The Pedro Pascal Files

Tired Bones // Max Lord

(Maxwell Lord x F!Reader)

Max groaned, reaching up and rubbing his brow bone as he sat at his desk. Fontina, his new assistant, had been hustling paperwork back and forth. Max's head was beginning to hurt from looking at all the fine print. "Alright, Fontina. Just file the rest of the paperwork and I'll—" "Sir, I just have one more." "Then file it. I'm tired and going to go home." Max snapped, standing up from his seat.

I was standing in the large kitchen of Max's luxury home. A heavenly smell rose in the air as I mixed the mushrooms and sauce in the pan. I was making him spaghetti with homemade garlic bread. It was Friday. This whole week had been tedious and difficult for Max. I just wanted to help him relax some.

Max's fingers drummed softly on the wheel of his vehicle. He resisted the urge to light a cigarette and smoke while waiting in traffic. He'd been trying to quit, and he knew you'd disapprove if he came home smelling like smoke. He just looked out the window towards the soft orange glow in the sky. Sometimes Washington was pretty, other times it was a city filled with terrible people doing terrible things.

Traffic subtly started to move and Max's attention was brought back to the task at hand. Moving along sluggishly, he decided to get off the interstate and take the long way home. Turning the wheel, he exited the crowded freeway and descended down into the neighborhood.

The tomato, onions, garlic and mushrooms mixed well and complimented each other. It was a shame that Alistair would miss out on such a delectable meal. But the last thing his father needed was to worry about putting on a happy face for his son. I added in the meat to the pan, turning the heat down and just letting it simmer. I walked over to the counter and began to slice into the cooled loaf of bread. I had baked the bread early in the afternoon as to allow it to be prepared and cooled for me to slice and butter with the garlic sauce. I walked to the fridge and opened it, grabbing a stick of butter and heading back to the counter. I had sliced four pieces off the loaf, leaving the rest if Max wanted to have it with some jelly and toasted tomorrow for breakfast.

I cut the butter in half and placed the remaining stick back in the fridge. It took 45 seconds to melt the butter in a glass bowl. In the meantime, I gathered the garlic powder, the parsley and the oregano. I moved to retrieve the melted butter from the bowl when I realized that maybe it wasn't enough. I got the rest of the butter and just melted it. I had just enough time to go upstairs and get changed as I looked a right mess.

I came back downstairs, adjusting the black sequined material of my dress. I buttered the bread after mixing the spices together in the yellow and slightly foamy liquid. Basting the bread on both sides, I placed the pan with the bread in the oven to be toasted. I began to set the table next.

Max sighed waiting behind a red light that was forever taking it seemed. He would be so happy to get home to you. There was nothing like your hands and your lips to soothe his tired bones after a long hard day. He looked down, wanting to reach for the carton of cigarettes. He shook his head and grabbed them, opening the glovebox and shoving them inside. It was always good to keep them around to remind him that he was doing good. Finally the traffic started moving along as the light turned green.

The timer dinged as the bread was finished. I pulled it out and let it cool a little before placing it in a bowl to set aside the other food. Luckily there were no dishes as I had washed them all during the toasting of the bread. This way I could spend as much time with Max as possible. As I placed the patterned bowl on the table, the front door came unlocked. Max was home. He walked in, the scuffling of his dress shoes against the floor sounded tired, perhaps more tired than before. "Max?" I said, softly as he rounded the corner. He reached up loosening his tie.

I walked over, reaching up and placing my hands on the lapel of his jacket. He leaned forward, capturing my lips in a kiss. "You look gorgeous, darling." He said. I pushed my forehead against his own. "It's nothing, baby. You look very exhausted." I said, looking up and cupping his face. He nodded. "Today was long. But something smells very good." I loosened his tie all the way, tugging it from around his collar. It draped across my fingers.

"I just made Italian. Its a good dinner and it doubles as comfort food." I said. "As if I need anymore comfort food. You're going to fatten me up with all this good cooking." I chuckled. "I'm thinking you might wanna cook me, like the little witch you are." I cocked my brow. "Careful what you wish for." I teased. We walked over to the table and sat down to eat dinner. Max told me all about his day and what had happened to make him so exhausted. After dinner was finished, Max went upstairs to change his clothes.

Hours later, we were lounging on the couch. Max's ring clad fingers dancing across my shoulder as we laid there watching some rom-com I'm sure we've seen a dozen times. Half full glasses of white wine rested on the coffee table before us along with a near empty bowl of popcorn. I sighed. "How do you feel, baby?" I asked. He hummed gently. "I feel perfect. You always know how to make me feel good after a long day." He said. I sat up, turning to face him. "I can think of other things that make you feel good too." I said. He chuckled deeply, leaning forward and kissing me.

The kissing started to get heated and passionate and suddenly, we found ourselves upstairs tangled together in Max's California King bed. The silk sheets covered very little of the acts we engaged in, but it felt so good. Max is always gentle, but this time he was more rugged and feral acting. I loved the aggression and the wild way he acted. Later that night, my fingers rubbed over his chest. Max had his eyes closed, his breathing steady, but he wasn't asleep. "Max..." I said, quietly. "Yeah?" He responded. The words got hung up in my throat. I had never said these words to anyone before.

What if Max didn't respond? What if he told me not to? What if he got angry? What if it's too soon? "What is it, angel?" Max asked, shifting around and turning his eyesight to me. "Max, I-I love you." I said. His brows so up and immediately I thought that I had screwed up. "You love me?" He whimpered. My eyes started to well with tears, my bottom lip trembling. He sat up all the way, hands moving to find their way resting on my cheeks. "Say it again." He demanded. "I love you, Maxwell." I repeated. He moved forward, kissing me again. "You don't know how long I've waited for you to say that." He purred. "I love you, too." He finally answered.

It was at that moment, I felt my cheeks getting wet and I knew I was crying. "Don't cry, sugar. You're all mine and I love you more than you'll ever know." He affirmed. "I just—god, I thought you were going to not return the love." I admitted. "Oh honey, you're too good to me. You already know if I didn't want you here, you wouldn't be here." He said. I nodded. "You're everything to me." He said.

I must've fallen asleep that night and stayed sleeping well through the morning. I woke up to find Max downstairs, making me breakfast. "What are you doing?" I asked, crossing my arms across my chest. I was wearing his white dress shirt. It came to mid-thigh and the only thing I had on under it was a matching pair of white panties. "Returning the favor." He said, placing the spatula down and walking over to me. "You look absolutely stunning." He said. I just rolled my eyes. "Don't butter me up, Maxie. Might get a little too excited and have to skip breakfast." I teased, kissing him. "That sounds fine to me." He grinned.

A/N: I was so happy that Max didn't die in WW84. He didn't deserve that. He just needed to learn his lesson. 🥰