so much sweeter than you have ever given yourself credit for. And unbearably handsome, even when we were teenagers and everyone was some kind of gawky and awkward. You just...you made me want to be a better, stronger person." You shrug slightly, suddenly feeling self-conscious all over again, and shove your hands back in your pockets. "I always thought if I learned enough about the world and showed you I could be as smart as you that you might...you might think I could be more than just your friend. But when you came home from college you would always tell me about other girls and I just...I figured that if I had ever had a chance, I lost it on prom night."

“I didn’t think I had a chance.” Max admits quietly. “Believe me, I wanted you. You were just always way too good for me.” He shrugs his shoulders and shoves his own hands in his pockets. “I was lying about the girls. No one was talking to me. Not until Genji. I was trying to impress you, but you just seemed to be okay with it, so I thought you were just my friend.”

“I just wanted you to be happy,” you murmur, wishing you had been better at seeing the signs or braver about asserting your own desire. “Even if it was with someone else…even if it broke my heart.”

“I wish I had told you how I felt. Alistair could have been ours together. But I would not have wanted you to leave me like Genji.” Max murmurs.

“I wouldn’t have left.” He may not believe you, but it’s true. Some people would probably call you blind with devotion. Maybe it is? Who knows. “When you were up there…Doing your broadcast?” The breath you let out is shaky at best. “I just kept wishing you could hear me. That that might make a difference to you somehow…I guess it didn’t work.”

Max frowns slightly and tilts his head. “What was I supposed to hear? There was one voice in my head that kept telling me to be happy.”

“To remember your happiness?” You look up at him with such hope that it is almost too much, but you can’t help it. “Maybe it was conceited of me. Or desperate. I just wanted you to remember that people love you as you are.”

“To remember my happiness.” Max nods. The influx of emotions and wishes were much more than he had anticipated and it seemed to jumble together at one point but that voice stood out. “That is...something I am working on.” He admits quietly.

"If that isn't me...or you don't want to..." Looking around reminds you that you are very much in public still and you press your lips together nervously. "Maybe we should talk about this upstairs?"

“Upstairs. Yes, upstairs.” He glances around and flushes slightly. “We should talk upstairs. And I can let Señora go home. Alistair should be asleep.”

When you make it up to his apartment, Señora Ramos is watching a movie on tv without a care in the world. Alistair apparently tired himself out reading an hour ago and all has been quiet since.

“So-“ as soon as the door closes behind Señora Ramos, Max is nervous and claps his hands together. Feeling vulnerable now that you know everything. “Do you….want….” He looks around. “A drink! Do you want a drink?”

“Maybe just water.” After the amount you both had earlier, and what you have to talk about, you want a chance to clear your head.

“Water is good.” He agrees, bobbling his head and rushing towards the small, galley style kitchen that he was lucky to have. Some apartments didn’t even have a kitchen.

“Max…” Leaning against the counter, you take down two glasses and slide them over to him. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about.”

“Sure I do.” Max snorts, opening the freezer to grab the ice tray. “It’s not like you tell the girl you’ve had a crush on since you were twelve that you thought she was a lesbian.”

“I’m still wondering why you thought that.” Mostly out of curiosity, of course. Though the news that he’s liked you as long as you’ve liked him is both satisfying and a little bittersweet. You could have had something so long ago if just one of you had been brave.

“You said that Kim is the person that you most enjoyed, you never talk about any men, now or back in school.” He shrugs, mildly embarrassed. “I know that people have been….more open….than they were back when we were close. Maybe…I don’t know, maybe I thought it made sense.”

“I never talked about boys I liked to you because I’ve always liked you.” It isn’t exactly an easy thing to admit to him, but the cat is very much out of the bag at this point. “Kim has been my closest friend for a long time. I absolutely adore her. But my love for her isn’t romantic. She’s like the sister I never had.”

"I am foolish." Max hangs his head and sighs. "I am sorry." He murmurs quietly.

“Please don’t be.” Stepping cautiously closer to him in his little kitchen, you take the glass of water he hands you and have a sip. “If you hadn’t thought so, you might not have said anything. And then we never would have come clean.”

He hadn't looked at it that way and he bites his lip as he watches you. "What do you want?" He asks softly, still irrationally fearful of rejection, but also hopeful.

It’s a vague question, but the context is so specific. Specific enough that you are shocked he feels the need to ask, but grateful that he isn’t simply assuming. “Ideally?” You ask, and wait for him to nod shyly. “I want what I’ve always wanted. To be with you. But I understand if that’s too much to ask.”

"I- you know that people hate me, no?" He asks, scrunching up his brows. "Mi amor, it would be hell to be with me. Are you sure that is what you want?"

It isn’t a trick question, but you put down your water after another sip and hoist yourself up to sitting on the edge of the counter. “I want you to respect me. To love me and treat me well, and listen to my day regardless of whether it was good or bad. I want you to trust me and talk to me and confide in me and be silly with me. I don’t give a damn what anybody else thinks of you. Be a good partner to me and I’ll be one to you, and that’s all that matters.”

"I do respect you." He promises. "I wasn't a good partner, not to Genji, but I want to be one. I will be one for you." He knows that he has made mistakes, but he feels like he won't make them again. His ideas for success have changed and as long as he can take care of his son and provide him with a happy, safe childhood, he will consider himself blessed.

"Then that's all I need to know." The shy smile on your lips tips up the corners of your mouth and you shrug guiltily. "Almost all." You admit when he gives you an incredulous look. "I also kinda want to know if you meant it when you called me amor a second ago..."

His eyes widen when he realizes his slip of the tongue and his tan complexion darkens further as he flushes in embarrassment. He hadn't meant to say it, but it was something that he thought often. "Yes." He admits quietly, but his shoulders don't round. "I did."

“Then that’s all I need to know.” You know your cheeks are burning but you truly don’t care. This is more than half a lifetime of pining coming to a head right now and you are so unbelievably touched that you aren’t the only one that has held onto the flame this long. It makes it special in a very unconventional way - as if you were being rewarded somehow.

He doesn't quite understand what you might be thinking but he nods. "Yes." He murmurs, wondering what he could say right now that would be interesting and flirty.

“So…” You shift slightly on the counter and tilt your head at him. “Are you sure you want to be with me, then?”

Max has had to bluff his way through many meetings, promising things that he couldn’t give the men who wanted to invest with him, or were thinking of investing with him. He doesn’t use that smarmy, painted on charm to reassure you. This time, it’s his own thin courage that has him stepping closer and reaching out to hold onto your waist as he steps closer again. “Yes.” His voice breaks softly from how low it dips. His lips curving up slightly. “Very sure.”

"Better late than never, right?" The warmth of his hands seeps through your clothes, waking up every inch of your skin and making you sit up a little straighter as he comes closer. That little smile of his is contagious.

“Only a lifetime of regret and enough stories to fill a book.” Max snorts.

"Some things are good enough to slog through all the hell for," you remind him softly. "It gave you Alistair."

“It brought me back to you. As well.” He reminds you, smiling at the thought. “But I want to do something else right now.”

"Oh you do, do you?" There is a distinctly boyish - maybe even mischievous - expression on his face that you've never seen before and it works for him. "What would that be?"

“I want to kiss you.” He admits, leaning in and his eyes flicker to yours. “Can I kiss you?” You had kissed him before, so he wants to do this.

It's beyond you to not be excited about it, even more than a little giddy as you nod and let your legs naturally slide apart to make a place for him to stand between them at the counter. "As much as you want."

He steps forward again, this time fitting himself in the space you allocated for him and leans in more, pressing the evidence of his desire against your belly as he cups your cheek and drops his lips onto yours.

The first press is soft but sure, and you almost startle feeling him press so obviously against you, but it is delicious. Instead of drawing away or jumping back or politely pretending not to notice, you lean in that much more surely and trap his hard on between both of your bodies. You may not have soaked through your panties just yet, but the heat rolling off of you is unmistakable. as unmistakable as your enthusiasm for kissing him again.

Groaning, he’s happy you don’t push him away. Instead you’re pulling him closer and his arms are wrapping around you to deepen the kiss.

Your knees bracket his hips, holding him tight against you and letting yourselves get lost in the moment. It's slower this time, deepening less frantically but no less ardently. Twenty years of wanting from both of you is being poured into this moment and you'll be damned if you're going to rush it.

He doesn’t try to push this beyond a kiss, although he aches to. He has no idea how long he leans into you, making out with you as if you are teenagers again.

No one could accuse either of you of a lack of enthusiasm. If you had not already been sitting on this counter you might have swept everything off of it just to get him to sit you here, enjoying what easy access you have to all of the most important parts of him. Access that - despite the fact that you have absolutely soaked through your panties and probably your pants as well - you don't know if you should be taking. Pulling yourself back from the edge of control and catching your breath is tricky, but you focus your eyes on him and feel your heart skip that all-important beat. "Max..." As much as you want to whine, your voice pitches down to be soft and rasping. "Is it too fast to ask if I can touch you?"

He’s conflicted. Not because he thinks it’s too fast, but he’s still coming to terms with the idea you want him. “You-“ he clears his throat when his voice breaks again. “You can do whatever you want to me.” He answers honestly.

"Then we should not stay in this kitchen." The grin you flash him is mischievous but oh so promising, and your hands slide up his shoulders to let your fingers just touch the trim edge of his hair. "Take me to bed, Max."

______

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idolatrybarbie · 10 months ago

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main masterlist | pmamc masterlist

summary: For PMAMC '24. Blackjack has the best odds of winning in any casino game. All you have to do is beat the dealer. Still, the notion doesn’t comfort Maxwell Lord. He likes to be certain. He likes to win.

rating & word count: explicit - 18+ only, minors & blank blogs get blocked! | 4.9k

content tags: takes place in the 80s, fem!OC with no physical descriptions, gambling (pls don't), alcohol and references to it, descriptions of fake gore and blood, reader smokes, references to domestic violence and abuse, smut - pegging, anal fingering, come eating, praise.

tags & notes: @amanitacowboy | I had to watch several videos on how blackjack works for this. Still don't get it.

The noise of the room bubbles up around him, the sound of slots and smell of money threatening to slosh over like a spilled drink. The colourful trill of fruit machines announcing another loser can’t penetrate Max’s focus like it was designed to. His eyes are glued to the velvet green table, watching the vested woman with a crooked smile deal out another round of cards.

Blackjack has the best odds of winning in any casino game. All you have to do is beat the dealer. Still, the notion doesn’t comfort Maxwell Lord. He likes to be certain. He likes to win.

The dealer lays out a new hand with deft fingers. A three and a queen; six and an ace; the Queen and Jack of Spades; another ace and another three. Cancel, cancel, two high cards, another cancel. He adjusts the count in his head. Minus two.

With the hand played, the woman at the end of the table with wire-framed glasses surrenders. Half of her bet returns to the pot, the other half scooped up by the dealer. The two other men at the table double down. Max bets only a few chips, swiping a hand through the front strands of his sandy brown hair.

The cards sit at minus two against the players, in favour of the dealer. As she doles out a new crop of cards, he keeps counting. A five; a ten; the Queen of Clubs; a four. The round ends at minus three.

He’s keeping track, visualizing the numbers bright and shiny at the forefront of his mind. Max counts the hits and stands as the new deck is laid out, the running count increasing to twelve over the next couple games. He bets five hundred dollars in the next game, immediately receiving an ace and the King of Spades. At this three-to-two table, he’s just won 750 dollars.

The dealer is asking if he wants to continue playing, carrying his winnings over into the next round. Max’s focus has left the table and the small mountain of chips he can call his own. His eyes are drawn to the stage at the back of the long casino hall, smoke polluting the air around the draped black curtains before they pull away.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a proud voice booms over the sound system. “Please put your hands together for…the amazing Killian Loftus!”

A platform parts within the floor of the stage, a man slowly rising from beneath on a silver plate of metal. He sports a finely pressed suit, the tails swaying as he walks a few steps away from his spot, accepting the applause he’s given. As he’s smiling at the crowd gathered near the stage, a woman struts across the shiny floor to stand next to him.

Her tights are sheer black, covering the smooth landscape of her legs and thighs up to her crotch. From there, they disappear under a silky black bunny suit that cuts high at her hips, a fanciful bow tie collar around her neck. In place of rabbit ears sits a small top hat. She waves at the audience, waggling each finger. As this woman scans over the sectioned sea of people, Maxwell swears they make eye contact from across the room.

The dealer at the blackjack table asks him if he’d like to rejoin once more. He glances back only for a moment, shaking his head with a brisk no in her direction. Max haphazardly shuffles his chips into his clear plastic rack, making sure to count every one. When he’s organized himself, he leaves the cushioned leather seat at the gambling table to join the crowd close to the stage. A seat in the back suits him just fine, the parting of heads in front of him leaving a perfect view to the magician and his beautiful assistant.

The great Killian Loftus’ first bout of magic involves slight of hand tricks performed on a murky glass orb. He shuffles it in his palm as onlookers ooh and ahh. When he seemingly extracts another, smaller glass ball from the original one and regards the audience with a look of feigned surprise, Max can’t help himself as he rolls his eyes. Observing the stage, he can see that Loftus’ assistant feels a bit of the same. She sits perched on a black stool staring at her fingernails, forgotten in the act.

It’s another ten minutes of card tricks and optical illusions before Killian announces, “And now…for my greatest trick! I will make my dazzling Bunny here disappear.”

Bunny. Can’t be her real name, but Max likes the sound of it for now. He imagines, for a brief moment, gritting out that name as she bounces on his cock. The thought has him stiffening in his slacks already.

Bunny stands from her stool, walking behind the shadowy black curtain. When she reappears, she’s wheeling a long purple coffin onto the stage. On top of the box is a saw. Bunny hands it to Loftus, who holds it up for the audience to see. At first, Max can’t tell if it’s real or fake. When Killian drags his pointer finger along one of its rigid teeth, he winces, finger coming away bloody. Definitely real.

He sucks at his finger, the blood disappearing as Bunny gets into the gaudy casket. She looks at the people in the crowd once more, the stage lights highlighting a kilowatt smile. Laying back in the box, Bunny disappears as Loftus secures a sparkling lid over top of her. Max knows that by now, his assistant will have slipped through the fake bottom of the box, crouched at the bottom of the curtained cart that the coffin traveled in on.

Loftus asks, “Now, you’re in there for certain Bunny?”

The audience can only hear muffled speech from inside the box.

“How ‘bout you just knock for us, sweetheart?” the magician asks. The pure condescension in his tone makes Max’s blood boil in the slightest. Even if it’s an act, where does a guy like that get off on acting so…lordly.

It’s not his job to save her, Max knows this. He is simply here to watch. And watch he does.

A knock is heard from inside the box, confirming to the audience that Bunny is still with us. That’s when Killian takes the saw, setting it right in the middle of the coffin. He begins to cut into the wood, sweat beading at his retreating hairline between the exertion and the stage lights.

“Folks, you are about to watch me tear this sweet girl apart,” he says. Max doesn’t miss the innuendo, huffing under his breath. “And then! I will put her right back together.”

The saw moves further and further through the coffin, eventually reaching whereabouts Bunny’s body would lay. As Loftus continues to saw, a tearing sound accompanies the grating noise of splitting wood. Killian’s brow pinches in confusion, his hand slowing but not stopping. As he cuts deeper, red liquid trickles down the front side of the cedar box. That trickle grows to a stream, crimson pouring from the coffin as the rip of something softer grows louder.

Members of the crowd begin to stand, cries and shouts for Loftus to stop erupting from their seats.

“If you’ll all just give me a moment here…” he says with a grunt. Finally, he cuts through the last inch of the coffin. When he lays the saw down on the floor of the stage, it smeared in what can only be blood. It slides out of the box easily, pooling by the magician’s spiffy dress shoes. “Everyone calm down,” Killian says. “There’s nothing to worry about. See?”

As he asks the question, he pulls apart the two halves of the coffin. Inside, what looks to be the corpse of Bunny has been split into two parts. Her guts are spilled between the two halves like webbing, slopping onto the floor as Killian Loftus pulls her large intestine taut. A woman in the crowd screams, the rest of them tittering nervously. A man in the front row hurls onto the wine-stained carpet. Max’s own stomach roils at the sight. He covers his mouth and looks away.

That’s when he spots her. The assistant—Bunny, or whatever her real name is. Distinctly not sawed in half, waltzing away in her towering heels; she slips between poker tables, dodging players left and right. Wherever she’s going, she is in a hurry. Max can’t help himself, standing to follow. He gets one last look at the stage. Two security guards have a hold on each of Loftus’ arms, holding him still as a third whips out metal cuffs from his utility belt. For all they know, he’s just committed live murder.

The air outside the casino is cool against Maxwell’s skin. He catches his breath, taking in lungfuls at a time as he glances around the sidewalk bathed in neon lights. The hustle and bustle of foot traffic nudges him back closer to the doors, chips still safe against his ribs. The smell of tobacco invades his nose. Max looks to his left, and there she is. Still in her bunny suit, the mysterious woman pulls a cigarette from her lips to look at him. She flashes him her smile again, blindingly beautiful.

“Out here by yourself, handsome?” she asks, taking another drag.

“I was looking for you,” Max admits.

“Weren’t too amused by my little stunt, huh?”

“I thought it was brilliant.”

“Brilliant?” the woman asks, eyebrows raising with the word. She seems to take a moment to mull that over—mull him over, before she says, “Well thanks.”

“Of course,” Max returns.

Then she says, “You know, you’re pretty brilliant yourself. I saw you at the blackjack table.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” he smiles.

“Your lips twitch every time the there’s a cancel. A draw,” the magician’s assistant says. “It’s your tell.”

Maxwell didn’t think he had one. He’s surprised it’s taken this long for anyone to notice. If she has, that means she’s been watching him a lot longer than their shared look at the start of the show.

“And what’s yours?” he asks, taking a bold step closer. By now, the cigarette has burned down to the filter. Bunny lets it fall to the cement, crushing it under the toe box of her heel.

“What if I said I don’t have one?” she asks, voice low and sultry. She smells like cigarettes and spearmint.

“Everyone has a tell,” Maxwell says.

Her lips are so close to his now. He can see the microscopic specks of glitter in her gloss as she speaks, barely a whisper.

“I guess you’ll just have to find mine.”

Right when Max moves in for a kiss, she pulls away.

“But first,” Bunny says. “I need a favour.”

“Anything,” he says instantly. A dog on a leash.

She pulls a scrap of paper from her bra, taking a hold of Max’s hand and folding it into his palm. He relishes in its warmth, cock stirring once again as he thinks about what this paper has touched. He wants to hold her, caress every part of her beautiful body.

“You need to get into this room. It’s reserved for Loftus. Under the bed, there’s a briefcase. Bring it to me.”

“Where can I find you?” he asks.

She simply says, “You’ll find me, baby.”

The magician’s assistant walks away with a sway in her hips. Max is mesmerized by her ass in that outfit, watching ‘til she disappears around the corner. He almost goes after her, stopping himself. He schools his desperation into determination. Retrieve a briefcase? Max can surely manage that. He looks at the address scribbled down on the paper. Just south of here, a little ways up Las Vegas Boulevard.

First, he returns to the casino to cash out his chips. 750 dollars richer, he exits the building once again to join the people on the street. Walking down the long strip, he keeps an eye out for the place he’s looking for. The hotels and casinos tower over him and everyone else, overwhelming in their grand stature. Lights of all colours bathe different sections of his vision; everything highlighted, all of it begging for his attention and the opening of his wallet.

Max reaches the address on the piece of paper, staring up at the MGM Grand. Across the street from replica Lady Liberty, this has to be the largest building in mass size that he’s ever seen. The glass structure seems to glow, alternating black and wizard green stripes lining its entirety. He doesn’t take too long to gawk, ducking his head and moving toward the entrance.

Through the abstract front doors, marble flooring slides beneath his feet. The lobby is dotted with hundreds of pot lights. In the middle of everything is a branded flower garden. From this distance, Max can’t tell if the plants are real or fake. All he can focus on is the life-sized golden lion statue sitting among them on a pedestal. A spotlight filters down on the creature from the divoted, sparkling ceiling.

It is purely overwhelming. All of it makes his eyes hurt. Maxwell simultaneously wants it all, and wishes everything would disappear.

The slip of paper has details for the penthouse on the thirtieth floor. Maxwell beelines for the elevator, getting on alone. The doors creep closed in front of him as he scans over the buttons panel. Twenty-nine glowing circles wait for him. Number thirty has a hole next to it, the light behind it dead. Running a thumb over it, he can tell that it’s fit for a key. The elevator doesn’t move, the doors opening again moments later. Max walks back into the lobby, eyes darting around as he forms a plan.

He’s a smart man. Quick-thinking; had to be growing up, having only mere moments to make decisions before his father burst into one of his unpredictable rages. His heart would pound, lungs floating without air in his chest as he got to work with his rational brain. The part of him that pointed out the best hiding spots under the bed or in his mom’s closet, or when was a good time to ditch the house for a few hours entirely.

That same part of his mind starts working again now, taking in his surroundings instead of fighting them, positing the best solution. Max takes a deep breath, reorganizing himself. He can do this. He starts walking to the lobby desk, leaning into a bit of Mick Jagger swagger. When he reaches the counter, he spreads his hands over the edge of it, the ring on his finger catching the light.

“Sweetheart,” Max begins, imitating Killian Loftus’ grating persona. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I can’t seem to find my key.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Can I have your name and room number?” the woman behind the desk asks. Her hair is tightly crimped, blonde ends singed with heat damage. Max gives her a smirk, informing her of the booking under Loftus’ name for the uppermost suite.

“Alright sir,” she says, looking through pages in a guest book. “I’ll just need to see some identification and we will be right on our way.”

Shit. These goddamn hotels are moving towards hokey technology, getting rid of guestbooks and good old metal keys. Maxwell weathered the thin skin of his lip, pivoting his strategy. Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, he pulled out a few bills from his gambling winnings.

“How much to overlook that little requirement?” Max asks.

“Four hundred dollars,” the woman says immediately.

Max blinks at her, turning away for only a moment. All of this for one woman? One woman whom he barely knows, who’s really promised him nothing. But her beautiful face, that tantalizing smile… Fuck.

He turns back to the hotel attendant, skimming through the crisp cotton bills with his thumb to count out four hundred dollars. Max hands it to her over the counter. She discreetly tucks it into the breast pocket of her blazer, padded shoulders straightening up with pride. The attendant then hands Max a key, the metal ring dangling off her finger. He takes it from her, walking away as he unruffles his feathers.

Max returns to the elevator. The doors are about to close when a pale hand jams itself between them. They slip open again, a blonde couple glommed onto each other at the mouth joining him. Maxwell moves over in the compartment, giving them as much space as possible. The ride up feels impossibly long, the sounds of their lips pressing together making it entirely agonizing. They finally get off at the twenty-fifth floor, tumbling down the left side of the hallway to their room.

When he puts the key into the hole next to the thirtieth floor, the button lights up for him. Max presses it, loosening his tie a little as he ascends to the penthouse. The doors open with a slight ding! Setting foot into the luxury suite, he takes his time to look around. The latest and greatest model appliances deck out the kitchenette, the couch as plush as chinchilla fur. He takes his shoes and socks off, digging his toes into the soft shag carpet. Max could get used to this.

He remembers what he truly came here for like a jolt of electricity, scrambling to slide his Farragamo loafers back on, socks in hand. The briefcase. Right. Under the bed, she’d said.

Max quits milling about, looking for the bedroom among so many parlors and rooms. He finally finds it at the very back of the penthouse. He only has a moment to graze a palm over the fine linen sheets before he drops to his knees. Underneath the bed frame lies exactly what he’s looking for: the aforementioned briefcase.

Sliding it out from under the bed, Max stays kneeling on the carpet as he stares at it. He could open it, take a peek inside. Just to look, he tells himself. Anything could be in there. Money, diamonds, jewels…the thought gets him hard again. So does the promise of seeing her. He could give in to greed…or give in to her.

Really, it’s an easy choice to make.

You wait for the mystery man alone at the casino’s bar. If he has any sense, he’ll find you here. Or, you figure, he could take off with the briefcase. He’s probably opened it by now, already seen its tempting contents. You’d say that you are pissed, but you can’t really blame him.

It’s been almost an hour; a lot longer than you’d expect for a simple smash and grab. There wasn’t even the instruction to smash. No need for breaking added to this entering. No, the beautiful card counter with the light brown hair is long gone. Go figure.

“Bartender,” you signal him over, two fingers in the air. When the man shuffles to you with a towel over his shoulder, you say, “I’ll take another martini. Extra dirty this time.”

“You know, they say that dogs look like their owners,” you hear someone speak behind you. Turning slightly, you see the man from earlier—with the luscious locks and fleeting eyes, this time carrying a briefcase. The briefcase. He’s come back to you after all.

“So?” you ask. “Are you calling me a dog?”

“No, no, no,” he rushes out, immediately sitting down beside you. You like that. He’s quick to worry, easy to rile up. He seems to want you happy; to keep you pleased. “I was going to ask if the lady is like her drink.” He waits until the bartender sets the skinny glass in front of you. “Extra dirty.”

“Well, you’ve brought me what I asked for,” you say. “So that all depends on what you want…” You’re only now realizing that you don’t know this man’s name.

“Maxwell,” he offers you a hand. “Maxwell Lord.” You shake it carefully. His palms are a little sweaty. He sets the briefcase down on the bar with his other hand, eyes never leaving you.

“That’s a nice name. Maxwell Lord,” you say, testing it out on your tongue. He smiles as you say it.

“I assume your true name isn’t Bunny,” he says.

“You’ll be lucky enough to find out.” You take a sip of your drink, watching him watch you. “Y’know, I thought that you would stiff me.”

“You? Never,” Maxwell says. “I know it would haunt me for all of my days.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re too beautiful.”

That’s it. You need to see this man naked as soon as possible.

“You’re sweet,” you coo. Downing the rest of your drink in one go, you plop a few bills down on the sticky bar to cover your tab. Taking the briefcase by the handle, you offer him your other hand. “Shall we?”

“Absolutely, yes,” Maxwell nods.

You drag him through the casino, this time to a separate lobby attaching two buildings. Of course there’s a casino, bar, and hotel. One stop shopping for the tax break-wealthy drunkard with too much cash to blow. “Trickle down” your ass.

Your room on the fifth floor isn’t nearly as fancy as Killian’s at the Grand, but it’s cozy with a nice bed. That’s all the two of you need. Max doesn’t even try to take control—another thing you like. He’s a puppet and you’ve gathered his strings, pushing him back so he falls to the springy mattress.

“Okay, honey,” you say, kicking your heels off. You climb into his lap on the bed, settling over a distinct bulge in his pants. “You’re going to tell me what you want. I’ll make sure you feel real good. Okay?”

“Mhm,” Max nods. Your lips slide along his neck, leaving lipstick marks in your wake. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispers.

You pause, drawing yourself back to look in his eyes. He’s dead serious, face lax as he gazes upon you like you’re holding up the world. “You want me to fuck you?” you repeat.

“Please.” The word comes out all breathy, almost a whine drawn from Maxwell’s throat. How can you refuse him?

“Alright, baby.”

You pinch his cheek teasingly, getting off of him in search of your luggage. In the meantime, you tell him to strip. Behind you, Max starts to unbutton his shirt, discarding his baby blue suit jacket. You listen to him get undressed as you pull your suitcase up from underneath the hotel bed.

Unzipping the bag, you dig past your satiny outfits to the hidden compartment beneath your underwear. Finding what you need, you place the toy, harness, and small bottle of lubricant on the bed’s comforter. You can hear Maxwell pause as he shimmies out of his pants. When you see him again, his eyes are transfixed on the spread you have laid out.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you ask.

He returns to shedding his pants, then his calf-high cotton socks.

When he says, “Nothing. Nothing at all,” you cock your head, blinking at him.

“You can tell me,” you say, getting closer. Your hands brush over his bare shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Looks like a lot,” he says, eyeing the toy again.

“You can take it,” you say. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

He’s right; it is a lot. Eight solid inches of bendy silicone, all for him. You direct him onto the bed again, laying with his spine against the mattress. Max watches as you attach the thick toy to the leather harness with a metal O-ring. Then, you slip it on like a pair of panties, adjusting the buckles at your sides. Once you settle over him, you take his cock in your hand. Slow beginning strokes have Maxwell sighing against you as you kiss him.

“You were so good, Maxwell. Did a great job,” you say, sitting up.

“Y-you think so?” he asks, voice uneven.

“I know so.”

Spit runs past your lips down to where you hold him. It slides over the swollen tip of his length, down between the skin of your fingers. You ease him into slightly faster strokes, watching the way his eyes flutter with every movement. You wish you’d packed a camera for this outing to capture it permanently.

When you pull your hand away, Maxwell groans. Laid flat on the bed, you get a hold on one of his thighs, lifting it to his chest.

“Hand me that bottle, baby.”

Fumbling with the linens for a moment, Max gets a grip on the lube and hands it to you. The cap opens easily, a quick snap that brings Maxwell’s focus to your still-wet hand. He watches as a dollop of the clear gel falls to the middle of your palm. You fold your hand, spreading lubricant across the pads of your middle and pointer fingers.

You lean down towards him, tongue flat as you lick across his lips. Max moves his arms around you, hugging your body close to capture you in a sweet kiss. Tongue moving against yours, you guide your hand to his bottom half.

“You ready, honey?” you ask him.

He nods, kissing you again. You meet his tight rim with light touches, feeling Maxwell contract at the contact. As you ease a finger in slowly, he breaks away from your lips. Nuzzling into the crook of your neck, he practically purrs against your skin. Pushing deeper, his breath catches.

“That’s it, Maxwell. Feels good, doesn’t it?” you ask.

“Yes, it’s—oh god.”

“My clever boy… So good at doing what I tell you to, huh?”

“I want you to be—be happy. Content. So beautiful, I can’t…” Max rambles on.

You shush him gently, stroking the side of his face with your free hand. “Don’t worry honey. I know.”

Adding a second finger earns you a deep moan from the man beneath you. He’s being pulled in all directions, pleasure tearing him apart. His broad shoulders relax further into the bed, golden skin glowing with natural light. He is a truly alluring man. That’s why he caught your eye in the first place: someone so radiant amid the dim atmosphere of a Vegas casino.

Killian was a terrible business partner, cutting you only thirty percent of the money from any given con job you worked together. He was another seedy character in a town chock full of them. Eyeing Maxwell at that blackjack table, you saw an opportunity for something new. Someone new. Spiffy and sparkling, your very own Ken doll fresh from the packaging.

“You think you’re ready, gorgeous?” you ask, tone sweet as sugar.

“Always ready,” Maxwell answers.

His chest heaves with each pull of air into his lungs, anticipation keeping you both on edge. He watches you slather the dildo in a thick coating of lube, sliding it against Max’s balls. Then you notch the toy at the crux of his ass, head pressed against his hole. Inching slowly forward, you can’t choose between focusing on his pretty face or his ass swallowing the length of you.

“How does that feel?”

“Fantastic,” Maxwell sighs.

He takes half at first, speared open on the dildo as he measures his breathing. Max is flushed from his forehead to his cock, perspiration littering his body as precum drips from his swollen tip. You take him in hand again, stroking at soft skin in tandem with your thrusts. Small, stuttering gasps and groans fill the air as Maxwell holds you close, feeling almost every inch.

“You like my cock, honey?” you ask. “You’re so special. So, so special. A sweet boy that that takes my cock all nice…takes what I give him.”

You slow your movements to more languid pulses, barely leaving him as you rock forward.

“Fuck,” Max moans. “Please.”

“Oh, he likes that, huh?” You watch as Max’s hole swallows the rest of your lubed cock easily, hips flush with the backs of his thighs. “Greedy little boy. All eager to get fucked by me. I think you’d do anything for it.”

“Anything,” he agrees.

“Maybe next time, I’ll get you to beg.” Max moans again, holding your hips to press you deeper. “You want to kneel for me, honey? Get down on your knees all pretty for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Maxwell whispers in a chant.

“Think my pretty boy could get off just like that? On his knees, rubbing against the edge of my heel?”

“Please,” he begs you.

Your lips quirk into a smile as you watch him writhe beneath you. One word turns to a string of pleading, though you aren’t quite sure that Maxwell knows what he’s asking for. You speed up your thrusts and your hand. His eyes slip closed as he focuses on every sensation you’re giving him, hedging closer to that high just out of reach.

Leaning down over him, you catch him in a messy kiss. “Come on, baby. You can do it. Come for me.”

Maxwell heeds your words, tensing before his whole body relaxes at once. He paints the insides of his thighs and your belly with a groan, twitching with each aftershock. Dragging a finger through the mess on your skin, you collect some of his spend and push it past his lips, feeding it to him. Max suckles at your finger, tasting himself. He smiles when you take your hand back, dragging at his bottom lip.

You pull out of him slowly, discarding the harness and strap to lay down with him. Maxwell turns to face you, nose pressed to your collarbone. Idly petting his hair has him kissing your skin. Basking in the moment, you let something like bliss wash over you.

“So what do you say?” you ask eventually. “Partners?”

“Partners,” Maxwell agrees.

And that’s that.

#maxwell lord #ww84 #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord x you #max lord x reader #wonder woman 1984 #pmamc 2024 #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction #fic: stiff #except for queue

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coastielaceispunk · 2 years ago

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Seriously loved every second of this pair of Professors!

rumour has it - oneshot

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: When your office needs to be repaired, you have to share an office with Maxwell Lord, the man you (allegedly) can’t stand.

Word count: 4,664

Notes: I had the idea of doing academic rivals for a while with Maxwell Lord, but I decided to do a bit of a twist with it. This is a modern college au featuring Max as a business/economics professor and our reader as an English professor. There’s a lot of gossip and rumours surrounding their relationship, but nothing is as it appears. This was really fun to write and I hope you all enjoy it.

This fic is cross-posted to my AO3 account under the same name, which can be found linked in my masterlist. Follow @thewayofthemandalorian-writes and turn on notifications for fic updates.

Comments/reblogs appreciated.

Warnings: Rumours, gossip, references to affairs, kissing, references to sex, non-explicit sexual content (fingering, semi-public sex, needing to be quiet, interrupted sex).

masterlist (main) || masterlist (maxwell lord)

Keep reading

#fic rec #Maxwell my beloved #cheeky mic drop ending so good #max lord x reader #max lord x f!reader #justice for maxwell lorenzano #ww84 fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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missredherring · 9 months ago

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M.L. + "Please be gentle."

Maxwell Lord x Fat!Female Gorgon Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 940

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

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

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

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

Not beta'd. Any mistakes are my own.

Summary: "Please be gentle."

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#maxwell lord x fat reader #maxwell lord x fat female reader #maxwell lord x female reader #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x fat reader #max lord x fat female reader #max lord x female reader #max lord x reader #x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ww84

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coastielaceispunk · 1 year ago

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Liquid Dreams

Hello, lovelies, it has been too long! Life is finally calming down and I am so ready to get back into writing, thank you for your patience with me and all your love always. Returning by finally posting this forever wip of my favorite Pedro boy to write. This lil fic is dedicated to @lowlights on her birthday! My love, my soulmate, and forever beta babe, I love you! Happy birthday beautiful!

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F!reader

A Man’s World-Verse

Word Count: 1.9+k

Warnings: Established relationship, wet dream, consented somno, ass play, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cum play, cum eating, lil begging, dirty talk, a 'good boy' and a 'that’s my girl' among others, silliness and softness, sleepy sex.

Summary: You help Max through a wet dream and he treats you to a VERY good morning.

MASTERLIST

+++++

Opening your eyes barely in the early morning light, you hear distressing noises. No. Wait. Needy noises?

Blinking away the remaining sleep in your eyes while you stretch, your fingertips find the source of the desperate sounds all the way on the far side of the king-sized bed. The light caress of your fingernails on his exposed skin pulls a muffled whimper from his lips. You pause your hand’s movement and his breathing evens out again, still deep in sleep.

As you lean up on your elbow to see him, your brain takes a moment to catch up to what you are looking at. A quiet gasp leaves your parted lips. Max is laying on his stomach, face down on his pillow, his arms underneath and hands grasping the pillow tightly. The bed sheet is kicked all the way off of his naked body and his left leg is hiked up, facing away from you. His whole body glistens with a thin sheen of sweat and his mop of hair is sticking to his damp forehead. Somehow, he has worked his second pillow down between his thighs, and as you crane your neck to take in more of him, lingering on his adorable ass, you see how the firm pillow has pressed up into his crotch.

Little breathy whines sharpen your attention and the slow roll of his hips begins to captivate you. The welcoming pressure of the pillow surely causing such sounds. Max is humping his pillow in his sleep. Poor thing is having a wet dream. You cannot help but slide your equally naked body closer, his heat calling to you. He sleeps so deeply you wonder how much you can help him through whatever fantasy he is currently imagining.

When the tips of your fingers glide up the back of his warm thigh to the crease of his bottom, he starts to pant. You take so much pleasure in the effect your touch has on him. Even in sleep, he responds as if you are pure electricity on his skin. Then…he mumbles your name.

“Baby…please…more. I need more.” Max is dreaming about you. Fucking you. Being fucked by you maybe? Your pussy is wet with interest now, arousal finding its rightful place.

Leaning even closer, you place your hand on his hip to feel his rolling thrusts into the bed. With your lips to his ear, you whisper, “I can give you more, Maxie. Have you been a good boy?”

Max mewls into his pillow, hot and wet, drooling from your coaxing words as his hips pick up their pace, fucking his pillow further into the mattress.

You coo at him quietly to keep going as your soft touch moves from his hip to the round of his ass and then to where his balls are nestled between his weight and the squished pillow. His whines become clearer as you stroke the sensitive area beneath his balls with your knuckles. The friction of his cock along his tummy must be amazing because you can tell he is getting close by his stuttering breaths. Still dreaming, Max just needs something to push him over the hazy edge.

That’s when your wandering fingertips pull themselves upwards between his cheeks. Max looks so beautiful like this. Relaxed, responsive, vulnerable. He lets out a choked gasp when you press the pad of your middle finger to his tight entrance. He did want more.

“Good boy, Maxie. Come for me.”

Max pistons his hips so hard the whole bed shakes. With a strangled cry into his pillow, he comes for a long time. His hips continue to roll through his high and his arms unravel from under his pillow to pull his whole body further into the bed with an animalistic growl, feeling every second of sleepy ecstasy he can.

Once he stills and takes a few deep breaths you bring your hand back to his hip and roll him towards you. Max looks up at you with heavy-lidded, sleepy eyes, his face content and satisfied, his chest heaving. You can’t help but smile down at him in his disheveled state.

“Good morning, Maxwell,” you glance to where he fucked his come into the sheets, the large glossy stain mocking you, you wish it was covering you. Your eyes trail over to his softening cock and the little bit of come that covers his stomach, “you’ve made such a mess, baby, let me help you.”

Max’s hand grips your ass as you position yourself on your knees beside him to lean down and lick his tummy clean. His touch, a sign he is present now, makes you sigh.

“I think you’ve helped me plenty this morning, my darling,” Max groans as your lips suck every last bit of his spend off of him. His breath hitches when you kiss him lower on his hips and you look up to see that he is watching you closely. “So beautiful you are.”

Max hums as you continue mouthing at his stomach, hips and thighs, his fingers dip into your soaked folds from behind, “Oh, sweetheart.” Max leans up to crowd your space and lay you back with his full weight soliciting a comforted whine from your lips.

“Did making a mess of me turn you on, my love?” Max whispers into your neck as if you’re both still sleeping. His hands press and pull their way down your body as he rocks into you becoming hard again.

“Of course it did,” you counter, matter of factly.

“Of course,” Max repeats as he cups your mound making you outwardly moan. The tips of his thick fingers teasing your entrance.

“Baby, please. More,” you can’t help but beg his own words back to him.

“Anything for my dream girl.”

Your gaze finds his at the response, full of love and lust. Max then crashes his lips to yours in a passionate kiss just as two thick fingers thrust into you. He swallows your moans, curling his fingers up before pulling them all the way out to push them slowly back in. Over and over, the squelch of your arousal fills the humid morning air. Your hips move of their own accord seeking every inch of his long fingers.

The kiss turns feral and instinctive as you wiggle below Max and he ruts his renewed length into your thigh.

“Max…” you whine in a quick breath to his persistent lips and he knows what you need.

He reluctantly pulls back for air. “More?” Max asks already lifting to situate between your opening thighs. When he removes his fingers from your pussy, you groan, but he shushes you with quick kisses. You watch him shove his fingers, covered in you, between his kiss-swollen lips as he lines himself up with your slick entrance.

“Fuck, baby, just had to…” Max sheaths himself fully, “...taste you.” He is talking with his mouth full of his own fingers, does he still think he’s dreaming?

All you can do is cling to his sides. He worked you up so fully he glides in easily and the thick tip of him punches deep within. Both of you are so open in the early minutes of waking, trading groans and sighs when he starts to move. The soft leisure turns to heavy purpose as your bodies awaken together.

As he finds his pace, Max removes his fingers from between his lips, his tongue chasing the taste of you that lingers, and slides his hand between your warm bodies to circle their slickness over your swollen clit. His slack-jawed expression makes you clench around him as his touch dips lower to feel how you open to take all of him. Max’s groan of approval makes your eyes roll back and once he is satisfied his fingers find your clit again with more pressure.

“You feel so good, so tight, around me, baby,” Max grunts with a couple of particularly deep thrusts moving you up the bed into your pillows.

Plummeting towards your climax you pull Max down to you, locking your ankles above his ass and start to meet him thrust for thrust pulling him even deeper. He falls to his elbow, his other hand trapped, and his lips seek the plushness of your breasts that have pressed into him under his weight. Sloppy, wet open mouth kisses stain your cleavage and when he pulls one of your nipples into his mouth with a harsh suck, you cry out his name.

“Max! Ma-Max…oh fu-” you cut yourself off with an indulgent moan that has you gasping for air as your orgasm rips through your whole body. Your toes tingle, your fingers ache with how tight you fisted Max’s hair, and you feel as if you are waking up all over again rolling through the haze of your climax.

“That's my girl, squeezing me so good, so wet, so warm,” Max continues to grind deep into you as you ride out the last waves of your orgasm whimpering and whining under him. You know he is starting to seek his second release when he begins to murmur and mumble into your neck. Both of his hands now grasp the back of your neck, your ass, and your hips, anything he can hold to feel all of you. He always needs more and you are the one to give it to him.

Through his loud panting and heavy breathing he doesn’t hear your question, “wha..?” He's just so caught up in you.

“I said,” you pant into his ear as he picks up his pace again, “Tell me. Tell me what you were dreaming about.”

As if the memory crashes into him all at once Max whines and his hips start to falter.

“Tell. Me.” You whisper and nibble his earlobe.

Now he is frantic and gasps for air, “I…baby…you…I was where you are right now.”

“Ohh? I was filling you up?”

“Y-yes,” Max whimpers as your hands travel back down to his ass, his high pitched sounds telling you he's nearly there again.

“Taking me so good…right…” your middle finger trails between his cheeks again and really presses to his puckered entrance, “here?”

“YES, baby, oh god!”

Max comes hard inside of you, his final thrusts seeking more pressure from your finger and when it slipped just inside the tiniest bit, he was thrown over the edge with a husky shout. A few more lazy thrusts and he's done painting your pussy, his come leaking out of you around his softening cock staining the sheet below.

He pulls out of you with a soft grunt and collapses comically next to you on the bed falling partially on his first, still wet spot. The way he pulls his arms into himself and his scrunched face makes you giggle. As he laughs too you roll over to lay on his chest. He holds you in his arms catching his breath as you draw patterns into his chest freckles.

“Is that something you would like me to do, Max? Something you would like to do together?” You quietly speak after a stretch of silence watching the rising sun’s rays peek through the blinds.

“If you are comfortable with trying, my darling, I think I would like it very much.”

“I love doing everything with you, Maxie.”

He smiles at you softly, stroking your sex-wild hair from your face. His sleepy face is now bright with love and possibility.

“My dream girl.”

+++++

This may lead to another fic....

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#happy birthday my love!!#our maxie #switch!Maxie #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord x you #maxwell lorenzano #maxwell lord #justice for maxwell lorenzano #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #maxwell lord ww84

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gosmigenergy · 11 months ago

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FEELS LIKE CHRISTMAS / Maxwell Lord (Lorenzano) x F! Reader

Summary: Celebrating Christmas for the first time with Maxwell.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Mostly holiday fluff but turns explicit, holiday stress, mentions of family, mentions of Christmases alone, mentions of food, drinking, sixty-nine dude, oral - male receiving, oral - female receiving, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), language, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 5.9k

Author’s Notes: I did plan on making some continuous fics about Bunny and the Boys but I work in retail, have just come back from Iceland (panini delayed holiday) and I’m going to Norway to visit my sister over Christmas. When I was considering what to do because I really wanted to post something, I found this unfinished Maxwell Lorenzano seasonal story hidden away on my computer.

Anyway, enjoy!

You normally loved the season, you basked in multicoloured lights, engulfed by the smell of roasting chestnuts, ears ringing with the constant playing of hymns and cheesy pop songs.

However this was the first year you and Maxwell chose to celebrate Christmas, with him came Alistair and with him came the pressure of presents. For Maxwell, they had to be perfect even though he wasn’t loaded with fake Black Gold money, he had to give his son what he never had, the one gift every kid was asking for.

The Ghostbusters Firehouse was proving to be one of the most desired toys of the season, it had been since Halloween.

Alistair had dressed as one for the school disco, you’d found a jumpsuit and dyed it brown, found an embroiderer who made the name tag and spent hours building a Proton Pack from cardboard boxes. All that effort was worth it, to see that kid running up the steps with several other Ghostbusters in similar attire, be it triple the price.

“I love you,” Maxwell said, beaming with a lopsided grin and tears framing his eyes.

In that moment, you felt a warmth that you’d never quite felt before, one that was reflective of a proud parent.

You didn’t feel that right now.

After hours of following the herd, going into what felt like every toy shop in DC and coming out empty handed each time, you broke.

“Alistair is back in two and a half hours, I just want to go home,” you cried. You were literally crying on a bench, cheeks hot with the freezing air.

Maxwell’s smile had disappeared long ago, replaced with a straight line.

“Fine.”

He huffed into the space next to you.

The bus ride home was quiet, Maxwell keeping his emotions to himself, his grip tight on the shopping bags. You’re grateful as the tension seemed to drop a little when you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Please talk to me.”

The pair of you had finally stripped yourselves of your winter accessories and coats, abandoning the gifts in your bedroom to stop prying eyes, yet neither of you had said a word.

“What’s there to talk about? I’m a shit father who couldn’t get a present for his son.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Maxwell Lorenzano,” you walk to him and place your hands on his cheeks so he couldn’t look away. “You are not a shit father.”

His deep brown eyes glossed, his chin crinkling as he tried to stop himself from having an absolute meltdown.

“I can’t even get my kid the one toy he wants, what am I going to do?

“What are we going to do? I’m not letting you blame yourself for this. This is companies exploiting Christmas, making people feel shit for things out of their control.”

“Don’t you love Christmas?”

“Yeah but not this. Not making a father feel guilty for not getting his son a toy, that’s not what this is about. I love everything around that, the delight of snow and the rush of having to get outside. The warmth of a hot chocolate settling in your stomach, nights on the couch wrapped in copious amounts of blankets with It’s a Wonderful Life on the tv…”

Your heart twinges.

“The smile on the face of someone you love getting something unexpected, the voice on the other end of the phone as you wish them happy holidays.”

That’s what it always was for you. Your family far away, you unable to afford to get home.

“Mi amour.”

Maxwell brought a thumb to your cheek and caught the tear that had escaped.

You sigh, “It’s just been a long day.”

“I know.”

He pulled you close, resting his slopping nose on top of your head, breathing you in. You hold each other for a fragile moment.

“I need to go and have a think, ok?”

He kissed your forehead.

You nod before looking around your shrinking space, somehow the apartment the three of you shared was getting smaller.

“I’ll get this place in order before Alistair arrives and start on dinner.”

“Thank you, baby.”

He walked away almost defeated.

“Hey, you better not go in there and make some elaborate plan to make everyone’s deepest desires come true.”

“That was one time.”

You giggle.

A while later, the knock at the door interrupts your flow but you couldn’t stay mad for long when that wide smile greets you.

“Max, Alistair’s here!”

You’re almost knocked back as he throws himself at your legs and in for a hug, you squeeze his head to save yourself from falling.

“How’ve you been?”

“Good.”

“How was your mom?”

You didn’t really care, you were just making pleasantries to try and pretend you didn’t find the woman absolutely insufferable. When he lets go and gives you a shrug, you take the hint.

Ok, you mouthed.

“Alistair,” Maxwell appeared, his smile matching his son’s as he fell to his knees to embrace him enthusiastically. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

“Me too, mom said she wants to talk to you, she’s downstairs.”

“Alright, why don’t you help with dinner?”

“Ok!”

Alistair ran to the kitchen.

You guessed what this might be, the exchange of presents from ‘Santa’ as discussed between them. Alistair was going to be away from his mother for the holidays, not that either of them seemed to mind. You and Maxwell would have him until New Year so you had plenty planned.

“I’m sure you can keep him distracted for a while.”

“Of course,” you winked.

---

“Why is your tree so small?”

Alistair cocked his head to the artificial tree placed on a side table next to the television.

“Oh, I got that tree when I first moved to DC. I couldn’t afford much but I was desperate for some sort of Christmas decoration and there it was, last on the shelf at Goodwill.”

“Were you on your own that Christmas?”

“Yeah, my family were all back home.”

“Have you ever been back?”

“No, I’ve never had the chance. Though I’ve had loads of good Christmases here with friends and neighbours, Mrs Zonana gave me the biggest chocolate log you’ve ever seen.”

“Really?! Do you think she’ll make one for the party?”

“I’m sure she will.”

“Have you ever wanted a big tree? Mom had one that almost reached the ceiling.”

You shrug, “I’ve never thought about it, it’s just been me but, yeah, I guess something a little bigger would be nice.”

“And colourful lights for the window?”

The more he inquired, the more excitable he became and your smile grows.

“Colourful lights would be good too.”

“How’s everything going in here?”

Maxwell wrapped his hands around your waist, the chill prominent from his trip outside. He rested his chin on your shoulder and looked down at the carnage of flour, butter and cheese, Alistair’s hands coated in the ingredients.

“It’s gonna be later than expected.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“It’ll be worth the wait.”

---

“Can I just sleep here tonight?”

Alistair’s eyes were heavy, belly full from dinner and his body warm from a combination of flannel pyjamas and a fleece blanket.

“No, we all need to go to bed.”

Maxwell was the only one moving, he’d cleaned up and offered to make special hot chocolates, two of which would feature alcohol. He handed his son a mug brimming with whipped cream and marshmallows.

“But it’s comfy here,” he moaned.

“I can’t disagree with him.”

You were stretched on the couch, waiting for Maxwell to return to fill the space he left behind. He was your headrest, allowed you to snuggle within the crook of his arm and listen to his heart beat slowly. Once he was back, you were asleep for sure.

“Everyone is going to bed,” he reiterated.

He remembered the last time the pair of you fell asleep on the couch, his cricked neck played up for almost a week.

“Boooo.”

“Careful you two or Santa won’t bring you presents.”

Alistair laughed.

“Oh dad, Santa isn’t real.”

“What makes you say that?”

You try to deflect, Maxwell was hoping for another year of illusion at least.

“Jake told me.”

Curse you, Jake.

“Well, it’s not that he’s not real, it’s more that you’re old enough to allow Santa to bring joy to another kid. He’ll make sure this year’s extra special, I’m sure of it.”

His expression scrunched, “That sounds rubbish.”

“Oh no,” Maxwell shook his head, “it’s very true.”

Alistair’s eyes flitted between both of you and you knew the game, keep a straight face just long enough for him to believe you.

“That’s cool.”

He continued to watch the Christmas special on the tv. Maxwell handed you your hot chocolate and slipped into his spot. He let you settle back before leaning down and kissing the top of your head.

His words were soft, “Thank you, baby.”

You had gone to check on Alistair one last time before heading to bed.

“He’s out of it.”

Maxwell was already cosy under the duvet, glasses on as he read a battered copy of A Christmas Carol. Closing the door gently, you tiptoed across the room and slide into the other side, resting your fuzzy head on the pillow.

“How are you not dizzy reading after that drink?”

“Because I didn’t put an extra shot in mine.”

“Max!”

“What? You deserved it.”

You huff, you can’t stay mad at his stupid face, his wide toothy smile looking down on you.

“How did it go… with the present swap?”

He put his book down, “Fine.”

Maxwell was a man of little words when it came to his ex wife.

“You know you told Alistair that white lie about Santa Claus? Well, lucky for us, she managed to get that firehouse.”

“Of course,” you scoff.

The moment Maxwell lost his ‘wealth’, his then wife dropped him for someone who could pay the lifestyle she was after.

“Paid triple the amount for it.”

You let out a singular laugh.

“At least Alistair will be happy.”

“Do you think he’ll like what we got him?”

“Why do you ask?”

Maxwell’s brows furrowed, maybe he did make a mistake putting another measure of Irish cream in your hot chocolate.

“He knows we’re not necessarily as well off as his mom but I don’t want him thinking that we don’t love him as much because we can’t give him that.”

“Alistair knows we love him, maybe even more than his mother does.”

“We got him underwear,” you throw your arms up as you spoke.

“He needs new ones.”

“I know he does but we’re giving them as a present.”

“I was very happy when I got underwear one year.”

“You’re lucky to have a kid like him.”

“I’m lucky to have you too,” he said, cuddling closer. “Not every girlfriend would go from toy store to toy store trying to get a present for a kid that isn’t theirs.”

“You both mean the world to me.”

“And you’re everything to us.”

He cupped your cheek, feeling the heat seer through his palm before his lips met yours.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

You can’t remember falling asleep, only Maxwell gently shaking you awake. In your groggy state, you could sense it was still dark out yet you rolled over to see him fully dressed.

“Alistair and I are heading out,” he whispered. “He forgot to get a present for his friend.”

“I’ll get dressed.”

“No, don’t get up. Have some time to yourself, ok baby? We might be a while.”

“Ok,” you immediately roll back over.

No offence to Maxwell but it was way too early and you were far too hungover to kick up a fuss, he told you to stay and you wouldn’t put up a fight about it.

The phone started to ring the moment you stepped out of the shower.

After a lie-in, you visited Mrs Zonana ahead of her Christmas party, hosted every year in the apartment complex’s courtyard. You offered to help in some way and after much persuasion, she had you and another neighbour putting up the gazebo and decorations. Then you got back and knocked up some cookies for the evening before getting ready.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.”

“How’s your day going, Max?”

He groaned, “It’s gone fine but we’re running late, we’re waiting for the next bus. Do you mind if we meet you at Mrs Zonana’s?”

“Not at all, can’t promise there’ll be any food left.”

“It’s Mrs Zonana, she’ll save us a plate.”

You hum sarcastically.

“Don’t deny it, she loves me.”

You roll your eyes, “Am I being replaced?”

“Of course not,” the phone crackled, “I’ve got to go, love you.”

He hung up before you got the chance to reply.

When you finally made it downstairs, the outside was already buzzing. You made your way through the throng of your neighbours, stating you’d catch up later before reaching Mrs Zonana.

“Oh, I’ll make the boys their plates and keep them warm in the oven.”

“You don’t have to, they’re the ones running late.”

She battered you with a tea towel, which you were unable to decipher whether it was meant to be playful or if she really did want it to hurt.

“Sorry we’re late!”

Everyone practically cheered at Maxwell and Alistair’s arrival. You swiftly apologise to Nico to ensure you got to them first.

“Finally! Where have you two been?”

You jokingly put your hand on your hip and pout, Alistair giggling at your phoney expression because you, of all people, were never mad.

“Sorry, baby.”

“It’s not me you have to apologise to,” you smile wickedly as you sense Mrs Zonana’s presence.

“Alistair, come get yours and your father’s food.”

He runs away immediately.

“Did everything go ok?”

Maxwell hummed.

“You look exhausted.”

“I know but it’s all with a good intention.”

You rubbed your thumb along his cheek, warm in a rush to make it back, the faintest sensation of whiskers from lack of shaving.

“How have I not been greeted by my man yet?”

“Hola, Mrs Zonana.”

Maxwell slipped seamlessly into Spanish around her and you always prayed that they were saying kind words when your name popped up. You drew your attention to Alistair for a while and listened to him talk about his day with his father.

Occasionally, yours and Maxwell’s eyes would catch across the courtyard and you’d exchange the softest of smiles throughout the rest of the evening.

“I’m tired.”

Alistair was valiant in staying up, most of the other kids had gone to bed. He flopped onto the edge of the garden box with you and Maxwell, who had escaped another lecture on ancient artefacts from Mr Fennec.

“We should probably get you boys to bed, huh? It’s been a long day.”

They both groan, playfully collapsing their heads to your shoulders.

“Come on,” you ruffle Alistair’s hair.

After saying your goodbyes, the three of you strolled up to the apartment.

“I have never seen a boy this excited to go to bed,” you laugh.

Alistair had run ahead the moment you reached the walkway. Maxwell brought you closer, locked an arm around your waist and breathed you in.

“Don’t think I can blame him.”

The holidays were always tiring even when you were on your lonesome, you were always invited somewhere with someone and keeping up appearances was the norm. You spent years coming back, crashing onto the mattress before getting up to do the whole thing all over again. It was nice that the building party was the only real big deal this year.

Maxwell chose to do his office party by himself because why would you want to be surrounded by drunk, obnoxious salesmen for the evening? You were better off with Alistair baking cookies, watching a film and secretly helping him wrap presents for his father. Then Alistair’s mom took him to the school party and to meet Santa, attending the Christmas light switch on was the one event you happily obliged.

“Why are you taking so long?”

“Because we’re old,” Maxwell shouted as he and you approached.

“Did you hang mistletoe on the door?”

Your inquiry was met with a shrug.

“You do realise that I don’t need a Christmas tradition for an excuse to kiss you?”

“Ew,” Alistair fake barfed.

Maxwell rummaged to find the key in his pocket, refusing to let go of you. Alistair snatched it out of his hand as soon as it reemerged. Maxwell’s hand came to your jaw and gently, he eased you to face him. He stared at you with his brown puppy dog eyes, bringing his other hand to meet your cheek.

“Shouldn’t we be under the mistletoe?”

His face was illuminated by an orange glow as Alistair made his way inside.

“Too much effort,” he smiled before clashing your lips together.

It could be because he’s tired or the alcohol or the fact he was trying to make the kiss more of a pantomime for his son to endure but Maxwell was messy. He practically pinned your face to his with both hands, slipping his tongue passed your lips sloppily, forcing your body to turn backwards to the door.

You gasped for air when he finished.

“I like the enthusiasm.”

You take a couple of steps back to see his expression soften, he knew what he’d done, chose not to say anything.

Then you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

Wait, that wasn’t there when I left.

And suddenly the room seemed to fill with pinpricks of every colour.

“Merry Christmas!”

Alistair leapt from behind you and slowly, inch by inch, you took everything in. You didn’t utter a word, couldn’t even scream as your chest began to heave.

The tiny desk tree had been replaced with one triple the size, overloaded with baubles. Every wall was lined with string lights, the kitchen sill decorated with ornaments and tinsel and the focal point, three stockings hanging from the breakfast bar, embroidered with golden letters.

“Do you like it?”

You fall to your knees and squeeze Alistair hard. You put every ounce you had in you to hug that boy and kissed his head multiple times.

“I love it, Alistair, I love it so much,” your voice cracked.

“You’re crying.”

“They’re happy tears, I promise,” the words were catching in your throat.

“Let me take your coat, baby, Alistair’s got more to show you.”

“There’s more?”

Alistair was beaming up at you, nodding passionately.

Maxwell helped you pull yourself out of your coat, your body shaking as it failed to follow basic instruction. He trailed a hand down your spine as you attempted to get it together, wiping the tears that were already falling.

Taking your hand, Alistair showed you what else they’d done. The old tree had now taken pride of place at the end of the corridor between your rooms. There was more lights along the ceiling and the pictures on the walls had changed to winter scenes of snowfall, ice skating and carollers.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this just for me,” you smile, more tears forming.

“Well, I said about it to dad and he said he overheard us talking yesterday and felt like we should do something,” Alistair said. “Also I didn’t have any money and I couldn’t get up high so I needed some help.”

You couldn’t help hugging him again.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better surprise.”

“Really?”

“Oh, I’m going to remember this one forever.”

Alistair excitedly returned to Maxwell to pass on the good news. Of course you were going to love it, Maxwell knew you would. Luck aligned for him, there was still some money left in the budget you two had built, Mrs Zonana gave a hefty contribution and Suzanne from the other block let him and Alistair hide whilst they also played look out.

Plenty of people loved you more than you realised.

He automatically hugged you when you came back, “You good?”

“There aren’t any more surprises are there, I don’t think I can cope.”

“Not from me.”

You laugh into his chest, “Thank god.”

He ran a hand through your hair, squeezing you a little tighter before reluctantly letting you go.

“Can I have another one of those hot chocolates?”

“Sure.”

“And me,” Alistair chimed in, “please.”

The three of you rested on the couch, Alistair retelling the day and how each decoration came to be. It felt like your heart could burst, he was so overjoyed. Maxwell’s arm was draped firmly over your shoulder, chest rising and falling slowly as sleep tried to take him.

You knew you spent too long in the bathroom, you worried Maxwell may have fallen asleep before he even got chance to see your gift. It was a risk you were taking but you hoped it would pay off.

“Maxwell. Are you asleep?”

“Just resting my eyes,” his head lulled against the headboard.

“Oh because I was hoping I could give you one of your presents early.”

He opened one eye, “Really?”

You hum, fingertips playing with the tie on your fluffy dressing gown.

“Well, you’ve been such a good boy these past couple of days,” you pull open the knot, “and I think you deserve it.”

You shrug your shoulders and let the fabric fall to the floor with a light thud. Maxwell’s head snapped up, both eyes wide with the delight of seeing you dressed in nothing more than a see-through babydoll in bright red, nothing left to the imagination. Your bush freshly trimmed and nipples pert.

His smile brought the dimples to his cheeks. He leaned forward, gesturing with both hands.

“Come here.”

You saunter to the edge of the bed and he moves to you fit perfectly between his legs. His hands run up the backs of your thighs, fingers burying into your ass as he pressed his forehead to your stomach, the refreshing scent of your favourite perfume catching in his nostrils. He moved his hands to your hips before looking up at you drunkenly.

“How long have you been hiding this from me?”

You hum, biting your lip sheepishly.

Whilst in the mall, deflated from toy shopping, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, leaving Maxwell amongst the other male shoppers in the seating area. As you walked, your eyes caught something in the window of a shop.

You only treated yourself to lingerie when it was a special occasion and after the day you two were having, it called for it.

Dress up wasn’t something you and Maxwell chose to do so, even though the enthusiastic sales assistant tried, you gravitated towards the little red number you wore tonight.

“I shouldn’t have got you tipsy last night, should I?”

You cup his face in your palms.

“It didn’t help.”

Brushing aside his stray hairs, you lean down and kiss him deeply, his back straightening to attention. You both part, catching your breaths.

“So, are you one of Santa’s naughty little elves or…”

Maybe you should have got the costume. You look at him, your eyelids low as the corner of your lips curled.

“I’d much rather be Mrs Claus.”

The smile grew back on his face.

“Now it’s time for you to go back to bed.”

Maxwell happily obliged. He made sure to look at the view in detail one more time before slipping his hands off you. Pushing back on the mattress, he rested on the pillow, hands tucked behind his head.

“Are you coming to tuck me in?”

You climb on the bed and crawl over his body, your index finger trailing along his underwear where his hardening cock was becoming visible.

“Not until…”

Your faces meet and he waits in anticipation for your next line, it doesn’t come easily. You think of all the seasonal puns but they’re all ridiculous - candy cane, north or south pole, Christmas has cum early?

He breaks first, a singular laugh ruining any chance of you being a seductive Mrs Claus.

“Hard to keep up the charade?”

“Yeah,” your expression scrunches. “I don’t think ‘not getting rid of your south pole’ does what I want it to do.”

He snorts at the terminology.

“Want me to take the rein?”

You thought he was going to make some sort of sleigh ride joke but nothing came after. He calmly brushed the hair from your face, breathing and heartbeat steady, his expression soft. Maxwell didn’t usually take control but this time, he seemed so sure.

“Ok.”

Then something changed, his pupils blew a dark black.

“Turn around.”

You listened, swapping your legs over each side. His hands travel up your legs before they claw your ass apart and you instinctively arch your back to offer him a better view. His cock twitched beneath the cotton fabric.

“Wet as always.”

“Always for you.”

He hummed, glad you were facing the other way round because he could feel the temperature rise in his cheeks.

You kiss the skin above the waistband of his underwear then lick in one motion, sending a shiver along Maxwell’s spine. He returns the favour, kissing the creases that joined your legs to your butt before spreading his tongue over your folds.

You shudder, leaning back further to try and catch the tip of his nose.

He knew exactly what you were doing, “Behave.”

You grumble, pouting your lips as you glance over your shoulder. You couldn’t see much past the sight of your ass but you caught each other’s eye.

Your fingers play with the elastic before you gradually peel his underwear off, inspecting his throbbing bright tip, precum glistening. To behave would be to not take the top in your mouth and spread your tongue over but you were going to get him back for his little remark, that and you were hungry for him. Dampening your lips, you took Maxwell in your mouth, rewarded with his lengthily moan.

“Oh fuck,” he says as you take him further, “you are not behaving.”

He felt your soft laugh against him, the vibrations pleasing enough to have him creeping closer to the edge.

There was only one way to play this game.

Swallowing hard, he spreads you wider before teasing you along your outer lips, soothing with his tongue after a gentle nip. You breath with a sigh and just as he gets you into a false sense of security, he buries himself into your weeping cunt.

You pull up, Maxwell’s cock falling with a slap to his navel as you gasp and whimper.

“Put me back in your mouth, baby, I don’t want you waking up Alistair.”

You massage his balls lightly and the air hisses through his teeth, he was going to blow if you weren’t careful.

“And what about you?”

Maxwell was the most vocal lover you’d encountered. He didn’t respond, returning to your cunt with more finesse, his tongue working against your blooming clit.

You let out a choked whine before wrapping your lips around his tip and sweeping around with your tongue. You felt his groan run through every nerve ending, your walls clamping round him. Slowly you took his length into your throat and back up again, picking up the pace according to his movements.

You couldn’t tell how long the pair of you were locked like this, in this pure unadulterated bliss.

He only came up for air to sing your praises and for his final admittance, “I’m so close, baby.”

You already knew that.

His hips had bucked a few times to get his cock further into that little throat of yours, the sound of you gagging sweeter than any music. His body was tensing, his grip on your hips making them numb, he was forcing himself not to cum out of the want of making you cum first.

“This is your treat, Maxwell,” you say after releasing his cock with a pop. “How do you want me?”

“I want to watch you bounce on my dick until we both cum.”

You smile coyly, turning yourself to face him, “Now that’s some Christmas magic I can do.”

Straddling his hips, you kiss him squarely on the lips and force him to lay with his back firmly on the mattress. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you taste the tang of your arousal before pulling back, teeth nipping his bottom lip.

You lift yourself up, taking his cock in your hand as you line it up with your entrance. Eyes focusing on him, you slowly sink down, Maxwell releasing a choked gasp when just his tip slides between your folds.

His eyes flick up and down your frame as his palms trail your thighs, encouraging you to take his length.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you lower yourself, a soft hum as he fills you. His cock twitches, his head falling back, eyelashes fluttering shut as you held steady.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

You sit for a minute, inner walls pulsing as your aching pussy readjusts to the stretch of his girth. All this time together and you still hadn’t gotten used to how heavy his cock was. He feels fingertips grazing the skin of his chest and opens his eyes. You’re gazing down at him, eyelids low but he could still catch the glint in your eye.

“I thought you wanted to watch.”

Oh, he did but he fucking adored how you felt around him, he could stay like this all night if you allowed him. But you started to raise your hips, your other hand lifting the fabric to your waist so he could see the drag of your folds.

He groaned, not too loud yet not too soft, just enough for it to hit your ears.

“Like that?”

You tease as you drop back down, knocking the air out of his lungs. He can’t answer, can barely move his head because his mind is solely on your pussy around his cock. You gradually begin to pick up the pace when your legs stop protesting, the slap of your skin against his getting stronger, his fingers digging further into the flesh of you.

A squeaking moan escapes you every time you bounce from him, lips sealed together as you try to keep the volume down. You can still hear Maxwell, his hushed praises blending into his second language, his throat bulging as he tries to contain his grunts and groans.

Your walls were tightening, your hips stuttering when the tip of his cock hit somewhere new as you rolled your pelvis forward. His lips crashed into yours, swallowing the honeyed groan that came deep from your chest. He held you in place, your legs shaking with anticipation.

You could feel your arousal spilling between your thighs, preparing you for the final chase, the spark igniting low in your belly.

Maxwell coiled his arms around your waist, removing his lips from yours as he nudged his nose against your cheek. You catch your breath, fingers drawing circles over his shoulder blades before you finally looked in his big brown eyes. Always soft and sincere even though you were about to ruin him, he would happily take it.

You kiss his lips, palms moving to settle on either side of his neck. Lifting your ass a little, you let him shuffle his legs closer to boost you up before you rolled your hips.

A moan escapes you as your clit grazes the hairs above his cock. He sighs, lips parting as he focuses on your movements, your walls twitching around his aching cock. His broad palms fall from your waist and over the curve of your ass, fingers sinking into the muscle as he guides you up his length.

“That’s it,” he says breathily.

And when you get going again, you feel the tingle as it dances along your skin, your belly warming. Maxwell’s hands following as you bounce, legs locking beneath your weight.

Both of your hot and heavy breaths trickle down your flushed chest, his soft grunts seeping into your ears. Your hands trail over his outline, the shiver shooting up his spine as your fingertips tease.

His head fell forward and you pulled him close to your body, nestling his face in the crook of your neck. Keeping on hand on his back, you draw the other to his hair, the colour no longer a fake blonde. Your fingers delve into his thick roots and tug gently, the noise he makes having you close your eyes, riding his cock as fast as your ceasing legs would allow.

His hands grip tighter, his tongue so loose he can barely get the words out to warn you as his balls recede and he coats your walls. He manages to hold you down as you hiss through your teeth, body trembling as your own orgasm surges through your body.

“Shit, Max,” you choke.

Your cunt pulsates, milking him for every last drop before your muscles relax. He groans your name passionately, his body going limp, back hitting the mattress with a loud exhale.

You keep your eyes closed, your hand reaching for his chest as it rose, filling the lungs with much needed oxygen. Your legs shudder with an aftershock, his hand coming to your wrist. You blink, the room coming into focus and you catch his lopsided grin as he gazed up at you in a blissed out state.

“Best present a guy could ask for,” he chuckles.

You giggle, brushing the hair from your face with your free hand. Lifting your hips, you slide off his cock, thick white cum dribbling from your folds before you crawled up the bed to settle next to him.

He snakes an arm under your neck, across your shoulders to draw you closer to his chest. You snuggle to his frame, draping a leg in between his, hand fixed to his chest as his heartbeat slowed.

Glancing up, his eyes are already closed. You knew he was exhausted, all the rushing around, trying to give everyone the best Christmas, making up for all the ones he’d missed. All you wanted to do was tell him he didn’t have to but he wouldn’t listen.

Maxwell wouldn’t have it any other way.

When he came to in the morning, your side of the bed was empty. He could hear life outside of the door, the faint strip of sunlight breaking through the curtains. Stretching, he tried to find his t-shirt before guessing you borrowed it when Alistair came to wake someone.

In the now cramped living room, he saw you and Alistair on the couch, huddled under a blanket with mugs in your hands. The pair of you had soft smiles and were whispering to one another, you attempting to understand what was happening on the kids show you were watching. A few more presents had made an appearance under the tree, sugar cookies filling a plate on the coffee table.

“Morning,” his voice sounded groggy, vocal cords not quite ready to talk.

“Morning dad!”

“Morning, coffee’s fresh if you want some.”

Your smile grows at his arrival before he comes down and kisses you. He continues to watch you both while he wanders round the kitchen, semi listening to what was happening on the tv. Returning with a mug of coffee, Maxwell leans over and grabs a handful of cookies, met with a little groan from Alistair who had to tilt sideways to see the screen.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers before sitting down.

You wriggle to make room as he slumps into his usual spot. After he’s got comfy, you nestle back against him and he drapes an arm over your shoulder. His lips come to the crown of your head.

“You ok?”

“Perfect,” he strokes your cheek as you drop your head back. “Feels like Christmas.”

#ww84 #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lorenzano #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord ww84 #pedro pascal fanfiction #smut #one shot #it's christmas

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galaxyedging · 1 year ago

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Sex Worker!Max Lord x ofc ( Max's reader from It Could Be Better no name or description.)

Warnings: Unprotected P in V sex. M!&F! receiving oral. Edging. Brief breeding kink. Cream pie. Cum eating. (Parts of this felt dirty even to me!😬)

Summary: Max gives a very impassioned pitch for a location for his new motel venture.

WC:1.7k

Part of And It Just Keeps Getting Better. Following on from It Could Be Better.

The Motel

Out in the woods, there's a motel. A motel that looks more chic that in should against it's surroundings. It's bordered by a forest of thick, almost impenetrable, years old trees. A single dirt road is the only access. The only indication of what is down the dirt road is a wooden sign on the edge of the highway that reads, in scrolling hand painted letters…

Hotel del Deseo.

The local townsfolk hear things no and then. When the wind blows through the pines just right, it carries the sounds of music and revelry. With the nights so much clearer out there than the city, a halo of light can be seen in the sky. It's the colour that always confuses people as the drive by, red. The locals know better. They see the cars full of excited people driving up there. The same people drive back down with sated, dreamy smiles. They have no confusion as to what is going on up there. Especially as they receive a tidy sum donated to their town funds to keep the place quiet.

The motel had caught Max's eye instantly. Recently renovated, a new pool put in, the rights secured to develop on the land out back. "....it's private. There is only one very small town on the way there but it is not too rural as to be hard to get to…." Max practically vibrated with excitement as he rattled off his reasons that he had to have the motel to his business partner. Who found his passion for the place very sexy and decided to redirect it for her personal gain.

"Max. Is that anyway to pitch an idea to me? You can't just dump a load of information on me. You need to slow down."

"I'm sorry. I…" Max stopped when she silenced him with a wave of her hand.

"It's okay, Pretty. I'll help you keep a better pace."

The bed creaked as his love arched up off it for the fifth time. "MAX! Nine. Nine, stop."

Obediently he pulled his lips off her clit with a smack and waited for permission.

"Go on, you can tell me one more thing." While she drifted back down from almost reaching her peak, Max told her another reason that they had to buy the motel. "Er…oh…there's a beautiful lake just through the forest. That shore can only be accessed from the motel."

Sensing that Max had blown his load, pitch wise, she let him off the hook. "Thank you, Max. I'll take that all under consideration. Not if you don't mind wrapping this up." With another wave of her hand as his cue Max dived back into her pussy his full lips sucked and dragged over her clit until she came violently with a death grip on his hair. The edging of the past twenty minutes all returning to her body with a vengeance. Max's tongue laved, longingly at her slit. Not too much to overwhelm her in her sensitive state but just enough to be, even in part, inside her. He was a red blooded man and could only take so much teasing.

"I will take a look at your paperwork. Go get it." She dismissed him. Max rose awkwardly from the bed, his thick length jutted out uncomfortably.

Returning with the file, she cooed at him sweetly. "Thank you, Max." Before turning over on her stomach to read the pages before her.

Max hovered by the bed, trying desperately not to rearrange himself and look as desperate as he felt.

"Do you need something, Max? Oh, I see. Come closer." She beconned him with one finger. The same finger traced the outline of his swollen, eager cock. "Oh, Sweetheart, do you need help with this?"

Max's hair shook as nodded profusely. It fell in waves as the sweat from his earlier efforts attempted to curl it.

"Do you want to slide your cock through all the mess you've made between my legs?"

Another bounce of his near curly hair.

"You've done so well to get this all together. My brilliant businessman. Do you want to show me how a big, strong, cutthroat businessman fucks his woman?"

The bob of his head was accompanied by an escaping gasp and his brown eyes being eclipsed by the desire that mainly remains hidden with her. The desire to dominate her.

Placing the file out of reach, she expert Max to lift up her hips and take her from behind right there. Max had other ideas. Strong hands dragged her by hers. He led her to the sun bathing platform out back. Roughly his hands found her shoulders and shoved her down her knee. The same hands found her hair and his cock. Holding her in place he stuffed her mouth full until she protested with a tug of her head in his grip. Max only drew back a little before shoving himself back in.

"I want to be nice and ready before I take your cunt." Max very rarely spoke like that. Waves of fresh arousal made her cum drip down the inside of her thighs.

Max was delighted to see this when he manhandled her into position. He lay her on her side with her knees up. One leg remained on the cushioned, wooden surface. The other wrapped around his narrow waist, spreading her open to give him access to her clit and a wonderful view. He bottomed out and began to thrust, giving her no time to adjust. He brushed off her pleas as he picked up pace. If she truly wanted him to stop, she knew what to say. His hand worked her slick clit. His body was just on autopilot, it knew exactly how to chase both their heights. His mind could think of nothing but filling her with his cum. Originally, she was the one that it drove wild but the more he did it the more he wanted to see it. The power of the ownership it displayed on her body. The most intimate thing he did with her. Only him. A tiny part of his primitive brain thought about how wet she would become if it took. How her tits would swell, how they would leak just as much as her pussy for him. As he fought to push the thought away his body protested by having his seed spurt forth. He managed to pull out a little in defiance. The warm creamy fluid gathered at her entrance. His hand found her hair again to sit her up.

"Look." He made her watch as his fingers worked his cum all over her puffy, freshly fucked pussy. He shoved some of it back inside her. His thick fingers drumming against her g-spot. His other hand used it to lube up her clit so his fingers could flick over it with ease. They both watched, hypnotised as the rhythmic clamping of her orgasming heat pushed his seed out all over his hand. When she was still again, Max shoved his fingers in her mouth challenging her to clean him off. She rose to his challenge with fervour. Her tongue ran over his knuckles only to be met by his as it swept through their joint release. They savoured every drop before chasing it on each other's tongues.

The hotel had remained frozen in time for almost a year before the doors opened again. It spent the time in silence gathering dust. Its walls had no stories to tell. Until they arrived. It was cleaned up, given a new purpose. The fresh pine scented air flowed through its windows. It blew away the cobwebs. Slowly, life returned. So much of life! Love, desire, joy, friendship, heart break. Over the next year the walls saw it all.

It started with a couple. Deeply in love and partners in every aspect of their lives. Then they gradually gathered the rest of them. The first one they found walked up the path with a regal air about him. He walked as if the world should throw itself at his feet, as if everyone should be on their knees for him. By the time he left the couple the next morning, everyone had been on their knees for him.

Author's note: I wanted the motel to have a cheesy love themed name. I tried 'hotel of love' in Google translate to see what that sparked. I came up 'deseo' as an option for love and desire. So I thought Hotel of Desire was a suitably Mills and Boon type name. I translated it back into English to get an idea of what it means in Spanish. I almost didn't believe my eyes when the translator popped out..'wish hotel'!

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #sex worker max lord #maxwell lord x ofc #ww84 au #PPCU #maxwell lord smut

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muldermuse · 1 year ago

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helloooooo

this has been updated <33

if u have Fox Mulder thoughts or thottts pls lemme know <333

Muldermuse Masterlist

if u have any ideas for Fox Mulder pls pls send them through!!!

Fox Mulder X Reader: One Shots

Peanuts

You meet an interesting stranger at a bar

First Date

Your first date with Fox

Halloween Party

Your boyfriend, Fox Mulder, convinces you not to go to your work Halloween Party

The Best Medicine

Fox takes care of you when you are ill

Jealous Fox

Fox gets jealous when he sees a coworker flirt with you

Houseplants

Fox helps you move into your first apartment

A Hard Day

Fox helps you through a bad mental health day

The Name Game

You and Fox struggle to decide a name for your kitten

The Most Haunted Forest in South Carolina

Fox invites you camping

Jealously, Jealousy

Fox doesn’t like how interested Alex Krycek is in you

Okay is not enough (Part 1)

Your family are being held captive by one of Fox’s previous encounters

Fox Mulder X Reader: Headcanons

Protective Fox Mulder

Fox has a crush on his coworker

Subtle ways Fox shows he has a crush

How Fox acts around Reader

Reader gets jealous of Fox’s new coworker

NSFW version of above^^^

NSFW Fox thoughts

Fox misses you

Reader’s birthday

Your cat loves Fox

Fox cheers you up

Forgetful mornings with Fox

Fox misses you after a trip (some nsfw)

Fox loves lingerie (some nsfw)

Dad!Fox Mulder

Dad!Fox Mulder 2

Modern Fox Mulder

Fox is a Buzzfeed Unsolved fan

Halloweeny Fox Thoughts 1, 2 and 3

Muldermuse October Writing Fest

Spooky Pyjamas (Dad!Fox Mulder x Reader)

A new family tradition is started

A Halloween Announcement (Fox Mulder X Reader)

As title states…it’s a halloween announcement

Trick ‘r Treat (Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fancy dress SMUT

Halloween Party (Cat Dad!Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fox has a party with your cat

Haunted House (Dad!Fox Mulder X Reader)

You come home from work to a haunted house

Halloween Card (Dad!Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fox receives a special card from his family

Ghosts (Modern! Fox Mulder X Reader)

A drabble about doing a ghost walk with Fox

Fox is creative (Modern! Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fox loves Halloween recipes

Ghost Hunting (Fox Mulder X Reader)

A hc about ghost hunting with Fox

Pedro Pascal Characters X Reader: Headcanons

Maxwell Lord loooooves stocking (this is like 2 sentences im sorry)

Being Maxwell’s personal assistant

Javi Gutierrez nsfw thoughts

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songsformonkeys · 4 years ago

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SONGSFORMONKEYS MASTERLIST

The Third Wheel - Javier/f!reader. Fake marriage slowburn with some bickering. Flashbacks - Javier/f!reader. Javier saves reader from a kidnapping. She’s a little unsure if he’s even real or just a figment of her imagination. Desperate Means - Javier/f!reader. You and Javier are roommates. Sometimes you bring home one night stands. Turns out Javier has some issues with that. Smut. In Her Eyes - Javier/f!reader-ish. There’s war in her eyes. Javier wonders if it haunts her as it does him.

A Tiny Piece of the World Called Home - Ezra/f!reader. Ezra and reader work together on a small moonbase. First they bicker then they fuck. All The Things He Missed - Ezra/f!reader. Five times you meet Ezra. Five things he’s missed while he was gone. Inquiries for Ezra - Not a fic but an ask Ezra blog where I post some Ezra stuff.

Digging Up Bones - Whiskey/f!reader. Reader is the head of the medical department with the Statemen. Whiskey keeps making up excuses to come and see her. She is clueless and decides to read several books on hypochondria. (WIP)

Leaving Traces - Din/f!reader. You and the kid have been successful in avoiding anyone who comes looking for him, but then a Mandalorian bounty hunter picks up your trail and suddenly staying one step ahead of capture gets much easier said than done… (WIP)

Conference Call - Maxwell/f!reader. Maxwell fucks you during a conference call. No plot, just smut. (written pre movie) Aftermath - Maxwell copes with almost ending the world and is adopted by a stray cat. Angst. The Way Back - Maxwell/OFC. Post ww84 fic. Angsty redemption fic where Maxwell moves back to the small town where he grew up, to work for an ex-girlfriend who hates him. (WIP)

Bodyguard verse (listed in chronological order):

First Meetings - Javi Gutierrez/genderneutral!reader. The first time you meet Javi Can’t wait to see you - Javi Gutierrez/genderneutral!reader. Your first day at your new job. A tour of Javi’s villa. Never Let Go - Javi Gutierrez/genderneutral!reader. You and Javi watch a movie. Driving Home - Javi Gutierrez/genderneutral!reader. It’s not quite the road trip Javi had hoped it would be but you still enjoy these moments in the car with him. End Credits - Javi Gutierrez/genderneutral!reader. Angst. This is just angst and a Nic cage quote. Alternative/less angsty ending here Colds & Birthday Celebrations - Javi Gutierrez/genderneautral!reader. It’s Javi’s birthday party and you’re sick. I’ll Do Better - Javi Gutierrez/genderneautral!reader. Javi is in a mood and you’re sent to talk to him. Saying I love you through a movie - Javi Gutierrez/genderneutral!reader. They go camping... sort of.

In Hot Water - Joel/f!reader. Showersmut. There’s no plot here.

Triple the Price - Veracruz/f!reader. You need someone to transport you to meet up with your sister in Villavicencio, and hire Veracruz to do the job. (Loosely inspired by Romancing the Stone)

Wrong Numbers and Cake Emergencies - Marcus/f!reader. Reader gets a text from an unknown number, requesting assistance in a cake-related emergency. Is it possible to develop a crush on a stranger in your phone?

Whiskers & Fangs - Max Phillips gets turned into a cat and has to rely on the kindness of his secretary while he tries to figure out how the hell to get his body back.

Nemesis - When you end up drugged and unable to look out for yourself, you show up on the doorstep of your nemesis, goody two shoes Marcus Moreno, hoping that he’ll take you in.

El Ladrón - The Thief/reader. They warned you about him when you started working at the castle. El Ladrón they called him. The Thief. Stealing from the Devil - The Thief/devil!reader. Only foolish thieves attempt to steal from the Devil…

Burning Alive - Dave/f!reader. Smut inspired by the lyrics to the song Fire Meet Gasoline by Sia. There is no plot here. Quicksand - Dave/f!reader. Smut inspired by the lyrics to the song Free The Animal by Sia. All The Best News - Dave/f!reader. For once, you wake up before Dave. You sneak downstairs to do some writing before he joins you on the couch. Seven Years - Dave/f!reader. Dave trails a former colleague. Is he there to kill her? She sets a trap for him. Bullet wounds and Bandages - Dave/f!reader. Dave shows up at your home in need of medical attention.

A Sturdy Home verse (listed in chronological order):

Pancakes - Dave/f!reader. Soft fluff where Dave makes pancakes for the family in the morning A Sturdy Home - Dave/f!reader. A bit of domestic bliss and smut with Dave York as you wake up together in the morning. Last Goodbyes - Dave/f!reader. Their last conversation before Dave leaves to go after McCall Ghost of You - Dave/f!reader. Angst! Dave survives the fight with McCall but loses all his memories. Christmas With(out) You - Dave/f!reader. Angst. The first Christmas since Dave came back. Valentine’s Day - Dave/f!reader. A little bit of angst. It’s Valentine’s Day. No one really celebrates.

Snapshots - Steve/Eddie. Eddie is wounded in the upside down. And as his friends try and get him help before it’s too late, Eddie drifts in and out of consciousness, remembering bits and pieces of his life so far.

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Writing Prompts For various Pedro characters (and a little bit of Boyd).

Masterlist kink prompts for various Pedro characters (and a little bit of Boyd)

12 days of Christmas Pedros - Masterlist. 12 fluffy and soft Christmas ficlets.

A year of saying I love you - Masterlist. 12 stories for various characters and pairings.

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wardenparker · 1 year ago

Text

In the Heights, part 2

Maxwell Lord x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10.1k Warnings: Domestic fantasies/fluff, friends to lovers, Alistair being adorable, food/alcohol mentions, cursing. Fingering, vaginal sex, protected sex, praise/worship. Summary: Your relationship with Max grows quickly after that fateful night. Notes: Part 2 of 2! Max deserves nice things, too, and I will not apologize for that 💖 Again, apologies for any missed typos or the like. I'm still on a buttload of cold medicine. Thanks for reading!

Max’s heart is in his throat as he takes your hand to lead you to his bedroom. The last woman he had kissed had been Barbra, and it hadn’t been under the most honest of circumstances. The last woman he had slept with? Well, he didn’t want to admit to that.

Your identical apartments make it easy to navigate in the darkness of night, as Max flips off each switch as you follow the hall to the master bedroom. “It’s okay.” You murmur quietly, convinced that this time you did see his hand shake as he shut off the light. “I’m nervous, too.”

“It– it has been a long time for me.” He admits quietly, trying not to let himself feel guilty for not being a more accomplished lover.

“For me, too.” The last light is the one in his bedroom and that one is flipped on instead of off, letting him see you smile softly. “We don’t have to do anything tonight if it’s too much. We can just lay in bed and talk and maybe have a kiss goodnight, if that’s what you want.”

“I think we would both be disappointed.” Max squeezes your hand and shakes his head. “I think we have waited long enough, no?” If you changed your mind, he would respect that, but he wants to touch you.

“Oh, definitely.” Your fingers lace through his and your smile turns beaming. “I was just trying to be considerate.”

Instead of saying something, Max steps closer to you and leans in, dropping his lips onto yours. Starting another kiss that makes his toes curl and his cock twitch.Wiping hesitation from your mind, your back bends to accommodate the kiss, welcoming him closer and bringing him tight against you with one arm. The other hand grasps blindly for his door knob to give you both privacy. When the door clicks shut, he pushes you against it. Pressing against you while he gropes for the lock. His other hand on the back of your neck as his tongue slides into your mouth.

The whimper it earns him is deep, coming up from somewhere in the vicinity of your toes and rolling along your spine until your whole body is on fire with wanting. Sliding your tongue along his is like a long-awaited homecoming and you swallow each other’s moans eagerly. Maybe it’s been a while for both of you, but that possibly only makes you all the more enthusiastic.

It feels amazing, holding you close and feeling like he isn’t going to be pushed away and rebuked. Or feel like he hadn’t measured up.

Your fingers are faster than your mind, finding the buttons on his shirt before you can even have the conscious thought of wanting him naked. The fact that that is even a possibility makes you feel like you're about to burst – and makes your hands work even faster.

Max cannot even fathom the luck he must have for this to be possible. His hands ghost up and down your sides before he starts to unbutton your own blouse. “Hermosa.”

Fumbling fingers seem not to care all that much for focus – knowing their task but going about it clumsily as the taste of his lips and the glide of his tongue prove more intoxicating than any drink you could possibly have had at the bar. When the last button on Max’s shirt is finally open you groan in frustration to find another layer underneath – the man wearing a proper undershirt even in the summer heat - and you nudge him back from the door to the bed. “It’s coming off,” you insist, pushing the short-sleeved button up off his shoulders. “Every stitch of it.”

He hums, slightly shuddering when he feels your fingers on his bare shoulder. He should be self conscious, wondering if he is too soft, too hard, too tan for you, but none of those concerns seem to materialize. Not when you look at him like he is a god. Your bra is pretty, practical and when he sees the white lace, it thrills him and his hands come up to cup the weight, feeling it in his hands with a loud groan. "You too, I want– I want to see all of you." He admits breathlessly. "Touch all of you."

"You can." All of you. To hear him shake with the words like they're some kind of gift is so gratifying, and you reach back to undo your bra and cast it aside as easily as breathing. If he wants all of you? He can have every inch. A part of you truly always has been his anyway.

Max has always liked breasts, the sight and feel of them wonderful in his hands or when he noticed a woman’s cleavage. He wasn’t a cad, he didn’t leer, but he is close to leering now. Hands hovering over your skin now that it is bare and feeling the heat radiating off your skin. “Beautiful.” He praises softly. “Perfection.”

Your laugh is so soft that he almost misses it, but the smile on your lips is unmistakable when you step forward to press your breasts into his open, tentative hands. "They're better if you actually touch them."

Max groans and shakes his head, only slightly embarrassed by his near frozen reaction to your bare breasts. “You are teasing me, but I do not mind.” He declares, squeezing them gently before brushing his palms over your nipples.

The truth is that you wouldn't tease him if you didn't find it so endearing, but the explanation is wiped from your mind the second he brushes the hard peaks of your nipples, making you moan. He can explore all he likes - take all night finding out what each of your favorite places to be touched is - but he's damn well going to be naked doing it and your own hands reach for his belt again eagerly.

It had been a long time since someone touched him so eagerly. Genji was as inexperienced as he was, and after a while, her eagerness waned when he proved his attention was elsewhere. Chasing the unattainable.

His legs hit the bed frame first, backs of his knees buckling when he nearly topples over, but his belt hits the floor well before that can happen. That sound - metal clicking on metal and leather thudding on the rug - seems to release all inhibitions. The slow and methodical undressing is instantly over, and you lean forward to claim his lips in a frantic renewed kiss as clothing flies in every direction.

The slacks you are wearing confuse him for a moment, making him growl into your mouth. Why are they zippered on the side of your waist? The kisses don’t break as he fumbles and finally gets the damn things undone without just ripping the pants, although the worst thing would have been if he had tried and failed to rip your clothes off of you. Pushing them down desperately before nearly crying out in pleasure when your hand wraps around his cock.

Your own groan is lower than his, feeling the heft and thickness of him in your hand and luxuriating in the fact that you're actually here with him. "Can't wake Alistair," you remind him between shallow breaths, the sound catching in your throat when you feel his fingers tentatively catch at the dripping entrance of your pussy. "Fuck Max."

“Say that again.” He begs, turning you both so that you roll over onto your back and he is hovering over you. His eyes burn with need as his fingers begin a slow, measured tour around your entrance and up through your folds. Wanting to learn what makes you say his name just like that, so he can do it every time he touches you.

"Fucking hell." He's slowed his pace again, watching every minute expression on your face, and you have to wonder if this is some kind of study he's made of you on other things or if he just desperately wants to hear his name from your lips again. Either way, it slips from you as easily as breathing when two of his fingers slide into your entrance. Your eyes widen and your fingernails dig into his shoulder but "Max!" is clear and desperate as you writhe beneath him.

It’s been so long since Max has held this kind of control. Over himself, over someone else, and he loves it. The groan from the hot clutch of your pussy rubbles out of his throat, several octaves deeper than normal and he curls his fingers up as he pushes them deep. Eager to see how you enjoy the thickness of his digits.

"Fuck–fuck." You might have been the one that reminded him to be quiet but that doesn't mean you aren't going to let him know exactly what he does to you. You spread your legs wider instinctively. He may only have two fingers inside you but it feels like more from how thick they are. All of him is thick, cock included, but you lost your grip on him when he rolled you over and now you're swimming in pleasure. "More," you beg brokenly, hips moving like they have a mind of their own.

He nods even though your eyes are closed. Leaning in and kissing along your shoulder and neck as he slowly starts to push his fingers in and out of your tight cunt. “Te amo, mi amor.” He hasn’t tried to use his native tongue in so long, it feels rusty, foreign in his mouth, although those words seem to come straight from his battered heart.

"Te amo." As easy and honest as the words are, they fill you up and wash over you with a warmth that you can't possibly describe. The crashing of that emotion over your heart is as earnest as the roll of your hips against his hand, and the fingers of one hand come up to thread through his hair and encourage his mouth to explore your body. "Siempre, mi amor." Always.

His kisses scatter over your skin, although he feels the slight pressure of your hand. He lets you guide him, finger still pumping into you easily as he opens you up more, pressing deeper every time your hips roll down. Kissing across your breast, he moans as he takes your nipple into his mouth.

The chain reaction through your body is almost immediate - back arching off the bed, toes curling, and mouth opening to let out the deepest and most indulgent moan that reverberates through the room. The pace of his fingers is perfect, the wet heat of his mouth on your chest making you feel like you might short circuit before he's even inside you. "Just like that," you sigh out, hips rolling down to meet his hand on every stroke. "Oh fuck–fuck– 'm so close baby."

He groans around the stiff peak of your nipple and grazes it with his teeth. Enjoying the way your pussy clenches down around him wildly now. “Cum for me, amor.” He rasps out, sucking on your tit again after managing those words and watching your face intently.

To hear those words from him is something of a miracle, and one that you don't think you will stop being grateful for no matter how many times you hear it. There is no reason to hold back, no propriety you have to obey, only pleasure. Only his voice begging you to flood his hand with liquid heat and bring you that much closer together. It's an incredible thing, to find yourself chasing your peak on his fingers, and your hips take on an erratic speed as you do just that. Uneven breaths become a shuddering gasp in mere minutes and your entire body seems to seize as it bares down on him, that gorgeous tingling in your spine and belly bursting as when you moan his name just the moment before you start to cum.

Besides the moment he held Alistair, this has to be the most beautiful moment of Max’s life. Throbbing against your hip, he swears he could cum himself as he feels your pleasure fill his hand and coat his fingers in a liquid rush of heat. Making him moan your name as your hips jerk in pleasure.

"Max." His name comes in pants as you float back to earth, but your whines are from blissed out pleasure and not a single damn thing else. "Do you—" Thoughts and movements aren't quite lining up, as you point to the bedside table but duck your head to steal a kiss. "Condoms?”

Thanking God that you had thought about that, for Max surely hadn’t, he presses kiss after kiss to your lips and he reluctantly pulls his fingers free from your warmth so he can fumble with the drawer. He had bought some long ago, but it wasn’t like he was using them. Hopefully they were still in date.

You would have sprinted back across the hall to get some from your own room if you had to, but luckily Max comes away from the drawer with a foil packet in his hand. “Perfect,” you hum, still catching your breath as you reach down to wrap your fingers around his cock one more time.

“Shit.” Max hisses, his entire body shuddering from the touch and he can’t help but rock his hips forward. “I don’t– I don’t know how much I will please you.” He confesses quietly. “It has been a long time since I’ve been with someone.”

“Amor…” your free hand cups his cheek, thumb gently running along his jawline to coax him open for a sweet kiss. “I am not suggesting we train for Olympic medals in stamina tonight. I just… I only want to feel you.”

He is comforted by that, hating when he feels inferior as he so often does. “I want to make sure that you enjoy yourself.” He bites his lip and leans in to kiss you again.

If you could, you would promise him you aren’t worried about that. At all. But you’re too busy moaning into his kiss for any words to be coherent. Instead you hitch your leg up on his hip, encouraging him to fill that so e between you — and inside you.

He has to break the kiss, needing to open the packet and roll the protection down his length so that he can finally make love to you. He’s already sweating when he hovers over you on his knees, looking down at you spread out in invitation and he groans softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You have for so many years that it feels like taking a deep breath to finally say so. It feels like bursting, and you don’t mind admitting it in the least.

He moves slowly, savoring the moment as he presses close and starts to break you open on his cock. Rocking forward as he tries to keep his weight off you and kiss you gently.

It’s a big feeling for such a gentle movement. As a grown man, every part of Max is thick. It’s a departure from the lanky, rail thin boy he once was, and this version of him surrounds and fills you in a way you hadn’t expected. He blocks the whole world out – and becomes your whole world. Although you have to admit, as your mouth falls open on a drawn on, bliss filled moan, a part of him always has been.

He’s overwhelmed and groaning with you. It’s the closest to heaven that he’s ever been. His eyes flutter as he continues to stretch you out until he is full seated and panting.

“Need you to move, baby.” As good as he feels fully seated inside you, you have no doubt that it will feel twice as amazing with the friction building in your cunt.

“Okay.” He grunts out, nodding quickly and his hand curls into a fist as he pulls his hips back. Hating pulling out of you, as you are so tight and hot.

“Oh fuck—” As soon as he draws back the wave of pleasure rippling through your body gets stronger, and you whine on the next thrust forward. Your body is aching with wanting him, no part of you more desperate than your grasping pussy.

He rolls his hips forward with slow, determined purpose. His fist is curled still, teeth clenched together as he tries to hold himself back. Wanting to last in this perfect moment for as long as he can. “B–beauti–ful.” He groans.

Wandering hands map his body, committing the peaks and valleys of him to memory. Taking all of him in as you set a slow but steady pace together that promises to be the first of many nights like this. There is no questioning that fact, and you commit yourself to deep kisses and the feeling of home in being in his bed. There is not a moment of this night that isn’t perfect in all its imperfect glory.

Soft grunts and groans accompany every thrust. Barely keeping it together and pushing for more, Max feels like this is probably the pinnacle of his life. Nothing could get better than this. You love him, you want him, your body soft and pliant under his tells him that. Every wordless praise being moaned into his ear makes him stronger.

Giving yourself over to the moment means losing track of everything else. All that matters is the feeling of Max above you - bending your knees back, angling your hips just so, mouthing at your breasts and neck and jaw in alternation with drowning kisses. He surrounds you fully, building you up toward another undeniable peak.

“Please.” His groan is almost a prayer, chanted into your skin as he works you both towards that goal. Hoping he is dragging you along as he tries to touch and feel every part of you. His fingers find your clit as he pushes a hand between you to fumble inelegantly for a moment before he finds the right spot.

"Max–fuck–" Your hips buck when his fingers skate over your clit, legs shaking at the intensity and sensitivity in that nub as you sprint closer to a second orgasm. "So good, baby, you fuck me so good and I'm so close."

He moans, eyes closed as he absorbs the praise, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts to give you that extra sensation. “Wanna feel you amor.” He rasps out next to your ear. “Cum for me.”

For your entire adult life (plus a few years) you would have given anything to hear his voice dip and purr like that. You’ve imagined it so many times that it almost feels surreal. But hearing it for real - close to your ear and punctuated with labored pants and groans all his own - the effect is almost instant. Your body shakes apart at the seams, washing your mind away on a sea of pleasure and letting a torrent of praises loose with his name. If you could fuse the two of you together body and soul, this would be the moment it happened, but as it is you’ll just have to settle for giving him those last pieces of your heart and trusting him to keep them safe.

Choking out an inhuman sound, Max tries to keep from cumming. It’s like trying to hold back an avalanche with a snowboard. Jerking to a stop halfway through a thrust, he slams his hips forward and buries himself in the spasming confines of your body and whimpers your name as his world comes apart at the seams.

His bedroom had been so full of sound only seconds ago, but it quiets to heavy breathing and a few shaky moans after he collapses on top of you, sticky seed collected harmlessly in the condom for tonight. Sometime later you’ll address the keen burst of wishing he had painted your womb with it instead. That is a thought for another day. For now you dust his face and shoulders in kisses and hold him close, cradling his bulk on top of you like a precious treasure.

“Fuck.” Max pants, unable to move off of you even if he knows he is heavy. “That- please tell me you enjoyed it.” He begs, wanting to know that he didn’t disappoint you.

“Baby.” You giggle, unable to keep even false admonishment in your tone. “You’re amazing.”

He sighs in relief, the weight off his mind and he groans as he shifts off of you, hating that he has to pull out. He could sleep inside you. “Good. That is good.”

The two of you roll to your sides, letting go of each other only long enough for him to toss the tied-off condom in the bin by the bed before he turns back to you. “Is it…okay if I stay the night?” At the moment you’re not quite sure you could manage to walk back across the hall, but if he doesn’t want Alistair to ask questions or have any hint of things you’ll respect that fully.

“You want to- of course.” He nods, grinning eagerly as he strides back over and then stops quickly. “Let me get you water.” He decides. “You need it. And some aspirin. I’ll be right back.”

“You need it, too,” you remind him. He was right there beside you at the bar tonight, after all.

He doesn’t put on his underwear because he knows Alistair won’t wake up. He is a very deep sleeper when he finally drifts off.

Max reemerges a few minutes later with a bottle of aspirin and two glasses of water and you grin at him from your place in his bed. “So…” you giggle again quietly. “This happened…”

“This happened.” He can’t help but grin again, glancing down at his flaccid cock and soft belly. “No regrets?”

“Never,” you promise him.

He smiles, slightly self conscious and slips into the bed beside you. “Do you mind if I set an alarm?” He asks, hoping he doesn’t offend you. “I want to be up before Alistair is.” He explains.

“Of course.” The last thing he wants is to surprise his little boy with something so huge and you completely understand that. “I can…go back across the hall? If you want? It's up to you how much he knows or how soon.”

“No.” He is frowning and shaking his head as he slides his arm around you to pull you close. “I don’t want that. I just want to make sure that we tell him, not him discovering us together.”

“You want to tell him right away?” The only other man you had ever dated with a child had insisted on waiting more than six months to tell his little girl, and while you had understood it had made you feel a little bit like a dirty secret. “I—I mean, if that’s what you want, I’m all for it. I just didn’t expect it.”

“I don’t mind telling Alistair.” He frowns slightly. “I think we should. I just want to make sure he understands that dating someone and being in a relationship with them includes respect.”

“Then we’ll tell him tomorrow.” You snuggle into his side, grinning like a maniac. “He’ll probably be thrilled to spend more time with the cat.”

Max snorts and tugs you slightly closer, enjoying the weight and warmth of you on him. “Probably ask you to move in with the cat.”

“One day.” The thought makes you hum happily as he pulls you in. “Maybe not right away.”

“Make sure you actually want to put up with me before that.” He cautions. “Things have changed since we were children.”

“Who knows?” He’s right, but you know in your heart that nothing has changed so much that you don’t still love him. The man who made those mistakes is not the man he truly is. “I might have things about me that you don’t want to put up with.”

"I don't care if you squeeze the toothpaste from the middle or if you snore." Max huffs, rolling his eyes. "You have always been someone I have loved and admired."

“I might snore,” you admit, tucking into his side a little deeper and grinning. “It’s been a long time since anyone was in a position to tell me.”

He hums, and curls himself around you a little tighter. "I'll tell you." He promises with a small laugh.

“Max?” With the light out and him curled around you, the urge to sleep is coming on strong.

"What is it, amor?" He keeps his voice soft, rubbing your back gently.

The honorific makes you smile, lips upturned against his chest. “I’m glad you came out with us tonight.”

"Me too." He can only be grateful that he came out, smiling as he holds you in his arms. "Me too."

******

Without the alarm you definitely would have overslept, too comfortable in each other’s arms to want to move anywhere too fast. But because it was set, you're up and making pancakes when Alistair wakes up, happily sipping a cup of coffee with the radio playing quietly in the other room while Max makes bacon beside you.

"Do you like your bacon crispy?" He asks, grateful that you reminded him to put a shirt on when the grease pops and he jumps back. "Or on the limp side?"

“Crispy, please.” Until Alistair wakes up, you’re going to enjoy kissing him and cuddling him, even at the stove.

There is a sense of rightness to cooking with you, a homeyness that he can't replicate no matter how involved he tries to be or how many new cook books he checks out of the library. You just make things better. "Crispy it is." He winks at you and lifts a shoulder. "Maybe a little black if. you distract me with more kisses."

“Oops.” You feign innocence despite not feeling guilty in the least and flip the three pancakes in your pan. “We wouldn’t want that.”

"No, we wouldn't." He drops a kiss on your temple and turns back to his own pan. "Alistair loves pancakes, you are going to win him over first thing."

“Why do you think I suggested it?” It’s just a tease, and a quick batting of your eyelashes, but when you hear little feet hit the floor at the end of the hall you can’t help but smile. “I think he’s finally up.”

"He slept in late." Max checks the clock on the wall next to the phone and then at the doorway where Alistair comes stumbling in, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "Hey buddy." He greets his son happily. "Did we bother you?"

“Noooo.” Voice still full of sleep, the little boy stretches in his Star Wars pajamas and looks up at you both. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes and bacon.” Max answers with a smile at his sleepy son. “Do you want some scrambled eggs too?”

“Yes p’ease.” He nods and rubs his eyes but never takes his eyes off his father. It’s abundantly obvious to anyone who sees them together, how much Alistair loves his dad. “Can I play with Dantes today?”

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Max looks over at you and then moves the pan off the stove to walk over to the boy. “Can I ask you something?” He asks, crouching down and reaching for his son.

“Are you okay, daddy?” Alistair asks, little eyebrows raising in immediate concern.

“Oh yeah.” Max assures him with a serious look. “I’m really good.” He rubs Alistair’s stomach gently and looks back at you. “I wanted to know if you would be alright with me asking your friend on a date.” He poses seriously. “Since I know how much you like her, it’s only fair I ask.”

“Like a fancy date?” Alistair’s eyes light up with vague memories of when his mother would put on dresses and go out to dinner with men or the dates that he saw in movies. “A romantical one?”

“If that’s okay.” Max nods and looks back at you before staring into his son’s soft eyes.

“It has to be someplace nice.” Alistair tells his father as seriously as possible. “She’s a nice lady.”

Max chuckles, nodding quickly. “It will be very nice.” He promises. “Perhaps you could help me pick it out. If you are okay with us dating?” He feels like his son is saying yes, but he wants to be sure.

Alistair nods enthusiastically, but when he turns to you on the other side of the stove, his large eyes are even wider than usual. “Do you want to date my Daddy?” He asks, seemingly a little afraid of the question. Or maybe the answer. The fact that he checks with you – as if you hadn’t been standing here listening the whole time – is so sweet.

“I really do, honey,” you tell Alistair honestly, feeling a wide smile bloom across your face. “I like your dad a whole lot.”

“Yay! He’s a good dad!” He promises you enthusiastically. “He didn’t spend a lot of time with me before but that’s changed and he’s playing with me every night, reading with me, he’s even reading cooking books so he can make more than macaroni and cheese.”

“Oh yeah?” Of course you did know about Max’s efforts to cook better food at home more often, but there is no reason that Alistair needs to know that the baked pasta his daddy makes him now that is loaded with meat sauce and veggies, is actually your recipe. “I think he’s a really good dad and a really good friend, so that means he’ll probably be a really good boyfriend, too.”

“I don’t know.” Alistair tells you honestly, looking back at his dad. “Are you going to bring her flowers and tell her she’s pretty? You need to tell her she’s pretty.” He insists, making Max chuckle. “I will bring her flowers and I will tell her that she’s hermosa.” Alistair frowns in confusion. “It means ‘beautiful’ in Spanish, Alistair. That is the first language I spoke when I was a boy, remember?”

“Right…” He thinks for a second, searching his memory while you pull the last pancakes out of the pan. “Sí! That’s right, isn’t it Daddy?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s right.” Max beams, not ashamed of his first language and passing it down to his son. The assholes he had grown up being tormented by could not say they spoke two languages. If he was lucky enough, Alistair would know three.

“Mrs. Ramos speaks Spanish, too.” The woman who babysat him watched her ‘stories’ after he went to bed but he could always hear them.

“She does.” He nods and smiles. “My girlfriend–” he lights up when he calls you that, “–also knows Spanish. I think we will speak more at home in the future.”

The light in your eyes brightens measurably at the word, and you nod to Alistair when the last pancakes go on the platter for the table. “The first person who ever taught me Spanish was your abuela,” you tell him with a grin. “Your grandmother. She was a very nice lady.”

Max smiles sadly, wishing that Alistair could have met her, gone long before her time. Beaten down and broken by his father. “She was.”

“You said you were friends for a long time,” Alistair follows his father to the table with a stack of napkins and forks while his father carries the platter of bacon and pancakes. “But how come we never spent time with her before?”

“We had lost touch after we went away to college.” Max admits. “I was concentrating on making myself successful.”

“Now we are better than friends.” You might combust a little anytime Max calls you his girlfriend, but it’s such a good feeling. So comfortable and so right.

Alistair thinks about Max’s explanation for a moment before he nods, accepting it as the truth. “Just don’t be dumb and kiss another girl like Jimmy Smith was last week.” He huffs. “He has no girlfriends now.”

You have to smother your reaction to keep from laughing out loud, and end up giggling behind your hand while you pour orange juice for all three of you. “That is pretty dumb.” Hell, you can’t fault the kid for getting it on the nose.

“She is the only woman I want to kiss.” Max solemnly vows, his lips twitching to keep from smiling in amusement. It’s incredibly endearing how seriously he is taking this and Max pulls him closer for a hug. “So it’s cool with you? As the kids say now?”

He seems to consider it, looking between the two adults with drawn seriousness on his face before he leans over and whispers in his father’s ear. “Does that mean she’s going to be my new mom?” He asks, careful not to sound too hopeful or too curious. Sometimes when his Mom had had a new boyfriend, she would tell Alistair that the man who would be his new daddy. But it had never happened.

Alistair nods, slowly at first like he’s absorbing the idea, but he sits down at the chair after a moment and looks up at his father again with a smile. “Okay. Just as long as we don’t move far again. That was a lot of driving and boxes and stuff.”

“Understood, not too far.” Max chuckles and has to admit that this didn’t go too badly. He hugs his son and then stands up. “Let me scramble some eggs and we will have breakfast.”

You and Alistair set the table while he’s busy, and you slip back into the kitchen to grab the syrup a few minutes later with a grin on your face. “Well, I guess he’s okay with it.”

“As long as I tell you that you’re pretty.” Max reminds you, reaching over and snagging your waist to pull you close. “So I need to tell you how pretty you are this morning. Seeing you sleeping in my bed.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice dips low and makes you shiver slightly, but you bask in it. “Did you enjoy waking up next to me as much as I enjoyed waking up next to you?”

“I think that I enjoyed it more.” He teases, leaning in and kissing your lips. “Watching your sleepy eyes open and your smile made my year, amor.”

“I love you.” The words are so easy, but make your chest feel like it could burst with joy. “So much, Max.”

“I love you too.” It’s a huge thing for such simple words, but it makes him feel as if anything is possible.

“We should go back in there.” Even though you could spend all day basking in his smiles and kissing him silly, you know weekends are devoted time to be spent with his little boy. “Maybe the three of us can go out today? A museum or a walk in the park?”

“That sounds like a good day together.” He nods. “Perhaps a trip back to the library? Alistair wants to check out some more books since he’s finished the ones he has now.”

“I love a library day.” And maybe, just maybe, you might pick up your own manuscript again. There is an idea forming in the back of your mind that seems to grow every time Max smiles at you.

“Good.” He nods. “Go sit and I will bring the food out.”

“Yes, sir.” Teasing him with a very serious little mock salute, you grab the bottle of maple syrup from the fridge and steal a kiss before heading through the breakfast table.

Max brings the plates of food through once he’s done, happy to find you and Alistair giggling at the table. He’s struck again by how right all of these seems and he grins. “Who’s hungry?”

Alistair cheers and you grin, sitting back at the table with a soft, contented sigh. This feels right, and you are very happy to just let things happen as they come.

******

“Hermosa? Alistair? Are you home?” You had left early while Max had to stay late, so he is coming through the door without you. “Hello?” His excited voice carries through the apartment and he quickly shoves his keys into the bowl and kicks off his shoes.

“In the kitchen!” You call back, having taken the extra time at home with Alistair to start on making dinner. The weather is finally cool again and the little boy you love like your own has requested posole for dinner. The recipe that you had learned from his mother back in high school has become a favorite over the last few months. “Ali is building something grand with his Legos and Dantes is supervising,” you tell Max when he comes into the kitchen. “What did you have to stay late for, amor?”

“I – I did something.” He confesses, unable to stop himself from grinning as he snags a pepper and pops it into his mouth. You have practically moved into his apartment since that day. Your clothes are over in your space simply because there is nowhere to fit them here and Dantes’ toys and cat tree are in his living room, the cat himself having claimed Alistair as his sleeping partner while you are wrapped up with Max every night.

“Should I be concerned?” Given that he looks excited you’re not too suspicious, but you put the lid on the pot to let dinner cook and go over to give him a kiss.

“Unless you do not wish for this.” Max pulls a long, flat piece of plastic out of his pocket to hand to you along with several pamphlets.

“What is it?” The little packet might as well be tied up with string for how he presents it to you, but the plastic placard slides right out into your hand first. Max Lorenzano it reads in font and style identical to the nameplate on your office at work. “What’s—?” The rest of the packet is advertisements for apartments – bigger places in newer buildings or neighborhoods uptown that you know he couldn’t afford right now but had been dreaming about. “Did you—baby did you get a promotion?”

“There was a position for a Spanish language editor.” He reminds you quietly. “I didn’t tell you, but I applied for it.” He hadn’t wanted to get your hopes up, or his own if he were honest. Or if he didn’t get the job, he didn’t want you to be upset on his behalf. He was grateful the publishing house gave him the job as a janitor, so he had no wish to sour your experience. “I had my final interview tonight. That was why I had to stay.”

“You’re kidding?” You had known the position was open, and seen some people going in and out of the Editor-in-Chief’s office, but it hasn’t been something that you had brought up because you didn’t know if it would be something he was interested in. Now, though? You practically throw your arms around him in celebration. “That’s huge! That’s amazing, it’s— baby, I’m so proud of you!”

Laughing, Max lets himself fully enjoy the moment. Clinging to you as you jostle him in your own excitement. He had been working with Alistair on the boy’s Spanish and he had decided that he would go for the position with no expectations. Luckily, his dedication to the job hadn’t gone unnoticed and he had gotten the position. “You will not mind having me come in and being an editor as well, will you?”

“Mind? Honey, it’s fantastic!” Your arms around his waist squeeze tightly again as you beam at him. Max was never happy with the idea of making a career as a janitor but he liked the company and all of your coworkers, so he was working hard and taking pride in the work that he did have. This is far more than you expected, though. “You’re going to be amazing. And—” The pamphlets in your hand now make much more sense. “Is this…an invitation?”

“I– it makes no sense for us to spend so much money on two apartments.” Max tells you, biting his lip. “I was thinking we could all look for a place and pick it out together?” His brows raise in question and he looks for the world like a hopeful little boy.

“Are you asking me to officially move in with you?” Although you’ve been effectively living together for the last six months, calling this an official move would be the next large step forward in your relationship. It would also be a big bit of permanence for Alistair.

“I am.” Reaching for your hands, Max kisses the back of them, still holding his offerings. “I want to choose the house, apartment, home where we all live - together.”

“You must have some favorites already.” You hold up the pamphlets he had brought you. “Dinner is finishing. Why don’t we look and see what’s here?”

“Of course.” Max nods eagerly. “And if you don’t like any of these, we can look elsewhere. I just wanted to get started looking and these are within a healthy budget.” One thing he had learned was to live within his means and with security comes a wealth of happiness.

“Tell me what you found.” The stools at the kitchen counter are the perfect place to talk, and you sit down together eagerly. “Are they nearby? Oh…probably not all of them? Since you mentioned maybe a house?”

“There is a townhouse.” Max admits, pulling a flier from the bottom of the stack. “It needs some work, but it’s well discounted to account for that.” He lays it on the table and his eyes flash with excitement. “In Greenwich village. And it has a garden.”

“A townhouse?” One eyebrow raises in interest as he pulls out the paperwork from the real estate agent. It’s a beautiful neighborhood, one that you sometimes go to for dates and for entertainment. You’ve both mooned over the apartments and housing there plenty of times but you never thought you could afford it. “Is the work reasonable for us to do ourselves? I don’t mind doing floors and painting and all that kind of stuff.” It actually sounds kind of exciting. The idea of fully making it your home.

“There’s some things we would need to have done.” Max admits, tapping the page. “It needs some bathroom remodel, but I think that I know someone.” He grins. “Dan says he’s got a brother who’s a contractor. Will give us a discounted rate if I teach his daughter Spanish.”

“Then we should check it out.” He’s so excited that it makes the prospect automatically more attractive immediately, and you lean forward to kiss him before shuffling through the papers some more. There is a decent-sized apartment in a different part of Washington Heights, another townhouse but this time in Brooklyn, and even a cute little house in Queens. “I wouldn’t mind a commute,” you admit, looking at the picture of the little blue house with two floors and clean white window panes.

“Anywhere you want.” Max promises, loving that you are getting excited. “I just want to live with you and Alistair and Dantes.” He chuckles. “And maybe if we have room, a dog like my son wants.”

“Be careful of giving your son whatever he wants,” you chuckle knowingly. “This afternoon he told me he’s going to ask Santa for a little brother for Christmas.”

“He is?” His eyes widen and he wonders what you said to him.

“That’s what he said.” The look of almost smothered excitement on Max’s face makes you grin. “I told him that it takes a long time to make a little brother, though. So it might take Santa a little while. This Christmas might be too soon.”

“And that’s something you want? In the future?” Max confirms.

“A baby?” You almost laugh, but it would be a little mean when he’s looking at you so earnestly, so instead you reach for both of his hands to squeeze them. “I would love it, amor. But only if you want it, too.”

“Perhaps we should focus on homes with three bedrooms.” Max dreams quietly.

“Sounds like you like the idea.” You hum softly. “A cute little place with a yard for the kids to play in and maybe even a dog to keep Dante’s company.”

“I do like the idea.” He admits it easily. It’s easy to admit what he wants with you.

“I do, too.” It’s what you have always wanted with him and you feel like you live in a dream to see it coming true. “We should check out Brooklyn and Queens.”

“Okay. I will call the realtor tomorrow.” Max agrees with a grin.

“I’ll start doing some research on schools.” It won’t be too much love lost, since Alistair hasn’t made many friends at PS 117, but you want to make sure that wherever you choose will have good schools for him. And for his little sibling.

“Thank you.” He flashes you a smile and swallows. “I start the new job on Monday.”

“I’m really so proud of you, amor.” One of your hands cups his cheek and you feel like your heart could just burst from it. “You’ve been so helpful in helping with my book that I just know you’re going to be great with everyone else’s, too.”

“I don’t understand why it has taken you so long to finish it.” He huffs. “It’s remarkable. You should have been published years ago.”

“I guess I just needed the right inspiration.” You hum, pressing a kiss to each of his hands. Somehow Max has still not picked up on the fact that the love story you have been trying to write for so many years has a male lead based on him.

“Hmmm, I don’t know about that.” He shakes his head and bites his lip as he looks towards the stove. “So if I wanted to take you and Alistair out to celebrate, tomorrow would be best?”

“I think he’d be disappointed not to have posole tonight, so tomorrow sounds good.” Still, kissing him is completely irresistible. “But tomorrow we can go wherever you want to celebrate.”

“You made posole?” He lights up and leans in to kiss you again. “You are so good to me - to us.”

“Alistair’s special request and your mom’s recipe.” You beam under his praise and grin up at him. “Gotta keep my boys full and strong so they can keep making me proud.”

“I am glad that he is enjoying parts of my heritage that I tried so hard to bury.” Max admits with a slightly bashful expression. His natural accent has come back slightly, but he has trained it out of his speech that there is only a hint of it in some words. You both have started speaking Spanish at home to help Alistair improve his own command of the language.

“We are allowed to grow and change over time, amor.” Reaching to squeeze his hand, you can only offer him support with the knowledge that he has left so much of his heritage behind because of cruelty and ignorance from your classmates. “It’s good to see both of you embracing where you come from.”

“Genji said she wants to work on his command of Chinese when he is with her.” He tells you, proud of his son’s ability to learn multiple languages before any formal offering.

“That’s fantastic.” His mother has been a little more present lately, even though she still lives in DC and Max and Alistair are firmly settled in New York. He had spent Thanksgiving with her and will be in DC for the second half of his winter break. Max and Genji are making it work and you’re proud of the way he is keeping his promises and his commitments. “If he has some favorite recipes that she makes, we can add them into the rotation here, too. So he can have his Latin and his Chinese home cooking.”

“That would be good. She used to make this crispy beef that was amazing.” Max admits. “Although there is good Chinese takeout, it’s not the same.”

“Would it be okay with you if I called her for the recipe?” Max’s ex-wife has been surprisingly supportive of your relationship since she adjusted to the news that he is seeing someone. Your history together seemed to have won her over when she learned the whole story.

“That would be good. Alistair would appreciate that.” Max would too, but the idea of creating his son’s favorite meals at home would be fun.

You want to make a joke about making sure he knows you’re Step-Mom Material, but it isn’t a topic you’ve talked about with any seriousness yet. From time to time one of you will point out a favorite place in the city and remark that it would be good for a wedding - or see a commercial for a destination vacation and hun about a honeymoon. But there aren’t any plans yet and that is more than okay.

“Do you want to go look at the houses tomorrow?” He asks, excited about looking with you. It’s different, he doesn’t want big and flashy, he wants something he can take care of you and Alistair in.

“Absolutely.” He’s so excited about it that you are more than happy to agree. “Do you want to bring Al?”

“What do you think? Give him a say? Or should we narrow down the choices and then show him?” He asks you, wanting your input. You have been great with Alistair.

“It might be overwhelming for him to see every option,” you admit, knowing that there will be plenty of reasons not to choose a place that he won’t be aware of. “Let’s see if Señora Ramos is available after we make a few realtor appointments. We can take him to see our top choices?”

“That sounds like a solid plan.” Max agrees, happy with that since that is what he was thinking. He wants his son to be included, but he’s not going to know which school district is better.

“Have I mentioned how proud of you I am?” Of course you have, but you beam at him as you shift back over to the stove to give dinner a stir.

“I don’t know if it is possible without you, amor.” He admits, sliding behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips press to your neck and he sighs. “I wish I had kissed you on prom night.”

“Maybe we’d still be right here if you had.” The warmth and breadth of him against your back is comforting and you lean into it easily. “Standing in our kitchen making dinner, with Alistair playing with his pet completely oblivious to our snuggling.”

“Maybe.” It’s a sweet and heady thought. He kisses your neck softly and smiles against your skin. “And later on, I’ll make love to you.”

"That's my favorite part of the day." With Alistair asleep in the other room, with the cat lazing about doing cat things, with the day ended and nothing but each other to focus on, ending every day in his arms is wonderful.

“Mine too.” Max chuckles. “Unless you count waking up with you drooling on my chest.” He teases. You had only done it once, but he had thought your sheepish apology was cute.

That earns him an immediate pout from you, but you know he has every right to tease you about it now and then. "Your chest is my favorite pillow," you defend, batting your eyelashes at him for effect.

“I don’t mind it.” He waggles his brows playfully. “My chest is always available for you to use as your personal pillow.”

"And I always will." You promise him. There isn't any version of your future together where you want to wake up any other way.

******

“Honey?” Max opens the door to the apartment with a huge grin on his face. You had stayed home today to work on unpacking the last of the boxes and the boss had asked him to hand deliver this package to you personally. “It’s here!”

Nearly exhausted from unpacking, you're finally breaking down the last box when you hear him in the front hall. The Greenwich Village townhouse had needed a lot of work before you could move in, but now that you're here and you're unpacked it's wonderful to have it feeling like home. "I'll be right down!" You call from the top of the stairs before shoving the folded box under your arm and wiping your face on a bandana to head down from Alistair's room.

“Hey.” His eyes light up and he sets the box down in the entryway on the table that had moved from your apartment to his to the townhouse. Rushing halfway up the stairs. He takes the boxes from you and kisses you happily. “Amor.”

“What’s here, love?” You know what you hope has arrived - what he would have brought home from work for you - but you don’t want to assume.

“Your editor has sent a first print home for you to approve.” You had wanted your boss to handle the final edits of the book and Max had understood, although he was curious as to why. Eager to see your eyes light up when you hold your book, he takes your hand and drags you down the last few steps. “Your book is printed, amor. You have done it.”

This book has been a decade in the making, as you visited the story and the manuscript on and off for years. Inspiration had slipped away from you and been stubborn in coming back right up until the day Max walked back into your life. Now, when you nervously crack open the box of first edition copies of The Shadow Rose to see the glossy image of vines ensnaring a dewy purple rose, you could really almost cry. “It’s real,” you sigh in disbelief, cradling a copy in your arms like your first-born child.

Max beams proudly, watching you absorb the moment as a bystander. While he feels incredibly satisfied that you have accomplished a lifelong goal, this is your moment. Your accomplishment. “You did it. You are a published author, amor.”

“Wait one second.” You insist, pressing a kiss to his lips before disappearing with the book into your writing room - the former home office - to grab a pen. The dedication page of the book is very deliberate. “To Max: My inspiration, my support, my biggest cheerleader, and my best friend. My first love and my better half. Thank you for everything you have done, and everything you continue to do. I have a question for you.”

Underneath, in your own scrawling handwriting, five words follow with the stroke of a pen: “Amor, will you marry me?”

You had decided to ask him months ago. During the time you were painting the master bedroom. It had been like a moment from a movie when he smeared paint on your cheek and you returned the favor - and the beaming grin on his face had seemed to call to you. This man is without a doubt, the rest of your life. So now it’s time to ask.

Max tilts his head curiously when you come rushing back into the room. “Was the camera in the other room?” He asks, knowing that he wants to take a picture of you holding the book. Something he can print out and hang up in the small little nook that had been turned into a home office for the two of you. He rubs his hands together, knowing that you might cry a little as you look through the book and he wants to take you out to celebrate your success. Treat you to champagne like you deserve.

“The first copy is for you,” you tell him, vibrating nervously as you put it in his hands. “I just wanted to make sure the dedication was right before I gave it to you.”

“For me?” He frowns slightly, confused as to why you want to give him the first copy. You should want to keep it for yourself. “You shouldn’t, amor.” He still opens the book even as he tells you that so he can reach this dedication.

You’re vibrating with anxiety when he opens the cover of the book, ready to drop down on one knee the second he looks up at you from the page. The ring has been in your pocket all week, just waiting for the box of books to arrive at your door. Now that the moment is here, the signet ring with the ornate L carved into it feels even heavier with importance.

“Amor.” Max’s jaw drops and he looks up, only to follow your body as it drops down to your knee in front of him. Humbled, elated, overjoyed and even a little jealous - he had been ring shopping - he chokes out a surprised cry and the book slams shut as he drops down to his knees with you.

“I know it’s unconventional.” Of course you’re already sniffling back tears, but you pull the ring from your pocket with a beaming smile and offer it to him with such care. “But I love you so much, and I absolutely adore Alistair and I just—” your voice cracks a little and you can’t help a small laugh as the first tear breaks through. “Tú eres el amor de mi vida. Te casarías conmigo?” You’re the love of my life. Will you marry me?

“I–” Max chokes up again, near tears and he can’t even speak, nodding furiously out of fear that he would make you think that he was turning you down. “Sí.” He manages after a moment. “Siempre.”

Once he says yes, the amount of giggling, sniffling, and kissing shared between the two of you on the living room rug is endless. Not that you would ever want it to stop, but it seems like an opening of the floodgates.

“I love you. You are-“ he shakes his head and laughs. “I was trying to find out what kind of rings you liked.” He admitted. “I’ve been asking Kim.”

“She probably told you to find something big and flashy,” you huff a laugh between tears. As your closest friend, Kim has always joked that she expected the guy you ended up with to put no less than the Hope Diamond on your finger — while you would proudly sport the prize from a Cracker Jacks box as long as it came from the right man.

“She did.” Max chuckles. “Then she told me that you would actually love a sapphire or emerald engagement ring.”

“At least she told you the truth eventually.” The two of you cuddle into each other’s arms in the middle of the rug, furniture be damned. This moment is worth more than any sofa. “I don’t need a ring, amor. I only need you and Al.”

“I will proudly wear your ring, but I wish to get you one as well.” He admits. “It is not pride that makes me say that.” He assures you. “It is that I wish for you to carry a piece of my love for you as you go about your day.”

“Then I will wear whatever you choose with equal joy and love.” Nuzzling into his side, you press a kiss over his heart, then to his cheek, and then to his lips. “Alistair will be excited that I was finally able to ask.”

“He knew?” His brows shoot up and he huffs playfully. “I cannot believe he kept it from me.” He pouts, heart melting a little more from the fact that you conspired with his son.

"I had to ask him too," you grin, loving the soft expression of gratitude on Max's face. "Make sure he was okay with me loving him and his daddy forever."

“I’m sure that he has no problem with that.” He hums. “That boy adores you.”

"He had one condition." And it had been so sweet that you hadn't been able to refuse. "He wants to be your best man. He saw it in a movie and he's decided it's the most important thing for him to do for you."

“Yes.” Max lights up and nods immediately. “Absolutely. I would have nothing else than for him to be my best man. I will have to ask him formally. Get him some cufflinks.”

"We can do whatever you want." You hum softly and run your fingers over the signet sitting on his finger before looking back up at him. "All I care about is that I get to marry you."

“That is all that matters.” Max sighs happily. “You are Alistair, you’re my second chance and plan on making the most of it, amor.” He will, Max has found that there are things much more important than business success and fortune. With you and Alistair, he’s the wealthiest man on earth.

______

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Maxwell Lord #Maxwell Lord x you #Maxwell Lord x reader #Maxwell Lord x female reader #Maxwell Lord x f!reader #Max Lord #Max Lorenzano #WW84 #Wonder Woman 1984 #The One That Got Away #friends to lovers

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