#bloodsucking bastards fanfiction

[wannab-urs]

Red Right Hand

Summary: You and Max have dinner and then you get freaky. It’s almost too much for poor little Maxxie to handle. 

Pairing: Sub!Max Phillips x Vampire!Dom!f!reader

Warnings/content: Pure porn, pwp, Blood drinking (they’re both vampires), minor character death (your victim lol), murder… obviously. sub!Max, Dom!reader, unprotected PiV (they’re vampires, you are not), uhhh blasphemy probably, face riding, cum eating, Max’s vamp face, oral m! and f!receiving, overstimulation m!receiving, multiple male orgasms, refractory period nonexistent due to vampire fuckery, ass play m!receiving, praise kink, use of pet names/titles (Mistress for reader/ baby boy, pet, Maxxie, and one surprise for Max), aftercare, no use of y/n. Lemme know if I missed anything! WC: ~2k

A/N: I read this post about male overstimulation and fucking loved it. So then I decided I Bite Back needed a sequel (but this can be a standalone). Reader is a vampire just like Max. More notes on their dynamic at the end. Thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, @atinylittlepain, @beskarandblasters and @theywhowriteandknowthings for betaing for me <3 Also for another pathetic sub!Max and a big inspiration of mine, check out @butchmandalorian’s A Little Lipstick Never Hurts (now featuring Dieter).

Smut below the cut

Crimson coats your lips, your chin, runs down your neck and in between your breasts. You fall back onto the bed, your victim’s blood rushing through your veins and lighting up nerve endings as it goes. You’re half drunk on the pretty thing… she was so sweet.

You reach up with one arm, slide your fingers into your lover’s hair and tug gently. Max drags his mouth away from your victim’s jugular with a questioning whine. “She’s empty, pet. C’mere,” you slur. 

“I wasn’t finished,” he grumbles.

“Max. Now.”

Max reluctantly lets go of the girl, and she crumples to the floor in a heap. He crawls onto the foot of the bed and kneels between your legs. As his face smooths out and his fangs recede, you notice a gorgeous flush in his cheeks and down his bare chest. He’s not nearly as messy an eater as you, but his plush pink lips are tinged red with your dinner. He looks down at you with hunger in his dark eyes, a different kind of appetite taking over now that you’ve both had your fill. “Kiss me, Maxxie.” 

Max settles over you on hands and knees, dropping his mouth to your sternum and dragging an open mouthed kiss all the way up to your neck. You let out a near delirious moan and wrap the short strands of his hair around your fingers. He slips his tongue along your jawline, licking up the mess you made, before finally melding his mouth with yours. 

You hook a leg behind Max’s knee, using the leverage and your grip on his hair to flip him underneath you and he yelps. You settle on his thighs and wrap your fingers loosely around his cock. “Want me to ride you, pet?” He nods enthusiastically. “Hands by your sides.” 

You spit in your palm and slick up his cock, dragging your palm up and down him slowly and barely giving him any pressure at all. Just as it looks like he’s going to beg, you slide forward, dragging your pussy lips along the length of him and trapping him against his stomach. You keep up the tease until he breaks. 

“Fucking please, Mistress,” he bucks his hips and whines. “Let me feel you.” 

“Only because you beg so pretty for me, Maxxie.” You lift up on your knees and notch him at your entrance. You groan low and long and as you sink down on his impressive length. You let your head fall back between your shoulder blades and dig your hands into the meat of his thighs. He’s so deep inside you at this angle, hitting spots that white out your vision. You bounce on his cock, grinding your clit against the neat curls at the base on every downstroke.

Max’s hands slide up your thighs and settle on your waist. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, you don’t reprimand him. Not even when he starts meeting every bounce with his own sharp thrust. “Max, fuck!” You feel your core tightening, you’re so close. You bring a hand to your clit, rubbing circles in time with Max’s thrusts.

 That ever tightening coil in your core snaps with mind blowing ferocity. Your whole body tightens up and you scream Max’s name as he fucks you through it. You slump forward, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You feel a little more wet between your thighs than you would expect. 

“Maxxie baby?” You let it drip with false sweetness. There’s a pause, long enough you don’t even need to ask what happened. You do anyway. You sit up, grabbing his jaw and forcing his gorgeous brown eyes to meet yours. “Did you come?” He has the decency to look ashamed. 

“Yes, Mistress,” he whispers hoarsely, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You will be,” you growl into his ear. You give his face a quick pat and sit up, letting his softening cock slip out of you. Your legs are still a little shaky as you crawl up his torso until you’re hovering over his face. “Clean up your mess, Maxi Pad,” you command, voice coated in condescension 

His mouth falls open, tongue out, and you drop your hips, letting your clit settle against his curved nose. His tongue is heavenly, but the noises he makes into your dripping cunt are sinful. His tongue dips inside you over and over again, lapping up your combined release like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. “G-Good boy, Maxxie, fuck,” you stutter as he groans into your pussy. 

The vibrations of his deep voice against you, his nose grinding into your hypersensitive clit, and his tongue lapping at you have you on the edge of coming again. Max can feel your walls tightening around his tongue and he burrows his face impossibly deeper into your cunt in response. He wraps his hands around your thighs, holding you in place as he devours you. You feel like you’re being consumed by holy fire, burned up from the inside out. You come with an incoherent cry, grinding down on Max’s face so hard it has to hurt a little. Good thing vampires don’t need to breathe. 

You finally slump to his side, giving your legs a rest. You consider stopping, the both of you sated and Max properly punished for his mishap. But then a little whimper slips from your pet’s lips and you notice his cock is hard and leaking against his stomach again. “Maxxie? Did you touch yourself?” He couldn’t have, his hands were on your thighs. 

“No, Mistress,” his voice is breathy and his hands twitch by his sides. He clearly wants more. You push yourself off the mattress and settle between his legs. You form a plan, a way to have him whimpering and begging for you in a way he never has before. You take him in your hand and kiss the tip of his cock. 

“Now, Maxxie, you can come whenever you’re ready, okay? Don’t have to ask.” He looks a little confused but also grateful. 

“Thank you, Mistress.” 

You suck him down in one go, relaxing your throat. Max groans, low and gravelly, fisting the sheets in his big hands. You allow him to thrust into your mouth once, before grabbing his hips and forcing him down into the mattress. You bob your head up and down at a steady rhythm, swirling your tongue around his tip on every upstroke. 

When his legs begin to shake, you gently hold his balls, rolling and tugging them lightly. You can tell he’s close. His chest is heaving despite the fact he doesn’t need air (habit, you guess), and his head is tipped back into the pillows, exposing the long thick column of his throat. You slip one finger behind his sack, pressing into the sensitive spot you know will push him over the edge. He shouts your name so loud it’s nearly a scream and comes down your throat, hips still attempting to thrust deeper into your mouth. When his cock softens, you hollow your cheeks and pull off him with a pop, drawing out another pathetic whimper. 

“Do you feel good Maxxie boy?” 

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you.” He’s being so good you almost feel bad about your plan. Almost.

“Get hard again.” 

“What?” He looks horrified. 

“You heard me, Max,” you say sternly, sitting up on your knees so you tower over him. “Don’t make me ask again.” 

“But it’ll hurt!” he whines. “Let me make you feel good again, Mistress. Please.” God, he’s pitiful… you can make him worse though. 

“You know what would make me feel good, pet? If you did what you were told instead of being a brat.” He pouts and you slap his inner thigh, hard enough to sting.

 He flinches and whines, but you see his spent cock twitch. He can play like he doesn’t like it, but you both know he does. His brow furrows and he closes his eyes in concentration. You watch his cock fill, untouched, as he focuses on sending blood to it. 

“Good boy, Maxxie.” You bend over and kiss his still pouty lips. You replace your lips with two of your fingers. “Suck.” He eagerly pulls your fingers into his mouth, sucking them down to the knuckle and laving your digits with his tongue. 

You pull your fingers from his mouth, patting his pretty cheeks with them. “Good boy.” You get back between his legs and wrap your dry hand around his cock, using your left over and mostly dried saliva as lube. You place your wet fingers against his hole and feel him jolt away from you before he settles and pushes his ass toward you instead. All at once, you push your fingers into him and drag your hand up his length, twisting your wrist at the top. He howls and you watch his face morph, smooth olive skin turning red and wrinkled. His mouth opens wide and you watch his fangs descend, little growls leaving his throat. You think both his faces are beautiful, but he knows better than to change when you’re in charge.  

You let your fangs descend and snarl at him, pressing down on his prostate at the same time. His growl tapers into a whine as his face returns to its human form. You retract your fangs and take his tip in your mouth, pumping your fingers in and out of him.  He grabs the sheets and pulls so hard you hear the threads ripping. His beautiful broad chest is again heaving with the effort of dragging in unnecessary breaths. 

“Mistress pleeeeease. Stop. Please. Fuck. Please, stop. I can’t take it,” his voice is high and whiny, rambling and begging and pleading with you. But he doesn’t say the safeword (crucifix) so you don’t intend to stop. Max bucks his hips into you, forcing him further down your throat. He quickly pulls back, trying to escape your mouth, only to push himself farther down on your fingers. You don’t think he knows if he’s trying to get away from the sensations or if he’s chasing them, but he obviously doesn’t want you to stop.

His eyes roll back into his head and he lets out a strangled moan. “Fuck!! Mistress please, can I come, please please.” He’s writing and tugging on the sheets so much they’ve come off the bed. You sit back on your heels, relieving him from the overstimulation of his cock, but press your fingers against his sensitive spot again. You see tears in the corners of those pretty, lust blown eyes, and know you achieved your goal. 

“Come for me, baby boy” You don’t even have to touch him again. He explodes all over his cute little belly, scrunching his eyes closed and moaning low and long. You work his prostate through it, then remove your fingers from him. You let him be for a moment, not moving away, but not touching him either. 

“You did so good for me, baby boy,” you praise him. “Can I clean you up now?” He nods slowly, still riding the high from his intense orgasm. You lick his cum off his stomach, drying the rest with a blanket, and lay on the bed on your side facing him.

 “Come here, Maxxie,” you whisper gently. He sort of flops over to face you and you pull him fully against you and cradle his head against you. “Good boy, Maxxie. You looked so pretty whining and begging for me. Do you feel good?” He nods sleepily into your chest. “Good,” you whisper. You press kisses to the top of his head and run your fingers through his hair as he falls asleep. Your mattress is exposed where he ripped the sheets off and there’s a dead body on the floor, but you really could not care less right now.

You’ll worry about cleanup tomorrow. 

–----

Endnotes: my headcanon for why she doesn’t let him “vamp out,” as I call it, is that they are in reality very equally matched strength/power wise, but this dynamic is obviously dependent on an imbalance of power, so she wants him to appear human when she doms him. I also think he turned her when he was doing a corporate takeover and she went from human secretary he harassed to vamp secretary he fucked. Then she got tired of his attitude and decided to put him in his place. 

------

Thanks for reading <3

#Max Phillips #Max Phillips fics #Max Phillips fanfiction #Max Phillips x reader #Max Phillips x you #Bloodsucking Bastards #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostories

[prolix-yuy]

For the Bangathon - I spun the wheel and got Reverse Cowgirl, the obvious choice is Jack Daniels/ Agent Whiskey, but I think Max Phillips could be fun too. Up to you!

You know, I love an obvious choice...and then throwing caution to the wind and going for the underdog. Let's play with Max!

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Position: Reverse Cowgirl

Word Count: 816

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral sex (m receiving), allusions to sexual acts, cum play, tiny bit of ass play, PiV sex, subby bratty Max, FEELINGS because it's too much fun to watch max bluescreen.

Notes: Let's put this asshole with a heart of gold through it!

Normally Max loves it when a girl lays him down and rides him reverse. Cock buried deep, doesn’t have to make loving faces at her, ass on display and his own orgasm easy to chase? It’s a dream.

But not with you.

After weeks of playful quips and insults tossed back and forth at the swanky bar you both frequent, Max finally convinced you to come home with him. The triumph of winning was quickly dashed when you pushed him to his knees, fisting his hair as you guided him to eat your pussy under your skirt. Much as he’d hate to admit it, he was ready to burst in his Armani slacks from your firm grip, the praise you dripped across his broad shoulders, and the surge of pride at your release gushing on his tongue. 

And he should have been furious when you smoothed your skirt back down, gave him a toe-curling kiss, and walked right back out the door. He really should have. But when it took less than two strokes to cum pressed up against his door he knew there was something special between you.

So it continued, this battle of wills. He’d find you in the bar, make entertaining conversation (which is surprisingly fun, sex or not), and then you’d battle for who gets to cum that night. The thrill made him harden at your silhouette, his stamina shot when he gets to slide into your mouth or pussy. The way your eyes sparkle when he cums too quickly, and the smile that follows when he hisses for a second round, all haunt him when you’re not around.

So tonight he spins you into his arms before you even enter the bar, kissing you breathless against the side of the building. The pounding of your heart is loud in his ears, licking along the length of your neck. 

“I think we deserve a better night than we’ve been allowing ourselves,” Max posits in your ear, nosing along your cheek as you fake hum in contemplation.

“What did you have in mind, Max Two Minutes?” you tease back, the frustrating nickname making him nip at your jaw. 

“Stay the night. Let me show you all the tricks you never stick around long enough to see.” He hopes the offer doesn’t sound as desperate as it feels. 

“Ready to reveal all your secrets?” you say, pulling back enough for Max to see the agreement in your eyes.

“Only the best ones.”

He finally proves his stamina, bringing you to orgasm three times before finally cumming on your tits. Then he gets to brag about his refractory period, hard in your hand quickly enough for an impressed eyebrow raise. And that’s only the first hour.

Now, slick with sweat and release and the heady aroma of sex, you’re riding him the way he likes. He cups the globes of your ass, kneading at them to see his cock disappearing into your tight cunt. The curve of your spine is graceful, hands on your knees to support your rolling pace. It’s perfect, exactly what he wants.

But he can’t find the edge of his orgasm. 

He tries planting his feet and power bottoming, letting his mouth run wild, even running a thumb over your tight asshole, but nothing is mounting his arousal. Has he fucked himself too dry in an attempt to impress? Does he really not have another in him?

But then he shifts, and the curve of your cheek comes into focus. There, he realizes. In between all of the fucking and competing and biting remarks, he hadn’t realized what actually happened. 

He’s into her. 

It hits him like a goddamn freight train. He wants her smile, her teasing tongue, the mirth in her eyes. Her body gets him hard and begging, he’s not gonna argue that, but he wants so much more than her sensual sway above him.

“Baby, look at me,” he asks, eliciting a chuckle from you. His whole chest constricts, but he says oh so quietly, “please.”

Your body stills, and slowly, like you’re waiting for a cruel joke, you turn to look at him. The moment your eyes connect he watches the trepidation melt into amazement. Your lower lip drops, eyes soft as Max lets a little smile bloom on his face.

He guides you onto the bed, kneeling between your thighs as he leans in to kiss you. There’s no winner anymore; it’s full and languid as he slides back inside, your arms coming up around his neck. He drops to his elbows, hips rolling with liquid motion. Even when the thrusts become more purposeful, licking into your mouth and circling your clit, he’s still looking at you like something amazing and precious. It matches your own expression, a feedback loop of holy shit, there you are that surprises you both.

So Max’s favorite position used to be reverse cowgirl. But with you? It’s missionary for as long and as often as you’ll let him. Unless you’re both feeling a little fresh that night. In that case, all bets are off. Anything can happen, and that’s exactly how Max likes it.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

#max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x you #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction

[oonajaeadira]

LIGHT AND SHADOW (Max Phillips x f!reader) Masterlist

FANDOM: Bloodsucking Bastards / Max Phillips

READER: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

RATING: Mature

No Minors Please: My work is 18+. I will respectfully ask minors to turn away to protect themselves and me. Thank you.

SUMMARY: A vampire takes a liking to you and appoints himself your guardian angel.

NOTES: A horror romance, more creepy than sexy. This story assumes that the Max we see in the films is Evan's version of the story and Max was never defeated, he just transferred to a different company. Max is still an egotistical asshole, but he's also very good with his vampiric gifts and very much not human anymore. This series is ongoing.

_____

LIGHT AND SHADOW SEQUENCE

Light Only Shows You Where The Shadows Are -- The only thing that can get rid of a minor jerk is a major jerk.

Shadows Take Root Within the Heart

A Heart Only Knows The Secrets It’s Been Told

Secrets Are Just Stories In the Dark

___

ONE SHOTS IN THE L&S UNIVERSE

I’ll Leave a Light On For You -- written for a Secret Santa challenge, a tale of a Christmas past that informs Max’s present.

___

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

#bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader #horror romance #light and shadow sequence

[pedropascalsx]

Cristina’s masterlist - Updated Feb 2023!

A post with all my posted fics to date. Please note my Din fic is quite long with multiple chapters to I have yet to decide whether to upload it to tumblr.

All my fics are 18+, so if you’re a minor please do NOT interact or read.

Din Djarin; No Thanks Necessary - Multi chapter - only on A03. Dancing Is A Dangerous Game - Multi Chapter. Target Practice - One Shot. Frankie 'Catfish' Morales; Build Me Up Buttercup - Multi Chapter. Frankie's Birthday - Drabble - Part of the BMUB series but can be read as a one shot. The Fall Out - Multi Chapter. Restraint - One Shot. Relief - One Shot. Safe - One Shot. Right Where You Left Me - One Shot. Sooner - One Shot. Javier Pena; Tell Me Your Secrets - Multi Chapter. You Better Hold Onto Something - One Shot. Parts Left, Parts Gained - One Shot. The Beginning - Multi Chapter. Dave York; One Last Time - One Shot. Appreciation - Multi Chapter. This Is Me Trying - Dr York AU - Multi Chapter. Formal Wear - One Shot. Overstimulation - One Shot. Threesome - Dave x Reader x Frankie - One Shot. Marcus Pike; An Unexpected Confession - One Shot (Potential second chapter.) Marcus Moreno; Unexpected - One Shot. Dieter Bravo; Courage - One Shot. Potent - Sex Pollen - One Shot. Dominance! - One Shot. 1,2,3,4&5 - Multi Chapter. Pero Tovar; A Rugged Kindness - Multi Chapter. Max Phillips; Be Still My Beating Heart - One Shot. Joel Miller; The Joel Miller Diaries - Multi Chapter. Restless Spirits - One Shot.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #narcos fanfiction #javier pena #Dieter Bravo #the bubble fanfiction #Mine: the bubble #frankie catfish morales #Frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #max phillips #bloodsucking bastards #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x f!reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you

[outercrasis]

Bonded

Part 6

Pairing: Max Phillips x Named F!Reader/OFC (Prudence Walker)

Rating/Word Count: M (18+) / 5.1k

Warnings: more spooks, discussions of death, ghosts (please let me know if there is a tag I should add)

Summary: Everyone's favorite part of an investigation... research!

A/N: Another big thank you to @honestly-shite for beta reading most of this chapter for me, ily💕

Previous ++ Series Masterlist ++ Next

The rooms that Molly has provided you to sleep in are shockingly clean despite the state of the rest of the manor. The sheets smell a bit musty, but you aren’t afraid of any spiders or mice crawling around in the sheets with you. Max is right next door doing lord knows what until you finally wake again. 

It’s hard to not wonder what he gets up to in the hours when everyone else is asleep. It’s a comfort to know that he can’t be sneaking around hurting anyone, but you’re not sure what else might preoccupy his time. From what you can tell, Max didn’t bring any sort of entertainment with him and you can’t hear noise of any kind through the relatively thin walls. Part of you wonders if you snuck into his room if you wouldn’t find him lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling into nothing.

You do your best to dismiss him from your thoughts, not wanting Max to be the last thing on your mind before you fall asleep. Despite your best efforts, you can’t help thinking about how your visitor tonight first spoke after Max reached out. You have no idea if it means anything, but it could be something to keep in mind. Being a vampire could give him some previously unexplored edge with the paranormal.

The next morning finds you relatively well rested. The bed is quite old, not exactly comfortable, but you stayed warm enough and didn’t have a truly fitful sleep. Max has already left his room. You sincerely hope he hasn’t done anything in that time to make Molly send you away, eager to play back everything you captured on the DV camera and audio recorder and get her some answers.

You find them in the kitchen together, sitting at the table and casually chatting. You note that while Max has changed into another henley a size too small, Molly appears to be wearing the same clothes as yesterday. You’re not judging her, but more so you’re surprised given the way she generally carries herself. You suppose it must be hard to do laundry consistently while working on a project such as this one though and let the thought lie. 

You nearly ask what’s for breakfast when you realize the kitchen is in a state of disrepair equal to the rest of the home. Since Molly is living here you expected the kitchen to at least be repaired for basic functionality, but that is very obviously not the case. You imagine she must be living off of fast food and simple items that require no actual cooking. Again, you aren’t judging her, simply surprised and a bit sympathetic. She must not have been here long before her crews bailed on her.

“Good morning, Prudence,” Molly greets cheerfully. “Max was just telling me how the two of you met.”

You stand next to Max, confused as to what he could possibly be telling her. The truth isn't exactly an option. “Was he now?”

“It’s so cute that you met at a conference. And Max giving you tips for your website, that’s precious.”

“He really was too generous,” you reply, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder, disguising it as a friendly touch while you dig your blunt fingernails into him. If it actually hurts him he gives nothing away, but it’s satisfying all the same. Molly squares you with one of those knowing looks, as though she understands that there is more going on between the two of you than what’s being said. If it weren’t considered impolite and a risk to your own life, you’d stake the bastard right now for giving her that impression.

“Has Max told you anything about our investigation last night?” you ask, eager to move the conversation anywhere else.

“No, he didn’t. Did you find anything?”

“We’re not quite sure who it was yet, but we did make contact with someone. I’ll be reviewing my tapes and doing some more research today to see what I can find out.”

Molly looks a bit surprised to know that you made contact with a spirit. It’s not an uncommon reaction. Most of the time when you’re called out somewhere people are hoping that you will prove them crazy for ever believing it could be something supernatural. Money happily spent for peace of mind. You don’t mind all that much either – of course you would rather find something, but the money makes up for the disappointment.

You're thankful Max keeps his mouth shut about the age of your mysterious spirit. The topic of children ghosts are touchy at the best of times – Molly's reaction from yesterday making you all the more hesitant to say anything before you have something concrete to share.

"Do you need anything from me?" Molly asks.

You shake your head politely. "I don't think so. If I do, I'll have Max come find you."

"I'll keep an ear out then."

You grab onto Max's arm, pulling him from his seat. "Come on, we're burning daylight." 

Max is less than thrilled to be dragged along to review tapes. There are hours of footage to shift through. After your conversation with the spirit you had left the digital recorder and DV camera running in other areas that you thought would have activity, hoping to pick something else up. 

You've taken the equipment into a sunroom off the back of the manor, surprisingly warm despite the cool weather. There's a large tarp covering up one corner, providing enough shade for Max to sit in undisturbed by the irritation of the sun.

"Remind me why I couldn't stay and talk with Molly?" Max asks, his head propped lazily on his hand, only half looking at the small screen of the DV camera.

You pop an earbud out, pausing the audio recording you’re part way through. "Because I didn't need you telling her anymore lies about us. And you wanted to join me on this, remember? Going through recordings is part of the job."

"It's boring," Max whines. "There's nothing on this camera except for the light flickering on and off which we saw for ourselves. Seems like a waste of time, babe."

“Yeah well you can do this or you can go sit in the car. Take your pick.” You put your earbud back in before Max can make another smartass comment. There’s another hour and a half of recorded audio for you to get through, saving yours and Max’s conversation with the ghost until the end. You’ve always liked saving the most exciting parts for last, a reward for getting through the often boring slog of nothing on them.

It’s all too easy for your mind to wander while listening to the white noise on the recording. The sunroom, like the rest of the manor, is gorgeous despite its state of disrepair. You can see it becoming the perfect place for a nice brunch or lazing about in an afternoon, relaxing and taking in the view of the expansive lands around the building. You imagine it looks breathtaking in summer and the peak of autumn. Unfortunately now with the mostly brown landscape outdoors there isn’t much to see. 

Your journal is laid out before you, the well worn pages comfortable in your hands. It’s a welcome diversion while you listen to what seems like an endless amount of white noise and do your best not to stare at your unwanted partner. However, since you’re unable to actually read it while you listen for fear of missing something in the audio, it’s not that great a distraction.

Despite his proclaimed boredom, Max has zoned into the small DV camera screen. You could have uploaded the video to your laptop and given him a larger screen to watch on – which probably benefit you in the long run – but pettiness won out to give you the free entertainment of watching him struggle. His brow is furrowed, two small lines forming between them. His hair has grown out slightly from when you first met – an errant strand that's just starting to curl falling on his forehead. Your fingers itch to push it back into place.

You force your focus back towards the journal. The page it’s open to is filled with lists of herbs – their properties, uses, meanings alongside basic sketches of each. They don’t hold your attention for long. 

Max reaches his arm back, scratching mindlessly at his shoulder blade, lean muscles flexing with every movement. You’re screaming at whatever part of your brain is betraying you right now to remember the asshole vampire part of him before you start drooling.

The sharp line of his jaw, dotted with the start of stubble, starts to catch your attention when you hear something on the tape. It’s finally rolled into your conversation with the spirit last night, Max’s voice and yours occasionally breaking up the white noise now. That isn’t what makes you pause. You hear Max ask his first question, the unanswerable what do you want that you’re quick to chastise him for. Your voices aren’t the only two on the tape though.

You pause the recording, taking your earbuds out. “Max, can you listen to this?”

He pops his head up from the screen to look at you, eyes glazed from watching too much nothing. “I don’t know, is that something I’m allowed to do or should I go sit in the car?” he asks dryly. You immediately regret any thought you had about him in the past few minutes that was approaching kind.

“Stop being a baby and listen.” You offer an earbud to Max, moving your chair closer to him so that the cord will reach between the two of you. It’s impossible for you both to listen without your shoulders brushing. Neither of you say anything about it.

You rewind the recording and press play, watching his face for any reaction. It’s more than a bit disappointing when he doesn’t react at all. “Did you hear anything strange?” you ask.

“I don’t know, play it again.” Max looks disgruntled, like he thinks he heard something but can’t figure it out. It gives you a small inkling of hope. Audio recordings can be strange at times and it’s affirming to know your brain isn’t manufacturing things out of nothing. You play the audio back again.

“What do you want?” you hear Max on the tape ask. Then, right underneath your own voice reminding him that it’s yes or no questions only, a third voice. It’s faint and small, but there. Max’s rounded eyes only serve to confirm it for you.

I want my mom.

You still don’t know who the spirit is, but the matter of them being a child feels well settled. Your heart aches. Young, lost, and alone, looking for one of the world’s simplest and most powerful forms of comfort. Their mom.

“We have to tell Molly,” Max asserts, all but ripping his earbud out. You have no idea what is possessing him to think that could possibly be the next best course of action.

“No,” you tell him.

“No? What do you mean no? I think she has a right to know about the child ghost she has lingering around, Prudence.”

“We don’t tell her until we have all the facts,” you try to reason. “We don’t have any idea who they are, what they want, or if they have any connection to Molly. We can’t give her half the facts, that’s not what we’re being paid for.”

“So you tell her nothing in the meantime?”

“If she asks, I tell her I have something promising I’m looking into. That’s it.” It’s clear that if asked, that is also what Max should be saying to her. You’re not about to have him start undermining you at every turn. This is still your job. Not his.

Max is shaking his head at you, but he doesn’t say anything more. You ignore him completely, not wanting to take ethics lessons from a vampire that was plotting to kill mere weeks ago. You readjust your earbud and offer the other to him again. “Come on. There might be something more.”

He takes the earbud back with more force than necessary and you wind the recording back. You don’t want to miss a second of it now. The rest of it continues as you remember. Silence other than your own voices on the tape until suddenly it’s there again. This time unencumbered by your voice speaking over top of it, the message loud and clear.

Help us.

Moments later you ask if they’re still there with you. There’s no response on the audio recording, just as you remember there being no response through the flashlight. You grab the DV recorder away from Max, scrubbing through the footage until you get to the same spot. The voice matches up with the flashlight flickering on and off before becoming still and steady for the rest of the night. 

The good-bye message hadn’t been simple at all. The spirit wasn’t offering a friendly farewell, they were asking for help. Help us. Not me, us. Who else needs your help in the manor? Is there more than one spirit trapped? There’s been nothing else caught on the recordings, but that doesn’t mean someone else couldn’t be around. Some spirits are known to be more shy than others.

Your mind is racing. There are more pieces to put together here than you thought. It’s no wonder Molly couldn’t keep her construction crew and contractors around with all of this going on, because now you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve only been scratching at the surface. Opening your journal to a blank enough page, you begin to scribble notes, completely engrossed in your work and completely forgetting about Max until he clears his throat beside you. 

He’s shockingly quiet for once, words actually failing him. It hadn’t been hard to tell that interacting with a honest-to-god ghost last night had thrown him off slightly, but this development seems to have actually unnerved him into silence. You know it’s unfair of you, remembering your own rabbit quick heartbeat and sweaty palms the first time you came into contact with a spirit on your own, but the reaction does seem a bit absurd for a member of the living dead to have.

“What’s up?” you ask him, eager to get back to your frantic notes and figuring out your next steps. 

“That’s a kid asking for help,” he states, repeating the shared revelation you both made. He doesn’t add anything more to it.

“Mhmm,” you prompt, trying to get him to continue. You aren’t sure where he’s going with this. 

“That’s a kid.” 

“Yes, it is and we’re going to help them like they asked.”

“By not telling Molly.”

You set your pen down, rubbing at your temples. What he isn’t grasping about this situation you don’t understand. “We don’t know who this child is, Max. It seems like they have a connection to Molly but we don’t know that for certain and I don’t know about you, but bringing up the death of children isn’t the most pleasant topic for people.”

Your words seem to break through. For once he doesn’t fight you, nodding and picking the DV camera back up. It’s strange, Max being so quiet, but you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. You scrub through the audio recording a few more times, thinking over every small detail you can remember. The next step for you is clear. You need to know more about this manor and the people who lived in it.

“I’m going to the library,” you announce, snapping your journal shut and standing up. Max looks like there is nothing he would like to do less than join you. He doesn’t even need to speak, a simple dramatic arch of his eyebrow and you know he’s not coming with. Not that you mind all that much, he probably wouldn’t even help if you dragged him along.

“I’ll be back. Don’t tell Molly anything while I’m gone,” you warn.

“Yeah, whatever you say peach.”

The library is quaint, an older building with the history of the town built right into its bricks. You’ve always preferred libraries like these to the more modern ones. It feels like the exterior matches all the years of knowledge they hold inside. Hopefully this one holds the knowledge you’re looking for.

There’s a librarian at the front desk and rather than waste time searching for the information you need on your own, you go right up to them.

“Hi, I'm doing a research project on the Westlake Manor. I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction?"

You learned a while ago it's easier to call your work a research project and get on with it. Technically it isn't even a lie. The librarian is kind enough to direct you to the relevant local records and microfilm for your research, quickly leaving you to it. 

As you get the first roll of microfilm set up in the machine, a random local teenager catches sight of one of your open books and stops. Peering over he says, "You're looking into that old place? You'll want to look at the late 90's, that's when the crazy stuff happened there."

"What do you mean?" you ask, interest very much peaked. 

He chuckles, nodding towards the machine in front of you. "See for yourself. Shit's wild."

You can't help but crack a smile, amused by their blunt yet vague explanation. Despite their comment you decide to start your research back a few decades earlier, curious about when the home was last occupied. You never know if your child ghost might belong to them.

The last owners and true occupants of Westlake Manor were the Augustine's, owning the home from 1952 to 1979. Mr Augustine ran into financial trouble, forcing the family to sell the home in order to pay off debts that had been acquired. The information doesn't get much more specific than that, but it's enough to paint a picture.

The next owners of the home didn't actually live in it. They were never named and seem to have purchased it more so to acquire the manor as a financial asset rather than use it. It's clear that during that time is when it fell into a state of disrepair. With no staff kept on, the place was left to rot until you locate a bill of sale dated November 28th, 1996.

The home was sold to Molly Allen for nearly one million dollars, a name that stops you dead in your tracks. That can't be. Given your guess of Molly's age, she couldn't have been older than her early teens in 1996.

Frantically, you search for some plausible answer in the microfilm. Maybe Molly came from a wealthy family who purchased the home in her name and she's only now set her sights upon it. Perhaps in some crazy coincidence of names, one Molly Allen sold the home to another. You'd think Molly would have mentioned something interesting like that though.

You continue to sift through, looking for anything that will prove the chilling feeling running down your spine incorrect. Finally, you find an article from the local paper dated April 1997 and your blood runs cold.

It can't be, and yet the truth of the matter is staring you directly in the face. On the screen in large bold letters reads Tragedy at Westlake Manor. Directly beneath is a photo of Molly, the Molly you know and have been speaking with, smiling brightly on the front steps of the manor. Her one arm is wrapped around the shoulders of a little boy that looks very much like her.

You dive into the article, a pit gathering in your stomach. The article provides background on the manor, a brief overview of the manor’s history up to Molly taking ownership in 1996. The article is not a happy one. Not a piece on the restoration of a local landmark, but rather the report of a terrible construction accident that resulted in the death of Molly Allen and her eleven year old son, Christopher.

There had been some kind of major equipment failure, completely outside of the control of anyone on the site, bringing the machinery down on the Allens and an unnamed worker. The worker managed to walk away with his life despite some time spent in critical condition at the nearby hospital – Molly and Christopher were not nearly as lucky. Both were declared dead at the scene, bringing a swift end to the hope of the Westlake Manor restoration and transformation into a popular tourist location.

The mystery of who the spirit is becomes incredibly clear. Christopher. Molly’s confusion over and failure to mention any children makes sense. She’s stuck in a kind of loop, the traumatic accident leaving her unaware of her fate or the fate of her child. Your heart shatters at the thought. You wouldn’t wish this upon anyone, not even your worst enemies. It’s no wonder both of them are stuck and tethered to the manor. Molly doesn’t even know she’s dead and Christopher won’t leave without her.

Curious, you continue your research into the Westlake Manor. There’s a nagging feeling you can’t ignore, as though there’s still a piece of this puzzle that you’re missing. You sift through newspapers and records, eventually pulling out your laptop to do further research online, until you make a striking realization alongside two new discoveries. 

Years after the passing of the Allen’s, someone tried to sell the property. There was a hope that whoever bought it would continue the dream Molly once had and that her spirit now clings to. The renewed hope didn’t last for long. Only two weeks into showing the property and trying to drum up interest in investors there was a freak accident – the realtor falling through some rotten wood, the rough fall to the cellar below enough to kill her. No one has tried to sell or purchase the property since.

However, that doesn’t mean people have left the old place alone. From your understanding it’s still a landmark for the local area, a litany of ghost stories sticking to the manor. Enough ghost stories to draw out paranormal investigators amateur and professional alike, the results of each investigation hit and miss. One in particular grabs your attention though from only three years ago.

The post itself is covered in warnings to stay away from the manor, not going into any specific details, but enough for you to know two things – whoever this was, they had spoken with Molly and there had been another death at the manor. You start connecting the dots and make the most important discovery of all. You and Max need to get the fuck out of there.

You don't feel all that bad leaving the mess of microfilm and records behind. If you had the time you would have taken the proper care to put it away, thanking the librarian for their help, and gone on your merry way. You don't have that luxury at the moment.

You hastily throw on your jacket, grabbing your things and shoving them into your bag without regard. Running through a library is something that is also likely frowned upon, but you do it anyway, frantic to get back to your car.

As soon as you're on the main road, you search for your phone. It's at the bottom of the bag, your pencil poking your hand along the way. You hiss at the slight prick, shaking your hand out before renewing your frantic search. You know this is ridiculously stupid. Speeding, attention half on your phone, adrenaline pumping. Thankfully Max's name is easy to find.

The phone rings through. "Hello-"

You quickly interrupt. "Max, we need to go now." you say, only for his voice to cut through.

"-you've reached Max Phillips. Leave a message at the beep."

Fucking voicemail. You hang up and call again. He still doesn't answer. You're going to kill him. His phone is always nearby him and he chooses now of all times to be away from it? Or even worse, he's actually ignoring you, in which case you'll kill him twice. 

"Fuck, pick up you stupid parasite!" you shout, pounding the steering wheel. The phone continues to ring, going to voicemail and forcing you to dial again. 

It takes another three rings before Max finally picks up. "Hey babe, where’s the fire?"

"Max. Listen to me very carefully. Are you around Molly right now?" You're praying he says no. The less interaction you and Max can manage to have with her from here on out the better. 

"No." Small miracles do happen.

"Good. Whatever you do, avoid her. I need you to go to our rooms, pack up all our things, and meet me outside. I'll be there in ten."

"What? Why?"

You don't have time for this. You need to get to the manor, get your things, and get the fuck out. Explanations can come later.

"Would you just trust me?" you ask. There's a beat, a moment where you're completely unsure if Max will say yes or no. Your heart is pounding, waiting with bated breath for his answer. 

"Yeah, fine. I'll trust you Prudence. But I want an explanation."

"You'll get one."

Max is standing outside the manor when you tear up the drive, looking equal parts annoyed and alarmed with your behavior. You’ve barely put the Suburban in park before you’re running out of it, door left wide open, grabbing your bag from Max and loading it into the car. 

“Do you have everything?” you ask Max, peeking inside your duffle to do a quick visual check. Everything seems to be in order.

“Yeah, what-”

“You’re sure? You left nothing behind?” you reaffirm, climbing back into the Suburban. 

“Yes, psycho. Now would you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

You glance back at the manor in your rearview, slowly fading from view. There’s a pit in your stomach, a terrible feeling for leaving so quickly but you know it’s for the best. You aren’t planning on abandoning Molly or Christopher either, a simple but effective plan already forming in your mind. You could never truly leave them behind and be able to live with yourself – Christopher’s voice on the audio recording still fresh in your mind. Help us.

Max has settled into the passenger seat, arms firmly crossed over his chest. “Explanation?” he presses.

The manor officially slips from view and you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself from the panic before laying it all out for him. "Molly Allen is dead."

Max stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. "What are you talking about?"

You keep your eyes firmly on the road ahead, hands tight on the wheel. Trees lining the road whip past you, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon. "Her and her son Christopher died in a construction accident in 1997."

"Are you saying-?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"That's fucking crazy." 

You finally caution a glance over at Max. His emotions are splattered across his face, disbelief and confusion knotting his eyebrows. Before he can start rambling about his confusion you try to explain things.

"She's caught in a loop. The trauma of the accident has caused her to forget dying, forget Christopher dying, everything. She still thinks it's 1997 and her construction crews abandoned her due to a ghost story."

Max takes a beat to process everything you just threw at him. Out of the corner of your eye you can see him doing the mental math, adding it all up.

"Why did we have to leave so quickly? I'm surprised you didn't want to stay and help or wake her up or whatever." 

You think that's a compliment. It's hard to tell with his tone of voice, but you'll take it as one.

"I think when Molly is broken from her loop and realizes what's happened she kills whoever broke her out of it," you explain.

"Molly?" Max laughs. "You did meet her, angel? She couldn't kill anyone, dead or alive."

"I met a spirit so traumatized by her and her son's death that she doesn't realize she died and has blocked out her son's existence to handle the pain. Her killing people for breaking that delusion wouldn't surprise me."

The reality of the situation with Molly sobers Max up quickly. "So now we're leaving the kid to fend for himself with a crazy ghost mom?"

Now that is just insulting. You might not be able to handle it yourself but you would never leave the two of them behind and stuck in pain. "No. I got the two of us out because the risk of breaking Molly out of the loop and having her kill one of us would kill both of us. Once we stop somewhere I'll call Nana and have her reach out to her contacts. With my information and the power of a few mediums and psychics they'll be able to put Molly and Christopher to rest."

"How do you know Molly won't kill them?" Max asks.

Emotionally charged from your discovery and coming down from the panic of getting away from the manor, his question grates on you. "Because they're experienced and know how to handle a spirit like hers. Do you think we're all just running around not knowing what we're doing or something? I know you don't give a shit but some of us care about this and care about enough to do it properly. We can’t help her but there are others who can.”

Max throws his hands up, leaning back against the window. “Yeesh, no need to bite my head off, hellcat. I was only asking.”

You ignore Max in favor of figuring out where it is you’re actually headed. Taking off from the manor you didn’t pay much attention and the fuel gauge is starting to get low. You need gas, a safe place to call Nana, and somewhere you can actually think for all of five minutes. You turn on the radio to fill the silence of the car, letting it scan through the channels.

You finally find a gas station after twenty minutes of driving pass by. Pulling up to the pump, Max opens his door to step out and hesitates. He turns back, his brown eyes looking soft for just a moment. "How did Molly get in contact with you?" he asks gently.

You turn the car off, one hand still gripping the wheel tightly and tell him the truth. “I have no idea.”

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#max phillips x you #max phillips x reader #max phillips x original female character #max phillips fanfiction #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #max phillips x prudence walker #bonded #crasis writes

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

genre: smut, office romance

word count: 5k

summary: a week after walking in on your boyfriend fucking someone else, Max gives you the day off. You leave, unaware that you dropped your watch. Much to your surprise, he brings it to you. Your relationship with him escalates in the following days.

warnings: office sex, rough sex, praise kink, dirty talk, use of 'sir' & 'good girl', piv, dom/sub dynamics, very mild degradation (he calls you his cocksleeve like once), dumbification if you squint, soft!max at times

a/n: I drafted this months ago and only now I finally finished the fic, I have no idea why I waited this long especially since I'd written most of it back then but other wips got in the way--sorry Max lmaodvdf this is my first time writing for you and I hope I did you justice 🖤 I rewatched his scenes and I'm still so horny for this man it's making me look stupid

Max’s office is the nicest one of everyone who works in this building, albeit a bit darker. There’s a succulent on his desk that reminds you of a translucent star and you can’t seem to draw your eyes away from it. His voice is smooth and melodic but you aren’t really listening. Your hand moves over to your watch, feeling the coolness of metal underneath your fingertips. It’s nice. 

It’s safe to say that you’re not really paying attention to anything. 

Your eyes are wet still, a sting every time you dare to blink. It’s been a week since you found your boyfriend screwing someone else on the couch in the living room. The image still lingers in your head, taunting you. 

While you stared, unblinking as they scrambled for their clothes, all you could think of how happy you were that they didn’t use the bedroom. 

Now that the relationship is over it’s easier to see the red flags. The way he belittled you, your passions, the things that you enjoyed. Your body, your cooking, anything you did was never enough for him. It was an open invitation to mock you for who you were. And that was the least of it, he never touched you, and you had to beg him for sex— not in the fun kind if you might add. You feel so fucking stupid for trying to make him happy.

“You’re not listening are you?” 

You flinch upon hearing the question, eyes finally snapping away from the succulent and turning to Max. You didn’t mean to be so obvious about it. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. . . Great, another person you couldn’t make happy no matter what you did. 

“You’ve been like this all week. Is there something going on? You can take leave if you need to, you’re not really much use like this anyway” 

His words sting but you can’t really blame him for it. Though you did find it funny that as an immortal he was so pressed for time. 

“Sorry,” you say and he looks at you, really looks at you. Brown eyes move from your eyes to your lips, his own tongue darting out to wet his own. “I’ll do better just some... personal stuff going on,”

“Family?” 

“Shitty breakup.” 

“Oh.”

Max appreciates bluntness. You figured that one out on your first day here. He isn’t a fan of keeping anything that might affect your work bottled up. He doesn't like the guessing game either. If there’s something wrong he wants to know and if he can he’ll fix it. Not that he can really fix a broken heart. 

He suddenly stands up, making his way around the desk. He lends against the edge, hands on his lap. Instictecly you curl your fingers around the armrests. Max is pretty docile for the most part, unless he’s hungry. But the way he’s looking down at you, brows relaxed and a faint smile tugging at his lips, it makes your heart drop. He’s a walking corpse but his eyes are more alive compared to most people you’ve met. 

“I’m sure you’ll be happier without commitment wearing you down,” he says, voice dropping, barely above a whisper. You shudder and fail to see the way his fingers twitch. “Don’t think about it, relax, sweetheart.” 

And you do. It’s like warm water dancing over your skin. Your shoulders slump, your body limply sinking into the chair. A lazy smile spreads across your lips and he smiles back, teeth winking at you between his plush lips. “That’s it. You’re not feeling anything  now, are you?” 

You giggle, shaking your head. Even your heartbeat slows, the tips of your fingers tingling with pleasure—

You blink, pinching your brows, you slowly roll your shoulders and hear your bones crack. Max is gazing at you with utmost curiosity, thumbs drumming silently.

Then it hits you. The fucker is using his powers. Fucking vampires. 

“Stop it,” you hiss, your body relaxed but mind racing. He rolls his eyes and waves his hand as a sign of dismissal. The tension that had disappeared from your muscles return at full force, and you jolt. “You shouldn’t do that,” 

“I was trying to help,” he answers without a care in his tone. He buttons his vest and gestures with his head to the door. “Take the rest of the day off. Sort yourself. See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” 

“But—” 

“Just go. It’s fine,” when you fail to look convinced, he pouts and draws a cross over his chest. Ironic. “I swear. Now go, take the day off, collect your thoughts or whatever you need to do,” 

You leave without pointing out the irony of him making a cross over his non-beating heart. You’ve worked long enough to know that if the boss wants you to take the time off, you take the time off. 

Max drags his palm over his face, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he hops off the desk and turns to look at the empty seat you left behind. He’s not sure if he should be condoning this kind of behavior. He doesn’t want people barging in here asking to leave with the most minuscule of problems. But it isn’t typical of you to be distracted so he decided that you earned it. 

He’s curious about what kind of man would be stupid enough to leave you, let alone make you look that sad. Not that it’s any of his business. 

Max is amidst turning on his heel when he sees it. A small sparkle on the carpeted floor. Cocking an eyebrow, he leans over with his hands in his pockets. A watch? 

That’s right you had a watch when you came in, you were playing with it while he was going over the weekly sales. You must’ve dropped it. Looking almost bored, he scoops it off the floor and stares at it. He sees your initials written on the back, a pretty, delicate little accessory. 

Surely you would miss it. He knows your address due to dragging your drunk self back home after an office party— so maybe he should bring it to you. Max sighs and flips the watch over. He has time to make a quick stop. 

He leaves the office with the watch snug in his pocket. It really isn’t his style to be nice, or remorseful, but he does feel a tad guilty using his powers on you. He genuinely did think he was doing some good. It did look like you were feeling better until you broke out of the trance. 

Max steps into the elevator. The tedious music loud and scratching his ears as always. 

Taking a day off isn’t going as smoothly as you had hoped. 

Initially, you thought you would binge your favorite shows and eat a bucket of ice cream. Instead, you ended up staring blankly at the ceiling, arm dangling out from the side of the bed. It’s a shitty feeling. Your heart feels heavy and uncomfortable. Maybe Max taking away the pain wasn’t so bad after all? 

There’s a loud knock on the door and you jump. Every bone in your body aches, your heart beating fast as you head to the living room. You’re praying to every god you know that it’s not your ex. You don’t want to deal with him. Especially not today. 

You take a deep, calming, breath. It’s okay. He wouldn’t just show up now, would he? Stupidly enough you don’t look through the peephole before yanking the door open, the person that lurks on the other side takes you by surprise completely. 

It’s Max. 

What the hell? 

“Hiii,” he says with a smug grin. He lifts something to your line of vision and it takes you a moment to recognize your watch. “Found this, thought you might miss it.” 

Blinking, you open your palms and he drops it. It feels like a dream. “Uh…thanks,” 

“You’re welcome,” he peers over your shoulder, looking into the dimly lit apartment. “So how’s your day off going?” 

“Not as fun as I hoped,” you give him a bittersweet smile. His eyes meet yours, and you see your reflection in them, so bright. “Do you want to come inside?” 

A shudder climbs your spine when something dark crosses his face, eyes becoming sharper. Your stomach churns and you swallow, fingers tightening around the watch. 

“Would love to” he chirps, practically jumping over the threshold. “Thank you for the invite, much obliged.” 

“You really can’t come in without being invited?” you ask, closing the door with a push of your heel. 

“Nope,” he answers, emphasizing on the p. “Why do you think I left you at the door after the party? You were too drunk to say ‘come in’ I basically had to push you through the door just so you could crawl the rest of the way to your bedroom,” 

“I honestly thought you were just being an asshole,” 

He scoffs, “I am an asshole. Just not to the people I like,” 

He drops down to the couch, which in return makes your stomach sink. You really need to burn it, you don’t think you can have it in your apartment anymore. You sit across from him, placing the watch neatly on top of the coffee table. “I wasn’t aware you liked me,” 

“Let’s say tolerate. I like your work ethic.” 

“Thank you?” you answer, unsure.

“You’re very much welcome.” 

You’re not sure why you invited him inside. He doesn’t drink coffee unless it’s morning, and he doesn’t really like to eat as far as you could tell. The silence is deafening and uncomfortable. You part your lips to ask if he would like tea or anything else but he beats you to it, gaze fixated on you. 

“So, how did it happen?” 

Your throat goes dry, “What?” 

“The break-up,” he shrugs and leans back into the couch, you internally cringe. “Do you want me to break his neck or something?” 

“What—No!” you’re horrified but can’t ignore the way warmth blossoms in your chest. You’re highly aware that he’s joking, however, it’s still a nice thought that someone actually cares enough to get pissed about it. “Where did that even come from?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not sure I like seeing you so sad. It’s unnerving.” 

“Sorry that my misfortune is bothering you,” you answer, crossing your arms. “He cheated on me, and I’m only now realizing how shitty he was.” 

“Ouch.” 

“Yeah,” 

“So I do need to break his neck then?” 

You laugh. 

You aren’t expecting it, but here you are rubbing tears from your eyes as you laugh with your whole body. There’s just something about the way he said it; as if it was the most normal thing to do. He seems to enjoy the way you laugh. Smiling wide and bright, watching you with fond eyes. 

After minutes, your laughter starts to die down, softening into breathless giggles. You’re surprised to find that Max is still smiling at you, no smugness, no cockiness, just an earnest smile. 

“Thank I really needed that,” you say, heat building at the base of your spine. “Sorry if I worried you. It’s been a bit rough lately.” 

“We can’t all be perfect every second,” he grins, he flattens his palms over his thighs, moving them up and down. Your breath hitches, eyes involuntarily dropping to his crotch. You’re flustered all of a sudden. He tilts his head, tongue poking out of his cheek as he gives you an open-mouthed smirk. “See something you like, sweetheart?” 

Your eyes snap to his face, cheeks burning, “Nope. Not—Not at all,” 

He leans forward, placing his elbows on his thighs. There’s a table in between but you feel as if he’s a breath away. You swallow, goosebumps rousing over your skin. 

“You know I can smell it right?” he purrs. “I can smell the arousal gathering between your legs. I can hear the way your heart is beating… That asshole had no idea how to fuck you properly did he?” 

Your pussy bottoms out at his words. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction that he’s right, you don’t want him to know how badly you want him inside. For him to whisper praises into your ear as you squirm around his cock. You lick your lips. He’s not using his powers, you can tell. Yet you still want to blame it on the fact that he’s doing something to make you feel so hot and bothered. But it’s not him, just you. 

You’re not sure when you started to have the hots for your boss, but clearly, there was something there. Lurking in the darkness of your mind.

“Look at you,” he coos, eyes raking over your body. “So sweet and afraid. Let me be the first one to say that he didn’t deserve you. Not in the slightest,” 

“Max…” you warn. 

“Yeah…?” he mimics your tone, smile somehow wider. “Would you want to get coffee before work tomorrow morning?” 

The question catches you by surprise. You observe him for a brief moment, he seems dead serious—at least the amount of serious Max Phillips can be. 

You nod.

Your first early morning coffee date with Max goes exactly how you expect it to go. You pay for both coffees as a thank you. He found it unnecessary but grumbled a thanks anyway. He talks a lot about work; about sales, about his time in Romania. But mostly work. You do appreciate the distraction though so you don’t complain. You pitch in, telling him ways the company could improve but also adding that you want to quit one day and do something better with your life. 

The following mornings follow the same pattern. Mostly conversations about work, and sipping coffee. That is until Tuesday rolls around. It’s an especially cold morning and you find yourself huddling closer to him as the two of you sat on the bench. He doesn’t really seem bothered by the cold, which makes sense since he’s cold-blooded. 

Max’s eyes drop to your trembling fingers that were curled helplessly around the coffee cup. You notice his frown, his gaze lifts back up to meet your eyes. “Do you want to go inside?” 

“No, I’m good. Besides it’s too early to start working.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “We do get here early don’t we.” 

“I mean…we don’t have to. But I have been enjoying our mornings.” 

“So have I,” he chews on his bottom lip, instinctively moving closer to you when he feels a shudder crawling up your spine. “It sucks that I can’t really warm you up—being undead and all— This would be the perfect moment to hold your hands.” 

Funnily enough, he does manage to warm you up. You look down at your hands, the cup only half full, you place it to the side. Max truly had been a balm to your broken heart these past couple of days. He never got overly flirtatious again as he did in your apartment, some part of you is disappointed that he didn’t. 

“You can—” you lick your lips, the wetness furthering the chill. “You can still do that. If you want to.” 

“Yeah?” he moves his jaw, eyes dropping to your lips. “You’ll be colder.” 

“I think it might be worth the risk.” 

Max brings your hands to his lips, brushing your knuckles and kissing each finger individually. You shudder. He wasn’t wrong, he was awfully cold. But you weren’t wrong either, it’s worth it. Hundred percent. His mouth moves over the back of your hand in the shape of waves, the pit in your stomach rolling, and butterflies fluttering in your chest. His eyes meet yours and you’re mesmerized by him. His eyebrows raise, lips kissing the curve of your wrist, laying a path to the inside, he drags his teeth over the skin right above the vein. 

A sudden fear spikes from your feet to your neck. He wouldn’t, would he? 

“Are you afraid of me?” the question is whispered with a breath into your skin. Everywhere except the tip of your nose is warm. He looks at you with heavy eyelids, lashes kissing his cheeks every time he blinks. 

You don’t have an answer, but you know what he needs to hear. 

“I’m not.” 

Before you can blink his lips mold into yours. He traces the seam of your mouth with his tongue eagerly, and you part your lips, allowing him to taste and dominate. With both hands he holds your wrists firmly, pulling you close until you’re basically flush against him. Max inhales as he presses deeper, licking the inside of your mouth and swallowing your whines. 

He breaks away from you with a smile, you see the flash of fangs.

You gently knock on the already open door. Max is positively exhausted. His eyes snap from his computer to you, he sighs and signals you to enter with two fingers. You close the door when you enter. 

“Are we still good for dinner?” you ask, feeling slightly foolish now that you were standing in the middle of his office. 

“Sorry baby, not today. These assholes managed to mix everything up, need to fix all that so I’m going to be here late,” 

You try very hard not to look disappointed. You already know you failed when you feel your bottom lip starting to quiver. You ball your hands into weak fists, pushing your nails into your skin. He notices, a moment of worry crosses his face. 

Tonight wasn’t really a date, or anything important. It was just dinner. 

Then why are you so upset?

You neither move away nor lean in as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs, and you exhale at the way you can feel his chest move underneath you. 

“Nothing, just—Don’t worry about it. I’m just being clingy. I know you’re busy,” 

“Clingy? Oh, sweetheart,” he rolls his chair back and slaps his thigh. “Come, sit on my lap.” 

“Uh…” your eyes flit between his spread legs and his face. “Excuse me?” 

“Just get your gorgeous self over here.” 

Swallowing, your legs move on their own. Your heart does somersaults in your chest. His smile never falters as you slowly lower yourself down, feeling his frame under you. Your insides clench. Your arms shake. You feel his breath on your neck when he guides your arms around his neck. He presses his lips where your neck and chest meet, heat coils in your stomach. 

“Max…” 

“You could never be too clingy,” he murmurs. “And even if you were I would love it. I’m actually really happy you came over, I was starting to think this thing between us was going nowhere.” 

“You want it…to go somewhere?” 

“Of course, I fucking do,” he snaps, looking up, glaring at you. “Do you think I come here that early just to drink coffee—I like spending time with you.” 

You feel yourself start to tremble as his hands move up your thighs and cup your ass. He squeezes gently and you gasp, your skin prickling under his touch. His lips move away from your neck, pressing soft kisses up your jaw until he reaches your ear.

"I want to take this further," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to fuck you, sweetheart. Bend you over this table and make you scream my name because I’m sure haven’t been screaming anything for a while."

His hands move around your body, tracing the line of your spine and the curves of your hips. His touch is gentle and yet rough at the same time, your heart beats faster with each passing second. You melt into him, wanting more, wanting him.

“I want to feel your wet cunt around my cock,” he groans, dragging his teeth down the column of your neck. His voice drops an octave. “Let me fuck you sweet thing.”

You pause for a moment, and then you nod, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yes," you whisper. "Yes, I want this too."

Max smiles, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips, and he pulls you in for a long, deep kiss. He nips at your bottom lip before pulling it and slipping his tongue into your mouth. Pulling you closer—inhaling you—he cups your head from both sides, and groans into your mouth. You feel the growing wetness between your legs, your body having a mind of its own, you grind down on him, shuddering as you feel the hard length under his pants. 

“Needy,” he tuts, gripping you by the neck. You hiss when he yanks you back, the rest of your body falling still. “You’ll take what I give you. Is that clear?” 

“Yes—” you bite the inside of your cheek. “Yes, sir.” 

Your cheeks burn as his eyes widen momentarily. Then he closes them, taking a steady breath, he cocks his head to the side. A soft hum echoes in his throat. 

“I like that,” he purrs, opening his eyes. “Say that again.” 

“Please, sir.” you choke out.

Max's grip tightens as he bends you over the office table. You gasp, your skin hot as he shoves your pants down to your knees. While you kick them off, you hear a zipper, feel the weight of his cock on the top of your ass. Your face is directly staring at the door— If someone were to waltz in, the first sight to greet them would see you taking your boss’s cock. However, you can hardly care when his warm breath fans your neck, his breathing uneven and rushed. 

He slips his hands down and cups your ass, kneading and squeezing as he shoves you further against the cold desk. 

"You look so sexy like this," he growls, his cock pushing against your ass as he presses himself against you. His hands move up your body, and he starts tugging at the buttons of your shirt, loosening them one by one. His lips brush against your ear and you shiver in anticipation as his hot breath tickles your skin.

"Say. It." 

It’s a threat and some wicked part of you is tempted to exhaust his patience. His hands move down your body, and his fingers start to tease your nipples as he traces circles around them. Then, when you don’t answer, he pinches them harshly. 

Your body jerks at the sharp pain, an acute moan rips from your throat. 

“Fuck me, sir. Please.” 

“You sound so good like this, begging for my cock,” he purrs. “I’m going to go easy on you today sweetheart, but don’t expect me to always be so nice.” 

He slides his hands lower, and his fingers slip between your legs, teasing and caressing your wetness. Your eyes roll back as his fingers start to penetrate you, and you grind downs in search of more. Wanting him deeper, wanting more of him. 

“So fucking wet,” he coos, he pulls out his fingers, smearing wet streaks across your hips. He nudges his cock between your folds and rocks his hips, the catches against your clit and a loud moan rips from your throat. “That’s my girl, and you thought I didn’t want this. What kind of idiot wouldn’t want this pretty cunt? Hmm?” 

“Max, please. . .” 

You hear the growl that rattles his chest. Closing his eyes, he cocks his head to the side, tongue tracing the edges of his fangs. “I really love hearing you beg,” he groans. “And the blood rush in your veins.” 

Your breath catches in your throat—and in one smooth thrust, he slips inside of you. You clutch the edges of the desk, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Suddenly the rest of the world blurs and it’s just you and him. He stretches you perfectly, his length deep enough to hit all the right spots. His hands smooth a path up your spine. You practically purr at the feeling. You whimper, and when you do, his lips are on your neck in an instant. His body a cool, yet comfortable, blanket on top of you. 

“Good girl. Look at you, being so obedient,” he licks the salt off your skin. “You feel so good, baby. The perfect cocksleeve for the boss.” 

“Oh god—” you choke out. You have no idea how to respond to that, but your body sure does. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him tight. His breath hitches. You feel him straighten behind you, his hands press you down from the waist and you can’t help the small squeal that parts your lips. 

He’s restraining himself. You can tell by the way his hips twitches, eager to bury more of himself into you. His nails bite into your skin and instinctively you raise your hips. “Maaax,” you moan. “Fuck me, please. I can take it.” 

“You can, can’t you?” he mutters, sounding almost impressed. “My perfect girl. You’ll take everything I’ll give you?” 

You breathe out, “Yes—” 

And he gives you everything. 

Every thrust knocks the air from your lungs. Somewhere on the desk your arm hits a stack of papers and they fly everywhere, making a mess on the floor. Max doesn’t stop. He jackhammers into you, splitting you into two. It never felt this intense before. Never. You struggle to breathe and with every snap of his hips, you feel slick dripping down your thighs. Max groans as he wraps his fingers around your neck, pulling you up. Your breasts sway with every stroke, your nipples aching from how hard they are. His one hand remains on your throat as the other moves to your chest, kneading the soft mound in his palm. 

“Wouldn’t be fun if someone walked in right now?” he teases, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Seeing you getting absolutely railed—kinda wish I had a mirror so I could see how cock drunk you look, sweetheart.” 

Fuck, is all you can think and you desperately want to voice it out, tell him how good it feels. His voice, his breath, his teeth, his cock— But all you can do is whimper helplessly, hoping that the sound is enough to convey how much you’re enjoying this. 

“So stupid for me, I love it. You want me to make you come?” 

Another whimper. You nod helplessly, forcing yourself back to meet the movement of his hips. He hums as his hand slides between your legs, he draws wet circles around your clit, and your entire body clenches. You can barely hear him from the blood rush in your ears but you think he mumbles ‘oh shit’. Max continues to play with the sensitive bundle of nerves, with fast strokes he mumbles profanities against your skin. 

You come with his name on your lips. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and unclenching over and over as you gush all around his cock. It feels never-ending. He grinds his hips, burying himself deeper, throbbing inside. You hiss as your second orgasm washes over you, fluttering and twitching, your body goes limp. You're fairly certain if Max wasn’t holding you up, you’d collapse. 

Much to your surprise, Max slowly lays you on top of the desk and the office ceiling comes into view. He’s still pulsing between your legs. He smiles down at you, slides his fingers between your lips—the same fingers he made you come with—and leans in to shove his tongue alongside them. You part your lips wide, the taste of yourself and him making your head spin. You moan around his tongue and fingers. He pulls back with a smile.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asks, cupping your face with the same hand. 

“You can come inside,” you answer in a daze, then quickly add. “You can’t get me pregnant right?” 

He shakes his head and you smile, “Go ahead then.” 

It doesn’t take him long. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and takes deep inhales of your scent as he spills inside of you. You thread your fingers through his soft locks and gently tug on them. He groans. 

“That’s nice,” he hums, pressing his lips over your clavicle. “I wanna spend an eternity between your legs.” 

“Should I be scared that you actually can do that?” you say with a soft chuckle, he looks down at you, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. He wiggles his brows. 

“Maybe.” 

Max slowly pulls out, and when he stands, he watches the mess pour between your legs. His pupils eat away the color of his eyes and you shudder at how hungry he looks. 

Suddenly shy, you avert your gaze as you try to collect yourself, “Sorry about messing up your schedule. I’ll see you later.” 

“And where do you think you’re going?” 

He grabs your wrists and pulls you into an embrace. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until you feel yourself melting into him. 

“Fuck work,” he says, his hand resting over the small of your back. “I’ll get it done later. Let’s go home so I can at least spend tonight between your legs.” 

You grin into his chest, happy that he can’t see how ecstatic you look. He probably knows how excited you are anyway. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

#max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x fem!reader #bloodsucking bastards #bloodsucking bastards fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 1

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships.* Abusive relationship, getting *out* of an abusive relationship, alcoholism, alcohol, mention of sleeping in a car. Summary: One of the worst days of your life takes a sharp right turn into the unexpected when you learn of the death of a long-lost relative. Notes: It's heeeere! Spooky season has officially arrived and with it comes our annual spooky-themed soulmate story! Bringing our two canonical vampires together is going to be endless shenanigans. 🧛‍♂️🧡 Since this story is mostly set inside one of the mansions that I work in, we're planning on using photos of the house as chapter headers some of the time. Visual reference fun!

"Hurry up and get your shit." The drunken bellow from downstairs is followed up by a loud crash, another curse and a thump as your boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – continues to throw the equivalent of a temper tantrum. It hadn't been the first time you've fought, or that the asshole had threatened to throw you out on your ass, but the fist sized hole in the wall that had only been an inch from your face was new, escalating violence.

"Lazy, good for nothing cunt! I work all goddamn day and you couldn't even fucking do what I asked!"

It's not that you don't work. Or that you didn't work. But after getting fired four days ago following yet another day calling out of work to clean up some mess caused by your boyfriend, your manager had said it was the final straw and sent you packing. Since then you had tried to clean up the house, get the back-log of laundry out of the way, and at least make a nice dinner while you applied for new jobs. It isn't your fault that the neighbor's dog got into your yard and ripped a hole in one of his shirts on the clothesline. There is absolutely no way you could have done anything about it. But it is the thing that sent him over the deep end this time and has him screaming at you yet again.

Running upstairs was the best thing you could do to get away from his fist, and now you're just praying that you have enough trash bags in the house to cram your stuff into before he decides to come after you again. You'll be sleeping in your car tonight, but at least all the locks on the doors work. You can manage a few nights in a securely locked car. It's just...that you're not quite sure where you'll go after that.

The sound of the top to a Natural Light beer being cracked open sounds from the base of the stairwell and he takes several loud gulps. Belching from drinking too fast and hitting the wall with the flat of his hand. "Come on, bitch!" He calls out. "I ain't got all night!"

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you pace back to the top of the stairwell and lean down so you can actually see him. Ten goddamn years with this man and this is how it ends. "I'll be gone by the time you get home," you promise him, the resignation obvious in your voice. He'll go to the bar to see his friends like he does after he eats dinner almost every night. You've never been the kind of girlfriend to stop him from seeing his friends, so they have had a routine for almost as many years as you've been together.

"Good." He glares up at you and points a finger. "You better not take any of my shit either." He warns you. "Tired of taking care of your stupid ass. You're in for a rude wake up call. Shit's not easy out there." He burps again and turns around to stumble down the hall. "You are such a disappointment." He yells out before opening the front door and letting it slam behind him, rattling the windows.

"Yeah." You sigh, shaking your head with one of those cheap fleece throw blankets in your hand. It has ballet slippers on it, a relic of a childhood long dream long forgotten. "I know I am." Holding up the blanket to look at it more closely, you debate throwing the damn thing out entirely, but it will keep you warm in the car tonight. It will go into a trash bag along with everything else.

As soon as the blanket is shoved in with your two miniature throw pillows, your phone goes off in your pocket. Expecting it to be Derek, ready to yell at you some more, you're surprised to see Private splashed across the screen instead. If you don't answer it and it is him for any reason, there will be hell to pay. "Hello?"

The smooth, cultured voice on the other end of the line is slightly raspy. As if the person has spent a lifetime swallowing brandy and smoking cigars, or had spent all day talking. In actuality, both of those things are true. Your name is spoken in the form of a question. Asking if he had reached the right person.

"Speaking." The automatic answer doesn't make you feel any less confused, but at least they aren't yelling at you. "Can I ask who's calling, please?"

"Antonio Colette," He tells you quickly. "With Colette and Dupree. I am calling about your late, great aunt, Etienne Brown." He shuffles through the papers to bring up the will that had been laid out, along with the investigators report on you. It was how he had found your current number. "I am executing her estate and quite frankly, it has been a search to find you."

"I'm sorry," you shake your head against the phone as though the man could possibly see you. "I don't know anyone by that name. My, um...I don't know a lot of my family. But that isn't a name I recognize. Maybe you have the wrong person?" There is no reason that any family member you've never heard of would have left you anything in a will, so he must have the wrong number. That's the only explanation you can think of.

"No, ma'am." He tells you. "I don't think I have the wrong person. Is this not a good time to talk?" He can hear something in your voice, and while most were always happy to inherit something, you might have pressing matters to attend to.

Hesitating for a reason you can't quite put your finger on, you glance out the window in the corner of your now former bedroom, the one that overlooks the driveway. Derek's truck is gone, and your shoulders slump a little. You have hours until he comes home now. Usually it's not until after last call. "No...no it's okay. I'm just...not having a great day. What did you want to speak to me about?"

"Ms. Brown was very particular about her will. As executor of the estate, it is my duty to make sure that her last wishes are carried out. As there is no other living relative on your mother's side, she decided that you would be the sole heir of her estate." He explains. "This includes the eight-bedroom mansion and the trust that has been established to pay for the manor. Her private accounts. The total combined monetary worth of twelve point two million dollars."

The crash that he hears from your side of the phone call is you falling over – a product of your legs giving out the second he said the word mansion and then losing your balance all over again at the sum total of the estate. "Wh—what?" You manage to breathe, barely managing not to break down in tears all over again. For an entirely different reason, this time.

"Of course, there is one issue that you must be made aware of." He's used to people being surprised, so he doesn't try to explain. You will soon be holding paperwork that you can read again and again if needed. "There are two tenants in the mansion. Ms. Brown has given them a lifetime estate on the rooms they occupy." He tells you. "Meaning they live there for as long as they wish."

"O—okay..." As fast as your mind can possibly turn, you still feel like you can't quite keep up with it, and you end up curled up at the foot of your bed hugging the throw blanket that was still in your hands when your phone rang. "So...I just...get a mansion? And twe—twelve million dollars? And the only caveat is that I have two tenants?" None of it makes any sense, but you'll be damned if it doesn't sound like the perfect way out of the hell that you've found yourself in.

“Pretty much.” Antonio agrees. “When would you be available to tour the property and sign some paperwork?” He asks, flipping over to his calendar to pencil you in.

"I—" Stumbling again, your forehead drops onto the pillow clutched against your chest before you tip your head back and stare up at the mottled ceiling. "I guess...as soon as I can get there?" It's not as though you have anything else to do at the moment. Or even anyone to tell where you're going. "But, can I ask? Um...where exactly is this house?"

“Newport, Rhode Island.” He supplies. “I must confess that I could not find a current address for you, just this phone number, so I am not quite sure where you are traveling from.

"Dandridge, Tennessee." Six years you've lived in this town and it never felt like home, but maybe now that's for the best. With a sigh, you try to think if you've ever even heard of Newport, Rhode Island and come up entirely blank other than knowing that Rhode Island is in New England. Which is a pretty decent drive away. "It might take me a few days to drive up there. Maybe two days? Depending on how late into the night I drive."

“That’s fine.” Colette agrees. “I will give you my number. If you find yourself here quicker than you anticipate, give me a call and I can meet you with the keys.”

"Okay." For a second the brief fear that your car might not even last a two-day drive flashes through your mind but you push it aside and let out a sigh in favor of sitting up to grab the pen off your nearby desk so you can take down the lawyer's phone number. "I...um...thank you, Mr. Colette. This is..." It's insane. It's completely insane and you can't even wrap your head around it. "It's life changing."

“I will see you in two days.” Mr. Colette responds and then ends the call before he sighs. Dropping his head into his hand, he rubs his temple. Whoever you are, he feels sorry for you. No way you know what the hell you are getting into.

******

The first night you're honestly exhausted, and you end up sleeping in your packed-full car behind the twenty-four-hour diner with the really nice waitresses that don't get upset that you need a safe place to park for one night. Telling them that you're moving had done the trick, and the extremely kind pair of women had gotten their line cook to whip you up a sandwich for dinner and one more to take with you when you left town in the morning.

The gps on your phone – thank god the bill is in your name – says that it will take thirteen hours and thirty-seven minutes of driving. Deciding to go, go, go as best you can, you leave town at sunrise and end up crossing the border into Rhode Island at almost eleven that same night. Stopping for bathroom breaks and to gas up the car – plus traffic, of course – has cost some time, but you made it. Now all you had to do was make the last leg of the journey out to Newport. Surprised to find that Newport is actually on an island (didn't you learn at one point that Rhode Island isn't an island?) you pull into a truck stop to finally sleep for the night. You'll do the last forty-five minutes of the drive in the morning.

******

Feeling and probably looking like shit the next morning is the price you pay for getting here quickly, but you call the lawyer at nine in the morning when his office's website says it opens and arrange to meet him at the address he gives you. Bellevue Avenue just sounds fancy, and when you get to the island you realize why. This entire town seems filled to the brim with mansions, expensive shops, and swanky restaurants.

Antonio had been surprised that you had driven through the night, but perhaps he shouldn't have been. He gives you the address to his offices and tells his secretary to make sure that there is a good selection of bagels and muffins out this morning in case you would like something while you go over the paperwork. You are a very important client, and he would like to keep you if possible.

Tired and more than a little ragged, you pull your car up to the office on Thames Street and cut the engine with a sigh. There’s a lot of touristy stuff around, especially on this part of the island, and that means you haven’t seen a single dingy diner or fast food drive-up since you got here. Everything is expensive cafes and fancy restaurants. The thought that you might have to skip breakfast is discouraging until you walk into the lawyer’s office tentatively and smell coffee.

"Good morning." Raquel stands from behind her desk and smooths her pencil skirt down before she walks around the desk. Antonio and his partner prefer that she personally greet each client and she doesn't let her facial expression change from one of welcome when she sees the tired, beaten down appearance of the woman who walked into the door. Her heart clenches at the sight and even if you are not the client that he had been expecting, she will invite you to have some coffee and pastries while she waits for someone to work you into their calendar. "May I help you?" She asks as she offers her manicured hand to shake.

“I—I’m here to see Mr. Colette.” You give her your name along with the handshake she obviously expects, and try to shake the feeling that that smile of hers is probably plastered on. Of course it is. It’s first thing in the morning and she works in a law office.

"Of course." You are the important client, so she immediately waves you to the glass doors. "Please follow me." She tells you. "Mr. Colette is getting all the necessary documents together, but we have tea, coffee, bagels, and some delicious pastries available while you wait?" She wants you to feel comfortable as she walks you down the short hall to the smaller conference room where she had set everything up for the meeting.

“Thank you.” It doesn’t make one single bit of sense to you that they’ve gone through all this trouble, but this long-lost great aunt of yours must have been an important client. Maybe they think you’re important too? Well – they’ll be disabused of that idea pretty soon.

"Please let me know if there is anything I can get you." She senses that you aren't comfortable and she doesn't want to crowd you or do anything to upset you. "I'll let Mr. Colette know you are here."

There are a few minutes to wait, sitting in that conference room surrounded by food that you don’t dare touch, and you end up staring blankly at a photograph on the wall of a yacht on the ocean. It’s almost trance-like, how you sit there and stare, and you end up nearly jumping out of your seat when the heavy wooden doors open again and an elegant looking, well-dressed man walks through flanked by the woman who greeted you.

“Good morning.” Antonio smiles as he assesses the woman who had inherited a fortune and more. He is aware of the details of the will and the history behind it, so he feels like this is personal. “We will have quite a few things to go through, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to make myself a plate.” He chuckles. “No breakfast yet and I’m hungry.”

“Of course.” It’s a little bit like permission, and you feel comfortable enough pouring a cup of black coffee and putting a croissant on a plate for yourself when Mr. Colette motions for you to join him. In a few mere moments the three of you are sitting down at the conference table and Raquel presents her boss with a thick folder of paperwork in a leather sleeve and takes out her own notebook in turn.

“Now.” Antonio looks down at the paperwork and then back up at you. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” He starts off with. “Hopefully this transition will be seamless for you and perhaps after this I can show you around your new home?”

“It still doesn’t feel very real,” you admit, carefully sipping your hot coffee and looking down at the papers in front of him. “And you said there’s two other people…already living there?”

“Yes.” He nods. “Family friends of Ms. Brown.” He tells you vaguely.

“Alright.” Already you’ve made up your mind not to bother them, these people who live in a house that you’re inheriting out of nowhere. Who are you to intrude in their lives? “I assume there’s a lot of paperwork? I’ve never owned a house before so this is all new to me.”

“The taxes and the maintenance for the home are paid out of the trust. So you do not need to worry about that. If anything happens, call and we will take care of getting the bill paid.” He explains. “I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering you debit cards and credit cards.” He pulls out an envelope and slides it over to you. “All of them are active and ready to use.”

So people really live like this, huh? is all you can think to yourself as the lawyer’s secretary also sets a card down in front of you that has a man’s name and phone number with the title of caretaker listed on it. That along with the cards already has your head spinning, but then a set of keys is set down on the table as well. Front door. Kitchen door. Terrace doors. Each antique key is labeled carefully with a tag in elegant handwriting. Closets. Attic storage. Utility closet. It’s so much to take in — too much, arguably — and then a set of car keys is added to the pile. “What’s this?” You ask, already starting to feel your head spin a little.

“This is the car.” Antonio tells you. “The 1963 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray that Ms. Brown also willed to you.” He hums. “I have all the maintenance records for the car here as well. Her other cars were sold or given away before she died, but this one conveyed with her other belongings to you. I believe she said, ‘it goes with the house’.”

“I—um—wow…” Not that you know much about cars, but it sounds impressive and you’re momentarily thankful that you’ve been driving stick for the last few years, since your broken-down third-hand Volvo came into your life. “Are there any more surprises I should be aware of?”

“I’m not exactly sure what you will consider surprises.” The lawyer chuckles and slides a scrap of paper towards you. “The combination to the safe. It’s where the collection of Ms. Brown’s jewelry is.”

A safe full of jewels, a presumably fancy vintage car, a mansion, and a literal fortune? Frankly, it’s all a surprise. “If this house comes with servants I might black out,” you warn jokingly, staring at the slip of paper with the safe combination like it’s a foreign language.

“Well, the staff is paid from the trust.” He tells you seriously. “If you wish to make changes, please let me know. Right now….” He shuffles some papers. “There is the housekeeper and her assistant, the gardener, the pool company, and the window washer.” He looks up. “The pool company and window washer come by once a week. The gardener, the housekeeper and her assistant are all full time employees.”

The dead pan stare you have for the man is completely slack, and it takes far longer than you’re proud of to shake off the embarrassment of staring at him like an imbecile. “You’re serious?” You ask in equal parts confusion and awe. “I was kidding.”

“I assure you, the help is needed.” He tells you seriously. “A house of this size could not possibly be managed by one person alone.”

“Right.” The best you can do is nod vaguely and try not to have a panic attack over the responsibility landing in your lap, and you look between the lawyer and his clerk again. “You said it’s…eight bedrooms?” That place must be a palace…

“That is…the main bedrooms.” Antonio admits. “That doesn’t include the old servants’ quarters, although they are not occupied now.”

“Fuuuuck…” Even mumbling under your breath is obvious, and the paper that is slid in front of you is a clearly labeled blueprint of the house. Four floors, distinctly marked 38,000 square feet, and with more doorways, closets, and stairwells than you can shake a stick at.

“I can understand that it is overwhelming, but the staff is prepared for your arrival.” You look panicked and he doesn’t think that’s a good thing. It’s almost as if you feel…guilty.

“Can I ask…?” Swallowing down the dear at how daunting all of this feels, you abandon your small breakfast and sit back in the uncomfortable padded chair you’re seated in. “Anything about Ms. Brown? What did she do? How did she pass?” Where did all her money come from? The fact is, you had never even heard of her, but she left you an entire life.

“Ms. Brown died at 91.” He’s a little surprised that you are curious, but you don’t seem to be the type of person that is overly greedy. “Complications of old age.”

“I see.” Jittery fingers curl the edge of one page and you bite your lip, trying to see if anything doesn’t fit. But it all seems to knit together properly, in a way that just accidentally benefits you in the craziest way possible. “And she was just…independently wealthy?” It seems unlikely considering your family has so little, but who knows? Anything is possible.

“Some of it was leftover from her wealthy soulmate.” He admits. “They never had children. Some of it was from investments. She was a smart lady.”

“She must have been.” It’s easy to just waste money, you’ve seen that firsthand too many times. “Well…I assume I need to sign things? Make the ownership…official?”

“Absolutely.” He cracks a small smile. “Sign your life away, is the saying.”

Raquel slides a stack of papers over towards you. “All the places for you to sigh are indicated with a tab.”

A dozen different signatures and initials go by like lightning and before you know it, Raquel is excusing herself with the stack of papers to make copies and file things away. “Is there…anything else?” You ask, tentative about what else there could even be.

“Nothing that I can think of.” Mr. Colette hums. “I had the housekeeper stock the pantry and kitchen with basic items.” He tells you.

“That was very kind of you.” Since you aren’t really sure what else to say, you take a determined look at the pile of keys in front of you and muster a smile. “Would you mind showing me the house? The drive was long and it would be nice to settle in.” The further you get from Derek and his reach, the better off you know you will be. Even if you had loved him as best as you could — it had never been enough. Maybe these next people won’t be too disappointed in you. Not the way he was, at least.

“Of course.” He would make sure that you are comfortable before he turns you loose on the house. Or perhaps abandoning you to it would be a more apt phrasing. “Whenever you wish to leave here. I’ve cleared my schedule for the morning.”

“There’s no time like the present, I guess? I can follow you in my car.” You have half a mind to ask if the other occupants will be there, but you can’t see how he would possibly know that so you put the question aside in your mind.

“Of course.” He can’t think of anything else that needs to be address. “We will file all of the paperwork with the probate court and you will be receiving new registration for the car and a title to the house in four to six weeks. Sometimes it does take a few months.” He warns.

“I can’t imagine I’ll need them with any kind of speed.” After all, you have no plans to do anything of importance. In fact, if you never do anything besides sit in your little corner of this town for the rest of your life and remain unnoticed by everyone, you’ll be happier for it.

“Well.” He hands off the papers to the assistant and stands. “Shall we?” He asks, motioning towards the door.

******

Even with the heavy traffic of downtown Newport, the drive from the Law Offices of Colette & Dupree over to Bellevue Avenue takes under ten minutes. You drive by a grocery store and a drug store on the way – both good things to know the location of – as well as numerous high end shops, restaurants, and cafes. There is a bustling town here and it looks like students, too. Young adults with stuffed-full backpacks wearing all manner of paraphernalia that reads Salve Regina University seem to dominate certain areas.

After what seems like dozens of affluent homes, Mr. Colette’s blinker turns on before one of many stone walls and turns left into a driveway. When you follow suit and drive through the front gate, you’re glad to be alone because the gasp you let out is audible. Chateau-sur-Mer rises up and peeks out from behind trees like a monument. More massive than you ever would have dreamed of, the stone-faced house points north with a beautiful, multifaceted landscape surrounding it in every direction. Three stories, with a beautiful back porch, and spires and a tower to boot, the house is offset by a gigantic weeping tree that you don’t recognize and an otherwise reasonably sized house in one corner of the property that seems utterly dwarfed by the mansion it otherwise guards. Caretaker, you remember after a second. There is a caretaker…and presumably that is where he lives? It’s just…you had already had trouble wrapping your head around it. But now that you see it? It’s just…beautiful.

The sleek Jaguar comes to a stop and Antonio steps out and turns towards the older, slightly perilous looking Volvo. He hopes that you will get rid of it, or replace it now that you have the means. He had watched it seemingly buck several times while stopped at traffic lights.

“This is it?” If your question sounds dubious, it isn’t meant to. Honestly you’re almost too flabbergasted to really wrap your head around everything. There are a few cars parked under a structure to the left of the house that you assume used to be stables, from the look of it. Now the small windows that show you inside give a peak at bumpers and break lights instead of manes and carriages. There are a half dozen cars inside that you assume must belong to the other occupants and the staff, with more empty spaces standing open before the gorgeous black and chrome sports car that you now hold the keys to. “I mean it’s…it’s so much room. I’m almost glad there’s other people who will be around a lot.”

“The property is safe.” He assures you. “There’s a surveillance system that you can access and a security system that nothing in the world can rival.” He chuckles at his own joke and motions towards the house. “Shall we go inside?”

“Sure.” Not that you understand why one little old lady would need such a hardcore security system, but you nod anyway and let the lawyer – your lawyer? – lead the way. The house looms, almost daring you to come inside, but you are faced with an ordinary carved wooden door when you actually get close.

"It was built in 1852. Or completed in that year." Mr. Colette tells you as he takes the large keyring from you to unlock the front door and hands the keys back to you with a small grin. "It was once considered a ‘cottage’." He scoffs. "Although I tend to think of something a little smaller as a cottage."

“This is about four cottages all stacked on top of each other.” Walking through the front door cloaks you in near-darkness immediately. When your eyes adjust you stumble up a half-dozen wide marble steps into a front hall that grows up and up and up into an atrium taller than any you’ve ever seen before. The staircase behind you looks like it belongs to the set of a BBC drama and the thick red velvet curtains hanging in the entryway feel more like an old proscenium theater than a house. But the warm carved wood everywhere and colorfully painted forest scenes on the walls are immediately cozy in their own right. “Oh wow…” Your eyes are wide as you look around. It’s…it’s stunning.”

“Any changes you want to make, you are perfectly able to.” The lawyer reminds you, although he couldn’t imagine wanting to change anything about this estate. The mixture of Victorian and Gilded age architecture is a perfect combination to make a gorgeous house.

“I really don’t think that will be necessary.” After all, people already live here. The last thing you want to do is intrude on other people’s lives. “So this is the Great Hall, I guess?” The floor plan that Raquel gave you at the lawyer’s office is going to end up being invaluable, you think, as you pull it out and inspect the drawing of the first floor.

“Yes.” While he’s happy you don’t want to change anything, your tone makes it sound like it would be rude to do so. “The kitchens have been completely remodeled, modern appliances, but they still kept the charm of the rest of the house.”

“And that’s…” You consult the floor plan when there isn’t an obvious appliance anywhere in sight. “In the basement?”

“It is on the lower level.” Guiding you into the house, he explains. “Heat caused by the kitchens was unwanted so after the kitchens being in a different building fell out of fashion, they decided to make sure the kitchen was in the basement to keep the rest of the house cooler during the summer months. There’s the elevator over here, if you wish to use that instead of taking the stairs?”

Mr. Colette motions to the left of the main stairwell, to a portion of the first floor with red and black patterned flooring, and down a hallway. Curious enough to be led around by the suggestion and also noting that the floor plan in your hands says Servants’ Hall for this portion of the house, you follow him tentatively and watch him open what appeared to be a regular closet door. Instead there is a metal grating behind it, which is also opened, and a carved dark wood elevator car stands waiting for you. The kind of thing that would absolutely get you killed in a horror movie, it’s surprisingly sturdy when you step into it and Colette closes the door and gate easily. He presses the ‘B’ button before you can even ask about stairs and the antique elevator jolts to life, headed downstairs.

“Don’t worry,” he sends you a reassuring smile. “The elevator is safe.” He listens to the clanking and feels the carriage start to slow down.

The basement of this house is not like any basement you’ve ever been in before. The enormously long hallway with red and black flooring identical to the hall upstairs seems to stretch and stretch, and there are more doors down here than you could ever fathom needing. But there are voices coming from a room just a few yards away and that is both comforting and nerve-wracking at once. Other people means you won’t be lonely, but it also means new needs, new demands, and potentially new people to disappoint.

“Mr. Colette?” A woman’s voice sounds, loud and clear with a thick Rhode Island accent, from the room and only half a second later a tall, slim woman with gray and silver peppered through her brown hair and glasses attached to a beaded chain appears in the hall. “We weren’t sure when to expect you,” she says with a thin smile. “And this must be the new owner.”

“Yes.” The lawyer who has spent many hours in this house smiles at the housekeeper and waves your forward. Introducing you by your first and last name. “This is Marjorie Taylor and Renee Green. They are the ones who keep the house sparkling and the linens fresh.” He explains. “Mrs. Taylor would also cook for you if you would like.”

“I insist on it,” Mrs. Taylor informs you, smiling in a sort of polite-but-curious way and she shakes your hand when you offer it. “It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am.” When you falter and repeat your first name, thinking that maybe she had forgotten it or something, she shakes her head and gives you that same amused, thin-lipped smile. “There are a couple of things we stay old fashioned about here,” she tells you. But leaves out that the contract she signed with the rather suave gentleman who hired her specified it. “I’m Mrs. Taylor. This is Renee. The caretaker is Mr. Taylor, and the gardener is Mr. Finchley. The whole staff live in the caretaker’s cottage on the grounds and we are always reachable except for our day off each week. The schedule is written out for you. I left it on the desk in the library along with the necessary phone numbers and other important information.

“You’re very thorough, Mrs. Taylor.” It comes out with a note of surprise and you drop your eyes to the floor, embarrassed. “I mean — thank you. It is very much appreciated.”

“It is my pleasure.” She assures you with a soft smile. “It will be good to have people in the home again.” The others that were here kept to themselves and were often not around.

“I’m just one person,” you assure her, as if to say that you won’t cause trouble or get in the way. Those were things that Derek accused you of far too often. Even if it is the job that these people have taken on — the job not cleaning and cooking and taking care — you would never want to be a burden or a strain on them. “And…I tend to be fairly low key.”

“Well, I hope that you will let us take care of you.” Mrs. Taylor hums. “We have been delighted to hear that you had been located and were coming. I am sure that we will find a way to rub along together.”

“I’m sure.” You say, trying to smile and be reassuring. These people seem to be expecting a boss, not a wallflower, and that isn’t what you are. “I’m very glad to have gotten the call.” That, at least, is true.

“Would you like breakfast after the tour?” She asks. “I can have a tray brought up to whatever room you choose, and Mr. Taylor would be happy to bring up any luggage and boxes you have.”

Renee nods. “I would be happy to help you unpack.” She offers.

“I don’t want to be any trouble.” You protest immediately, but both women give you such placid, polite smiles that you swallow your anxiety about butting into the house and replace it with fear of being rude. “I—I mean…thank you. That actually sounds very nice.”

“Our pleasure.” The elder woman assures you. “Perhaps later on, once you have settled in, we can go over your preferences.” She tilts her head. “For now, do you have any food allergies I should make note of?”

“None.” Just as soon as you shake your head though, something in your gut churns and the smell of Derek’s cheap beer somehow overtakes you out of nowhere. It’s like a sense memory you never needed, and you stammer inelegantly. “But I—I, um…I don’t drink. Alcohol, I mean.” You did before. A long time ago. But seeing what it did to the man you thought you were going to spend your life with has ruined it for you. Soulmate or not, you had really thought Derek was the one. But his one comes in a can.

“Yes ma’am.” If it sounds odd to her, she doesn’t make it visible, just nodding politely. “I will make sure you have a nice tray sent up, I know you will be tired from travel.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor.” “I’ll show our new resident The call buttons after she chooses a bedroom, so you’ll know where to bring her tray.” Colette assures the housekeeper with a smile. “We’ll just head back upstairs.”

“Perfect.” She smiles at the lawyer. “Oh, Max and Eddie aren’t here right now, so if you show her their rooms, just go right in.”

You thank both women again and follow Mr. Colette back upstairs, where he motions to the left of the hallway where the elevator is hidden and you end up in a room that is wall-to-wall cabinets. There are beautiful serving pieces and sets of China in those cases, as well as stunning crystal and glassware. If you ever throw a Victorian themed dinner party, it looks like you’ll be all set for dishes.

“The preservation society on the island has been itching to get their hands on this estate.” Antonio muses as he slows down to let you take in the vastness of the collection. “Ms. Brown always enjoyed thumbing her nose at them.” He chuckles quietly. “I believe that you would have liked her. She was a firecracker.”

“She had great taste.” There is a set of China in the cases that you keep coming back to — the intricate gilding and beautifully painted flowers utterly mesmerizing you for a few moments. There seem to be three different full sets of China here and two full sets of glassware. Every different size dish or glass you can think of is here.

“Now it is yours to keep and use however you wish.” He reminds you as he moves towards the display of real silverware.

“I think it’s actually harder to wrap my head around that now that I’m in the house,” you admit, trying for a laugh and just sort of letting out a huffed breath instead. On the floor plan, the door to the left of you is marked Butler’s Pantry and that seems like someplace you shouldn’t go. To the right, though, the plan says Dining Room. “This way next?” You guess? The door looks innocuous enough — it’s just a dining room. It can’t be that crazy.

“Wherever you would like to go.” Antonio insists as he pushes open the swinging double doors silently. The large dining room table with the massive set of three chandeliers dominates the room.

The gasp from your lips has you pretty sure that you’re going to be saying “Wow” a hell of a lot in this house, and every room just makes the feeling grow. From the forest green walls of the dining room outfitted with ornate carvings in dark wood – to the silver painted walls of the ballroom with its six foot high mirrors and gilt relief work on every wall panel. A parlor room off one end of the ballroom is all decorated in green silk fabric – even the walls – with clean white accents. Beyond that is a hallway with a stained-glass ceiling and a white marble floor that is decked in red leather sofas and contains huge white marble statues and paintings on the walls that are nearly life sized. The library is the most ornate yet, with carvings on every single wooden surface, lush carpeting and sitting space, and even a hidden door built into one bookcase. “Where does that go?” You ask immediately, too tentative to open it yourself.

“This, I believe, goes to the morning room.” He tells you, cocking his head as he thinks. “It has been some time since I have completely gone through the house.” He admits.

“Is it okay to go through? I mean the house is old but it’s not so old that it’s unsafe, right?” The idea of a door in a book axe is too good for anyone to pass up, especially you.

“Absolutely.” Antonio pulls the leaver to open the door. “Ms. Brown and her soulmate would spend quite I bit of time in this room. I believe it was her favorite.”

The middle section of the bookcase pulls toward you smoothly, allowing you and Mr. Colette to pass into a large corner room with enormous picture windows on two sides and built in bookcases on every other wall. Like an extension of the library there are books everywhere, a red leather windows seat that matches the sofas in the marble hall, and even intricate wooden shutters that close over the windows in sections to regulate how much light is let in. One side of the room is dominated by a large fireplace with yet one more large mirror set in the wall above it, and there are small statues all along the mantle. A billiard table takes up most of the space in the middle of the room, but a table and chairs and a desk also fit neatly with plenty of room to move.

“This house goes on forever,” you observe with a laugh of disbelief.

“It is one of the larger cottages.” He agrees. “In fact, it was the largest house until the Vanderbilts built the Breakers.” He imparts that little fact with a smirk as he looks around the room. “But I’ve always been fond of this estate.”

“It’s beautiful.” Having seen it up close and personal, you can imagine that photos don’t do it justice. It must seem crowded or busy in pictures. But in person? It’s like the house is hugging you. After another minute looking around the morning room, you follow Colette back out to the entryway and head upstairs. There is fabric, not wallpaper, hanging on the walls around the master staircase and it is painted with a forest scene that seems reminiscent of folk tales. Like magic could be lurking behind any corner or a satyr just might come out from behind a bush. There is a tree painted on the underside of the enormous staircase, trunk and branches extending upward to sprout leaves and welcome birds, and it crawls all the way up the stairwell to extend out to the ceiling of the second-floor landing and atrium. Dozens of little painted songbirds light on branches everywhere to make you feel like you have climbed into the forest that is painted on the walls.

“Every room has its own theme.” He explains at the top of the stairwell looking down the hallway at the doors. “If you don’t mind. I will step away to make a call.”

"Of course." Far be it from you to stop him from attending to his business, and you follow along the railing in the hallway to make your way into a different hall. This one is just a rectangular room with the now familiar built-in cases along the walls, paintings and intricate light fixtures above the cases, and six doors to choose from. To open them one by one seems like a massive intrusion, but you can't figure out any other way to see what else is up here. The floor plan marks four bedrooms on this floor as well as a sitting room and a nursery, though you can't understand why there is a nursery if there were never any children living here. Maybe your great-aunt and her soulmate wanted children but just could never have them? That's a far sadder thought than you can muster at the moment.

Hoping that you're facing the right direction, you open the door on the opposite wall from where you are standing and – yes, you had it right – the sitting room is full of plush chairs and love seats with a petite fireplace that has a huge flatscreen television over it where you assume a mirror once stood. The fireplace has a small stand inside it that obviously prevents fires from ever being laid, but more importantly seems to be the storage rack for multiple video game systems. Whoever Max and Eddie are, these other occupants of the house seem to thoroughly enjoy video games.

To the right of that room is a beautifully laid bedroom with honey colored furniture and homey gray and white pinstripe wallpaper. A writing desk stands at the ready between a window trimmed in lace curtains and a white marble fireplace, and it feels like exactly the kind of room that you would love to be brought to if you were a guest in someone's house. As much as it is sweet, inviting, and unexpectedly friendly, it feels…spoken for somehow. It’s nothing you can describe fully, but it makes you think that you shouldn’t disturb the room. Like whoever had claimed it originally might still come back one day to curl up in that bed or sit down at that desk.

There are two more bedrooms – one with furniture made of a wood that is somehow remarkably the same shade as roasted butternut squash and the other with a luxurious, if slightly gothic, yellow velvet and dark walnut loveseat and red upholstered chairs in it that all beg to be read in – but both rooms very obviously are occupied. These must be the rooms that Max and Eddie claimed whenever it was that they arrived. The next door to the left of Max's room yields a large, airy bedroom decorated in all sorts of shades and textures of blue with dark wood furniture and soft pink silk and lace curtains over the windows. A painting of a smiling young woman hangs above the fireplace with two lamps in the shapes of cherubs holding the light source aloft. Two cream-colored chairs sit by a small table and two more blue velvet chairs flank another. You could have a whole party in this spick-and-span room without any effort whatsoever.

“This is the one, I see.” Antonio has returned. Lingering in the doorway as he watches you move from Knick knack to knick knack with an almost dreamy expression on your face. “Let me show you the call system.” He gives you an apologetic look. “I’m afraid that I am needed in court.”

A set of buttons by the door to what you very accidentally have apparently selected as your room will summon a member of the house's small staff, Mr. Colette tells you, and there is a similar button on a handle by your bed, almost like the call button for a nurse in the hospital. "Don't let me keep you," you murmur, waving off another apology from the man who has literally swept into your life and changed everything about it. The last thing you want is to stand in the way of anything he has to do. "I'll, um...I guess I'll unpack."

As if on a secret cue, the door to the elevator opens on the other side of the hall and an ornate rolling cart, much like the ones at the posh hotels, rolls out. Your trash bags are all neatly stacked with the few boxes and the one bag you had managed to take from your ex's house. The older, stately looking man pushing it does not judge, his sharp eyes looking for the room where the new owner has decided to take up residence so he can help in any way possible. Renee is behind him, a fully ladened tray on another rolling cart.

You can hear them rolling down the hallway before you see them, and Mr. Colette smiles in satisfaction. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says, looking toward the doorway as the source of the noise comes into view. “If you need anything, you have your staff here, and my number. Please don’t hesitate.”

“Right. Thank you, Mr. Colette.” As soon as you say his name he disappears from view, and you’re left face-to-face with the embarrassing sight of your trash bags in this gorgeous home.

“I took the liberty of moving your car into the carriage house.” Mr. Taylor tells you. In addition to being the caretaker, he also maintains all the vehicles here. Your car is in sore need of some TLC and he is already itching to get to it.

“That’s very kind of you. You really don’t have to go through any extra trouble.” The sight of garbage bags just feels wrong in a house this old and grand, and it just makes you feel like apologizing for that, too. “As you can see it…it really shouldn’t take me too long to get settled in.”

“It just means you can rest.” Renee offers with a smile as she rolls the tray over to the couches and table. “Here, ma’am?” She asks politely.

"Hopefully it won't take too long to find a new job." The offhanded and automatic thought doesn't even phase you, although you don't enjoy the fact that you'll have to explain why your last place let you go. At least you can assure them that it won't happen anymore – since Derek isn't in your life there won't be any erratic or unexpected phone calls to have to respond to immediately. "Thank you, Renee. It...it all looks wonderful." Laden with a steaming silver coffeepot and fresh pastries with butter, jam, and fruit, the delicate China on the tray looks like it has been laid for a queen.

“My pleasure, ma’am.” Mr. Taylor quietly excuses himself, and Renee turns towards the cart with an eagerness to begin. “Do you have some specific organization for your things?” She asks, hoping to know how you would like things. “Or shall I organize them for you?”

Even if you had specific organization, it would no longer apply to this house. The feeling that everything should be in a specific place and that rooms have specific functions is very different from how you were living before. "I'm sure you'll know just where things are supposed to go," you tell her, with a definite air of 'because I don't have any clue'.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods and immediately whirls around to start wheeling the cart into the dressing room just off to the side of the bathroom.

"Renee?" Following her just a few steps and sticking your head into the dressing room, you have to swallow yet another sigh over how beautiful this house is and how grand everything seems at first blush. You shake it away, though, when her head pops up expectantly. "I don't suppose I could ask any of you to call me by my name, could I? Mrs. Taylor seemed rather set on using a title..."

“It— it’s not done.” Renee admits with a bashful smile. “Although Mrs. Taylor did call Ms. Brown by her nickname at Ms. Brown’s insistence.”

"She had a nickname?" For some reason that intrigues you, even though she had an unusual name to begin with. You've never heard of a woman named Etienne before.

“Cookie.” Renee smiles fondly. “She went by Cookie for as long as she could remember.”

"That's very sweet." And actually makes you smile too, though you can't quite figure out why it warms you through the way it does.

“Do you have a nickname, ma’am?” She asks curiously. “I am sure that Mrs. Taylor would have no issue using a nickname for you.”

"I—" About to protest that you really don't, or at least that you can't think of one, a long-lost memory gets dredged up from the bottom of your mind that you haven't given any thought to in a long time. "I used to like being called Dolly. Quite a lot."

“Yes Ms. Dolly.” The nickname is no more unusual than ‘Cookie’ and the smile that thinking of your nickname is soft and real as it makes you light up.

"Thank you, Renee." It actually relaxes you measurably just to have a little bit less formality, and you offer the girl another genuine, if small, smile.

"My pleasure." She turns back to the bag that is opened and starts to carefully remove all of the clothes to sort and organize into piles before she can fold or hang them. "I should have all of this sorted in just an hour or so."

"Please don't feel like you need to rush. It isn't like I have anywhere to go." The fact that someone else is doing your laundry makes you more than a little embarrassed but you try to remember that it's literally her job. "But...again...thank you."

She doesn't bother to remind you that it's her job, just humming quietly as she continues to make note of what you have that needs pressing.

"Renee?" Even after you've walked away, you double back to look into the dressing room where she is sorting through the things you brought from Tennessee. "Was, this...um...was this Ms. Brown's room?"

"It was, Dolly." She stands up and moves towards the door. "Does that upset you?"

"I...don't really know," you admit after a moment of thinking about it. "I think it's more that...I don't want to disturb it? Like if she had a favourite chair, or painting, or lamp or something, then I wouldn't ever want to move it." Saying it out loud makes you sigh, and you huff a laugh at yourself. "That probably sounds silly."

Her own laugh is slightly ironic. "Please don't worry about that." She assures you. "Ms. Brown loved to rearrange her furniture based off of how she was feeling that week." She tells you. "It drove Mrs. Taylor up the wall, but she would almost insist on moving most of it herself. Even up until a few years ago."

"Wasn't she in her 90s?" You ask, surprised to hear anything so active about the old woman who had lived here.

"She was spry." Renee can sense that you are eager for information about the older lady that had lived in this house. "She did love to pull the chaise in front of the windows and read." She tells you. "Especially on rainy days where the storm raged outside. She would sit with a pot of tea or hot chocolate for hours."

"God, that sounds so relaxing." And in a house full of books, who could blame her? You can't even imagine actually having the time to read every book you saw in the house while you were walking around. " I might have to follow suit for a little while. Just...until I find a new job."

Renee frowns slightly and tilts her head. "A job?" She asks. "Are you someone who likes to keep busy?"

"I guess—" It hadn't occurred to you that you could just not have a job, and that makes you frown far deeper than Renee is at the moment. "I guess so? I didn't really think...I've just always had a job. I didn't really think I'd ever be able to not have one..."

"Perhaps you have something you enjoy doing?" She asks. "Forgive me for being so forward, but you have the means to do whatever you wish now, Dolly."

"I guess I haven't really given it a lot of thought." That makes you frown again, this one considerably more confused, and you shrug your shoulders. "I won't bother you anymore. Thank you, Renee." It's a heady thought to chew over while you eat your breakfast, but it's something that you're going to have to think about. What did you dream about when you used to dream of growing up? You can barely remember anymore.

She doesn't want to pry, so she nods again and turns back towards the dressing room again. It's obvious that you are kind of lost and her heart goes out to you. Hopefully being here will make the sadness in your eyes disappear.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Max Phillips #Max Phillips x reader #Max Phillips x you #Max Phillips x female reader #Max Phillips x f!reader #Eddie BtVS #Bloodsucking Bastards #soulmate au #a mysterious inheritance

[kiwisbell]

The Impaler

Chief Detective Tim Rockford makes a breakthrough in New York City’s latest serial killer case. The mysterious culprit is in the mood to share more than information.

my masterlist!

pairing: tim rockford x f!reader x max phillips

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: vampires, gothic architecture, slightly dubious consent, implied mind alteration/control, murder, death, blood, threesome, lots of biting, spanking, spitroasting, masturbation, DVP, fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap ur vampire dicks pls), wife sharing, free use kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), exchanging fluids, spitting, disgusting and filthy, max using cringey nicknames for reader’s pussy but it’s charming bc it’s max, handcuffs, light bondage, hair pulling

word count: ~ 7.2k

read on ao3!

a/n: hello, my loves!! i wanted to do something special for halloween, so i decided to slap together a short, silly, unpolished one-shot inspired by dracula! this one is dedicated to my vampire obsession and tim rockford's shoulder holsters. anyway, please mind the tags, and enjoy!!

PREFACE

“No one but a woman can help a man when he is in trouble of the heart." — Bram Stoker, Dracula

“I swear to God, Ron, I’m two seconds away from taking up smoking again.”

Chief Detective Tim Rockford pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling his eye twitch minutely with every pass he makes of the cork board.  

The seventh victim in two weeks, and he’s no closer to an answer. Last night, thirty-two-year-old Dean Madison was found by the harbour, a couple shades paler than his family insisted he usually was and with two small puncture wounds in his neck. Otherwise, the coroners didn’t find a single wound on him. Before Madison, it was a couple in Central Park, and before that, a college football player. Their bodies were all found in virtually the same condition, but not one of them is related. 

Random. Unplanned acts of violence carried out exclusively at night, predicated on nothing but the apparent desire to kill. The culprit left no fingerprints, no murder weapon, no footprints. There's no motivation. 

Groaning as he stands, elder Detective Ron Lauder hands Tim a manila folder. “List of the boats going in and out last night, if you fancy makin’ your eyes cross. I gotta call it here, man. You should go home, too, get some sleep.”

Tim claps Ron on the back. “Nah, man, I gotta file these away first. You go on home.”

“Don’t come cryin’ to me when you fall asleep in your Cheerios tomorrow.” Ron leaves yawning, and Tim hears the door gently click shut in the distance, signalling a familiar solitude in the bullpen. 

The other cops know about the case. They all have bets running. Will the chief get it right? Will he get himself killed? When’s the next victim going to show? Tim indulges their morbid little fantasy pool by devoting most of his waking—and sleeping—hours to the task. 

He decides to settle in with the logs from the docks. Scanning every line item, he feels his eyelids pulling down, and takes another sip of coffee to stay awake. 

One name catches his eye. Demeter. 

Tim narrows his eyes, his gaze travelling across the page. The logs only account for the past twenty-four hours, but he's seen that name before. He sets down the file and hurries to his desk, rifling through the top drawer, setting aside his pocket knife and his gun, to produce another file labelled ???? 

Not very creative, but it’s not like he’s going to label a file My Latest Failure. He opens the folder and scours the paperwork inside for witness statements. 

There. 

Fuck—here it is. His first goddamn lead. 

On the 14th of October, a dock worker watched the Demeter stroll up to the harbour through the water and a man saunter inside, exchanging cash with the driver. The man left with a box. Because the Demeter was listed as a private vessel, the dock worker had reason for concern if the boat was conducting business without a license. He reported this to the police. 

Tim eyes the cork board, following the red thread that connect each victim. He curses. 

The next day, the boat’s driver was found dead in a Soho alleyway. Two puncture wounds in his neck. 

Jesus Christ. Tim’s fingers tremble as he turns the page to continue reading. 

If the Demeter is conducting frequent illegal business from that harbour and the client doesn't want anyone finding out, it’s likely that client is exactly who Tim is looking for. And it's even likelier poor Dean Madison was in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Give me something. A wire transfer pattern. A paper trail. A benevolent benefactor who keeps the engine running. 

Outside, the wind whistles, and Tim blinks away sleep. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a shape pass by the window, and his head jerks up. 

There's a bat hanging from the tree outside. The creature stares for a long while, near-incisive, as if telling Tim to go the fuck to sleep. He checks his watch. It’s two o’clock. 

More than enough time to head down to the docks. 

The next night, just after nine o’clock, Tim knocks on the door of a hulking mansion in Soho.

The Gothic spires of the home stretch to the wispy clouds, the moon taking up a vigil over the grand roof. Arched windows glare down at him. You are a trespasser, they hiss. You do not belong here. The door knocker is shaped like a pair of bat wings, and the ancient, ornate doors creak under the force of his pounding. Overhead, clouds continue to roll in, signalling some fall storm. A shiver racks his body. 

A woman opens the door, and Tim’s heartbeat stutters.  

You’re beautiful. Your smile is so radiant it infects your eyes, your body draped in a tiny white slip, skin so soft it seems to glow in the light. You briefly assess Tim with those keen eyes. 

“Good evening, sir,” you say. Tim licks his lips. Your voice is soft as water. 

“Good… uh, good evening, ma'am.” He forgets that he is supposed to remain suspicious and clasps his hands together in front of him. “Chief Detective Tim Rockford. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Oh,” you purr, demurely folding your hands together in a mirror action to Tim, “of course. Would you like some coffee?”

In the movement, he catches a glimmer of the golden band around your ring finger. “No. Thank you.”

Amusement twinkles in your eyes. “That’s good, because we don’t have any.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” he says good-naturedly. “What’s your husband’s name?”

“Phillips,” you reply dutifully, nibbling your bottom lip. “Max Phillips.”

Fuck. 

He has the right person. He just can't help but wonder if you're a part of it, too. 

There’s not a chance. You’re too good. Too beautiful. Your eyes pull him in, waves swallowing the shore, your pupils shrinking and dilating as if speaking to him. 

“Have you seen this man?” Tim asks, presenting a picture of Dean Madison, drained of blood and neck punctured. 

You frown, but he finds no glimmer of recognition in your eyes, no evidence of an increased heart rate. “Oh, gosh, no. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right,” says Tim. He doesn't know why he bothers, but he hides the gruesome image. He doesn't want to see you upset. 

“Am I in trouble for something, Detective?” 

Your breasts sit so nicely in that little nightgown, the line of your thighs so tempting under the hem, your skin so fucking dewy he could lick all the nectar from it. Tim blinks hard. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

“No,” he says tightly. “Just here to ask some questions. Does the name Demeter mean anything to you?”

Sheepishly, you shrug. “She's a Greek goddess.”

“She’s also a boat,” says Tim. “It’s connected to two incidents by the docks in the past couple weeks.”

“Incidents?” 

The curve of your throat would fit his mouth so nicely. You’re beautiful in the way a marble statue is—elegant and poised, carefully arranged, silk dripping like honey off your perfect fucking body. 

Tim clears his throat. His head feels foggy. 

“Do you mind if I speak to your husband?”

“Maxie?” your sweet voice calls. The sound echoes off the polished walls, petering gently to a lullaby, and Tim wants to rescue you from such a cruel place. “Maxie, there's a man at the door, and he wants to speak with you.”

A man descends the grand spiral staircase, dressed in a suit even though it’s nighttime, adjusting his cufflinks and grinning like a real schmoozer. He’s got the same dark eyes and nose and mouth as Tim, but marked by signs of youth the detective doesn't have. He’s clean-shaven, bright-eyed, lively. 

“Evening, Detective,” says Max Phillips. “Hope you haven't been giving my wife any trouble. Hi, baby.”

You beam at him, holding out your hand. Max threads his fingers through yours and pushes himself into your space, playfully nipping your earlobe. Your giggle is intoxicating. Tim wants to be the one making you smile this way. 

“Mr. Phillips, have you seen this man?” 

Phillips takes a break from crushing his nose in your throat to examine the picture. “Haven’t seen him,” he says, “but it looks like he isn’t seeing anyone.”

“Last night,” says Tim, tucking the picture away, “I went down to the docks and took a look around. You know what I found, Mr. Phillips?”

“This isn't a very fun game, Detective.” Phillips is busying himself with your hair, twirling a lock of it around his finger. You stare up at your husband like he hung the fucking moon and Tim wants to know what it feels like to earn that look. 

“I found blood,” says Tim. “Bags of blood from St. Clare’s Mercy in St. John’s. What kind of sick bastard steals blood from a hospital? I wondered. Then I checked the registration and found a name. Phillips.”

The revelation doesn't seem to faze Phillips the way it did Tim. His lips curve in a frown against your temple. “Looks like the detective knows how to do his job.”

You play with your husband’s fingers as if coaxing him to use them on you. “Didn’t mean to,” you whisper. 

“Shh, sweetheart, I know.” Max tucks your hair behind your ear, his voice so gentle. “I know you didn't mean to, baby. We all get hungry.”

Tim's nostrils flare. You’re both so indifferent to all you've done—you don't care one bit that you've killed, that you’ve left Tim and all his inferiors scratching their heads and losing sleep for weeks. 

He’s got his culprits, all right. 

What the fuck do they want with bags of blood? 

His lip curls. “Just tell me the truth. We can all work together here.”

“About that man by the docks,” you say softly, stepping forward with a placating smile on your face. “I got carried away, Detective. I never wanted to—”

Tim has heard enough. He withdraws his gun from its holster and points the barrel between your eyes. “Do not. Move.”

Your lower lip juts out in a pout, but Phillips’s eyes darken, playful veneer crumbling fast, at the sight of a gun pointed at his wife. “Now, Detective,” he says good-naturedly, though his rigid posture betrays any sense of camaraderie. “If you're gonna point that gun at anyone, it should be me.”

“That so?” Tim’s eyes don't stray from you. Your eyes are wide as a doe’s, your glossy lips parted in vague shock, your silky nightgown contoured so deliciously to your shape. You smell fresh, roses and perfume, and his head goes fuzzy. Your skin looks so soft, glowing under the orange firelight… 

He wonders how you would taste.

His finger trembles near the trigger. 

Phillips presses closer to you, his hand sliding around your waist, his fingers splaying over your ribs. Possessive. His eyes are on Tim, and that look—it peels him apart. Tim may be holding a weapon, but he feels powerless to do anything at all. 

Fear strikes him true. He should not have knocked on this door tonight. 

“You know what I like about people?” says Phillips, idly circling his thumb over your waist while his eyes fall to your pretty face, his other hand twisting your hair around his finger. “I like that they're so… hmm, supple. It's like plucking all the petals off a flower. Can see all the stuff inside with one little pull.” 

Phillips suddenly ducks his head and Tim jolts, pointing the gun his way, but the killer only places an open-mouthed kiss on your throat, just beneath your ear. 

Tim watches your eyes flutter, a sedated little smile growing on your face, and he wants to know. He needs to know what you taste like. 

“That’s more like it, Detective,” says Phillips, playfully nipping your throat before he pulls back. Tim sees a flash of glistening white as the killer bares his teeth and presumes a man as well-off as Max Phillips knows something about veneers. “I know what you want. You don't want to point that gun at my wife, do you?”

Tim’s jaw ticks. He doesn't. He doesn't want to hurt you at all. He wants to make you smile. He wants to slip his hand inside that nightgown and tear it all away to see what's beneath. He wants to put his mouth on you, touch you, do whatever you fucking want him to do. 

Phillips chuckles, and a tremor oozes down Tim’s spine. He isn't safe here—he knew this straight away—but there's more to the couple in front of him than they’re letting him know. “Mmm, she has that effect on lots of people,” says Phillips. “Can’t tell you how many men I’ve had to kill just because they decided to touch.” He pinches your ass for effect and you laugh, hiding your face in Max’s neck. 

“Is that a confession?” says Tim, gritting his teeth as another wave of your perfume pervades reason. 

“Sure,” says Phillips, “it's a confession. But I don't think you want to leave. I think you want to stay here and fuck my wife. Do I get the cash prize, Detective?”

Tim wavers. The door is… It’s right there. He’s standing just inside, could turn around and bolt the hell out of here now, could radio for backup and cuff both of these freaks in two seconds. 

He lowers the gun. 

“Thaaat’s it,” coos Phillips. “I’ll offer you a deal now. Make her feel good, and I’ll forget about you pointing that gun at her.”

Tim’s cock is stiff in his pants, blood surging downward and away from his brain, his body calling to the siren song emitting from you. He’ll drown in it. There's no turning back. Behind him, the door swings closed, untouched. 

You grin at Tim, biting your bottom lip and threading your fingers through Max’s hair. This way, you keep your husband fixed to you, nipping playfully at your throat.

“Do you want to touch me, sir?” you ask him, your voice dripping nectar. 

Tim’s jaw ticks. His head inclines in a nod. 

“No, no, no, Detective, that's no fun,” tuts Max. “Is it, baby?”

“Mmm, no fun,” you echo, the sound of it melodic, enchanting. “Want you to want it, Detective. Want you to show me you want it.”

Tim nods again, stepping closer, his eyes raking over your body in that little white slip, held in place by Phillips’ hands. 

“You're not going to touch my wife with a gun in your hand,” says Phillips darkly. “You’re going to drop it, and then you’ll clean off your dirty fingers in her pretty cunt.”

Tim flicks on the safety and sets the gun on the table just inside the foyer, shucking off his jacket. He doesn't care about the goddamn case anymore. He’s bone-tired, sick of all the overtime he's putting in with no return on investment, and so lonely that it aches. He needs a body to bury himself inside, a sweet, pretty girl to taste. He didn't expect he’d pick the woman he's been chasing for weeks. 

He approaches you slowly, taking in the entire length of your body, wondering about the texture of your hair, the softness of your skin. He gets to explore it tonight. He won't waste the chance. 

The first touch electrifies his nerves. Your skin is velvet under his rough palms, your head tilting idly to the side as your husband continues to kiss your neck. Tim caresses your arms, memorising the feel of you beneath his fingers, and lets your eyes swallow him. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

His voice scrapes over your skin and lifts goosebumps, some echo of the bodily instincts you once had in life. You practically purr as you hook your fingers in the holsters straining under his broad shoulders and tug him closer. 

“Please kiss me, sir.”

The scent of roses washes down his throat as he cups your face and slants his mouth over yours. Max occupies himself in the junction of your throat and shoulder, canines gently grazing what used to be your pulse point.  You moan softly into Tim’s mouth, and his cock reacts accordingly, twitching in his pants as he presses his body against yours to deepen the kiss. 

“Tastes so sweet, doesn't she?” Max muses, his hand squeezing your hip. “She’s picky, too. Must like you a lot.”

Tim groans as he pulls you closer, his hand warming the small of your back over the flimsy silk slip. His tongue slides along yours, his fingers threading in your hair, and he grinds his clothed cock into your hip. He eagerly swallows down your whines, consumed by how fucking good you feel against him. 

Max’s fangs begin to protrude from his gums as his tongue lavishes your throat, lapping up the sweetness rolling off your body, your hormones, the way you radiate need even though your heart does not beat. His cock prods your ass, confined in his pants, straining to find the friction he needs. You're melting, hands grasping greedily at Tim’s holsters, his button-up, trying to absolve him of his clothes. 

He’s so dizzy he can barely stay upright. He belongs right here in your shadow, kissing his way across your jaw, so caught up in the fervour of pleasing you that he doesn't notice the way your pulse does not flutter under his lips. 

“Does it feel good, baby?” says Max, his fangs close to puncturing your skin. “Is he doing his job?”

“Yes,” you whisper, lashes fluttering as Tim’s moustache scratches the sensitive skin below your ear. Your fingers curl in his tousled hair, dark and streaked with grey, signifiers of age your Max will never show. Your Max, who wants to taste you even though it doesn’t sustain him, who indulges in the sublime sweetness of your blood just because he loves it. 

Tim’s big hands trail down your body at the same time his mouth does, shifting the silk nightgown in his feverish need to feel more of you, bringing the entire thing down to the floor with him in one aggressive tug. You gasp, your nipples stiff as they're exposed to the cool air, your thighs squeezing together instinctively, watching Tim sink to his knees in front of you as if in a trance. 

“Don’t be shy, baby.” Max’s hand trails across your belly, palming at your thigh. Tim is crushing his nose into your skin as he kisses the spot where your hip meets your thigh. “You want him to taste your pretty pussy?”

“Yes, Max,” you whimper. “Yes, please.”

His lips ghost across your temple. “Don’t beg me. Beg him.” 

Your eyes dip below your body to find Tim staring expectantly at you as he scatters kisses along your belly, your thighs. His pupils eclipse those warm brown irises. “Please, Detective.” You comb his soft hair away from his forehead and bite your lip at the way his taut expression telegraphs unaltered desire. He needs this. He needs you. “Please taste me.”

It's all he wants. His big, broad shoulders ease your thighs open while Max moves to your back, letting you balance against his hard chest. The scrape of the leather holsters on the back of your thigh makes you shiver as Tim guides your leg up onto his shoulder. You’re fucking dripping for him, your pussy glistening with your own arousal, clinging to your inner thighs. Tim’s eyes shudder as he slowly licks your juices clean off your skin, his fingers dimpling flesh. 

“How’s she taste?” says Max, his hand fixing around your throat. Your hand overlaps his for a grip on reality, your other firmly wedged in the dreamworld, grasping Tim’s messy hair. 

“So fucking sweet,” growls Tim, his teeth sinking into your inner thigh, over your femoral artery. 

“Oh,” you moan, your head lolling against Max’s shoulder. “He likes to bite, Maxie.”

“A thorough detective,” purrs Max, his thumb caressing your jaw. “Hard to find that kind of dedication these days. Don’t make her wait, Rockford. She wants you; I can smell it.” 

Tim’s nostrils flare—one last breath of air before he sinks wholly under the water. His tongue darts out to part your folds, sliding languorously through your wet slit. You bite your lip at the sight of his strong shoulders wedged between your thighs, his nose pressed hard against your clit as he circles his tongue around your hole. You’re fucking nectar. It's euphoria, the indelible high he will always be searching to replicate. 

“Detective,” you sigh. 

Tim groans into your cunt, his hand coming down in a hard smack to your thigh. The sudden shock of the slap pools arousal in your core, a pitiful yelp leaving your mouth. 

“Sir!”

“The detective knows what this pretty little kitty wants,” says Max, grinning against your cheek. He punctuates his words with a playful thrust into your backside. “He knows you like it rough, honey. You like that?”

“Yes! Yes! More, please, I’ll do anything.”

Max considers this, humming ponderously into your throat. “Anything?”

Tim places an open-mouthed kiss on your needy clit, and you gasp, “Anything!”

“You got a pair of handcuffs on you, Rockford?”

It's a flurry of activity. You're transported efficiently to the couch in the living room, a gigantic jewel-green sectional, your hands bound behind you by two cold metal cuffs. Bent over the arm of the sofa, your thighs are spread, your cheek pressed into the cushion as you're shamelessly bared for the pair of them. Whining, you wiggle your hips, standing on your toes and presenting yourself for someone to make you feel good, already. 

“My poor baby.” Max is gently caressing the curve of your spine. “You said you'd do anything. You wanna break your promise?”

“No, no, I’ll be good,” you beg. “I’ll behave, please!”

“Hear that, Rockford?” says Max, still smiling fondly down at you. “She’ll be good.”

Hands grasp your thighs and wrench them farther apart, warm breath—living breath—blowing on your cunt. “Sir,” you gasp, writhing under his big hands, “are you gonna be nice to me?”

Tim licks a bold path through your slit and hums, his head spinning, inebriated from a taste alone. He’s keeping you spread open, lapping up your sweet juices, fixing for his next hit. Making you moan is victory alone. He’ll be more than nice to you. 

He fixes his mouth to your clit and you cry out, your hands flexing uselessly in the handcuffs. He suckles at your pearl, every sensation heightened by the fact that you can't move, buried under the weight of all the hands and metal links and pleasure. Max watches, pleased with your behaviour, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. “You’ve been bad, honey. Got a little reckless. We’re gonna teach you how to be good.”

Tim nips your clit, Max’s silent partner-in-crime, and you mewl. 

“Like you… know anything… about good.”

“Mmm, and so rude.” Max clicks his tongue in reproach. “Detective, I think you should show my wife what happens when she's rude.”

The tongue licking through your cunt stops, and a garbled sound of protest escapes your throat, your eyes bleeding mascara into the cushion. You pulse frantically around nothing, desperate to be filled somehow, anywhere. You whimper for Tim, Maxie, someone, please—

A hot, wet glob of saliva lands on your puckered asshole, and a gurgled moan leaves your lips as Tim cleans off his own spit with his tongue. 

As he swirls the wet muscle around your hole, his hand comes down in a hard slap on your ass, and you squeal, your arousal splattering on his clean white shirt. Apparently pleased, Tim groans, two thick fingers parting your folds.

“Ah! Oh, fuck, sir, please…”

Kneading the flesh of your ass in one hand, the other occupies itself by playing with your pussy, and for the first time, the detective gives you an order. 

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands, sinking two fingers into your tight cunt. His voice sounds like the shroud of night, like he knows exactly how illicit this is and fucking delights in it. 

The feeling of his tongue on your asshole and his fingers curling up against your spongy walls has you drooling, your thighs trembling around his shoulders. “It’s… ah, fuck… it’s so good, Detective. Fuck, I’m… I’m gonna—”

Max tucks your hair behind your ear so he can see the wrecked, dazed expression on your face. “We’re going to fill you up, honey. Let you prove that you're a nice girl. That sound like fun?”

“Yes,” you moan, trying to maintain eye contact with Max even as your vision blurs with tears, “s’good. Need to come, Detective. Please.”

Tim spanks your ass again, his mouth slurping indecently at your backside, his fingers coaxing you to a high you don’t see coming. Your thighs shake uncontrollably as he rubs up against your g-spot, your mouth dropping open in a silent scream as your entire body seizes. 

“There she is,” purrs Max, “such a nice girl, asking before she comes. How does your pretty kitty feel, baby?”

“Mmmsogood.” It's all a jumble in your mouth as your tension dissolves. Behind you, Tim is so gentle, licking up the release that has dripped down your thighs and tastefully avoiding your pussy. 

Max caresses your cheek. “Check in with me, honey. You want to keep going?”

You nod vigorously, flexing your fingers. Max intertwines his hand with yours, squeezing. “I want you in my mouth, Max. Wanna make you feel good.”

He grins crookedly, making eye contact with the detective behind you. Tim’s eyes are black, bright as a moonlit lake, his cock tenting his pants. Max isn't much better off. Your body will do that to a man. A woman. Fucking anyone. 

He’s just better at controlling himself. He’s had seventy years of practice. 

Max’s eyes don't waver from Tim as he speaks to you. “Want our nice detective inside you, baby?”

“Oh, please,” you gasp. “Please fill me up, sir.”

Max cocks his head toward Tim. “I think she's been good enough. Don’t you?”

Tim nods. You have. You’ve been so good. He’ll give you any goddamn thing you want. He’ll throw himself at your feet time and time again if it means you’ll look at him this way. Over your shoulder, you meet his eye, smiling sweetly enough to give him a toothache. 

“I’ll be a good girl, Detective.”

The glint of the metal cuffs reflects in his eyes, and he looks like an animal. 

Both he and Max shuck down their zippers, but it’s Tim’s hands that grab for you, hauling you backward by your hips and wrapping one large hand around the chain between your cuffs. Pulling hard, he forces your body upright as Max settles in front of you. 

You look up through your lashes at your husband, who tangles his fingers in your hair and yanks your head back. You’re effectively suspended in the air by both men, your hips sorely rubbing against the arm of the sofa. It’s intoxicating. 

Between your kiss-bruised lips, Max watches your fangs protrude, and he tuts. 

“Gonna have to learn to control yourself, baby. Otherwise, this is gonna hurt for me.”

You swallow hard, retracting the sharp points of your teeth back into your gums. Max sings his praises by pulling out his hard cock and slapping it playfully against your cheek. Moaning his name, you begin to drool, the need to please igniting your body into action, your fuse lit from both ends. 

Behind you, a warm, hard length rests between your asscheeks, and your back arches as best it can with Tim pulling at your cuffs. “Mmm, you’re so big, Detective,” you croon. “Is it gonna fit?”

Tim tugs roughly at the cuffs, a deep noise like a growl leaving his lips. “Gonna fuckin’ make it fit.”

“Open up,” says Max, guiding his cock to the seam of your mouth. “Open, and he’ll stuff your pretty little cunt.”

You part your lips and stick out your tongue, eager to take your husband’s big cock into your mouth. He’s long, thick, ridged with veins that you could trace with your eyes closed. But he doesn't like it when you close your eyes. He wants to watch you take him. 

He pushes the tip into your hot, wet mouth, lip curling to reveal sharp teeth glinting white in the firelight. Your skin is pleasantly sticky with warmth, your mascara smudged beneath your eyes. Tim grasps the base of his cock, smearing his precum through your folds and catching on your clit. You moan around Max’s cock, letting him slide deeper down your throat at the same time the detective’s cock notches inside your cunt and begins to sink inside you. 

Tim’s free hand grabs your hip to steady himself. Fuck, you're goddamn tight—warm and wet, your greedy pussy sucks him in, wrenching open around his length. His nostrils flare with self-restraint, the Herculean task of maintaining some composure even as his entire body thrums with the need to take you, to use you like a pretty doll and relieve all his stress. 

What the fuck is happening to me? 

“She’ll let you,” says Max, and Tim has to blink hard to see the man across from him. “She’ll let you use her. She likes being treated like a cumslut. Right, honey?”

Your fingers flex, locking around Tim’s wrist, and you bob your head around Max’s cock. “Shit, that’s right,” growls your husband. “Feel that, Detective? She’s fuckin’ begging to be filled up. Don’t go easy on her; she won’t be happy.”

Tim feels the rest of you give, and his hips bump into your ass. “Fuck,” he sighs. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

The fire's embers crackle against his back. He’s where he belongs. 

His first thrust is experimental, watching the way your ass jiggles and your nails dig into his wrist, your throat contracting around Max’s cock. His second is indulgence: a slow drag out, back in, savouring the way your walls suffocate him. By the third, he’s lost control. 

He begins to fuck you hard, the momentum of his thrusts forcing Max’s cock down your throat. “Je—fuck,” spits Max, fisting your hair, transfixed by the tears brimming in your waterline, the delicious slide of his length along the walls of your hot throat. “Such a fuckin’ pro. Gonna turn me into a two-pump chump. Gonna fuckin’ embarrass me in front of our guest.”

Tim grits his teeth as he pounds you, relishing his total control over your body, bending it to his will. You're so fucking good, so sweet, and he doesn't know why he ever suspected you. 

He should turn in his badge for pointing a gun at you. 

You whine around Max’s cock when Tim grinds deep, the head of his dick kissing your cervix, your eyes rolling back in your head. He feels you shudder underneath him and does it all over again, fucking you hard, deep, mercilessly. 

You swallow Max down to the base, wiggling your tongue along the vein on his length. “Gonna fuckin’ come if you keep doing that,” he groans, but you're undeterred. You hum, the vibrations coursing through his body, and his balls pull up, emptying his cum down your throat in rhythmic pulses. 

“Fuck.” Max pulls out of your mouth just to spill the last of his cum on your bruised lips, painting you white. “That’s my fucking girl. Show me.”

You open your mouth again, tongue lolling out to proudly display his release. He rubs his thumb over your chin and spits into your mouth. 

“Now swallow.”

You do, gulping down his cum and showing him your clean tongue when you're done. Max smirks, too damn proud for his own good. “Made you cry.”

You have little room left in your head to bask in his praise. Tim is taking charge, engulfed in the ecstasy of fucking you, his hips punching hard into your ass and forcing your back to bow with the grip he maintains on the handcuffs. Your next orgasm is approaching, your clit rubbing against the arm of the sofa and sending electrical tremors to your core. 

But Max is still steel-hard despite his orgasm, watching the way your ass bounces with the force of Tim’s thrusts, your bound hands collected in a useless pile at your back, the breathy moans that leave your mouth. “Gonna need to take a break from breaking her, Detective. I want in, too.”

Some territorial part of him snaps and claws, too consumed by your body to let another man near it. Max clicks his tongue, giving Tim a dangerous smile. “Be careful, Rockford. Don’t get greedy with your treat.”

A strangled “unh” is your input, eyes shuttering as Tim reaches deep inside you again, mounting your orgasm to a foregone conclusion. Max sees the glaze drip down over your eyes, and decides to watch you come apart under a different man’s cock. “Spoiled, honey,” he mutters. “You’re spoiled.”

You come hard, joints locking and thighs squeezing Tim’s where they keep you spread apart. Your entire body jolts with electrical pulses, the pleasure coursing white-hot through your useless veins. He holds you in place, impaled on his dick, writhing around to get as much of him inside you as you possibly can. Tim grits his teeth, a faint whimper escaping his throat. The feeling of your pussy contracting around him, soaking his length, has him dizzy, close to keeling over—the scent of you, the warmth of your tight cunt, the way you coo his name and call him sir. Thank you for letting me come, sir. Fuck, sir, you feel so good inside me. Don’t leave me, sir.  

He doesn't ever want to leave this fucking house. 

Max slides his palm over your spine and you melt under it. “Come on, honey, let’s get you up. I’m in the mood to share some more.” 

You whine as Tim reluctantly pulls out, weeping precum into your used hole. He’s going to fucking die if he doesn't come soon. 

He helps you upright, kissing all the way up your spine and enjoying the soft hums of pleasure that emit from your lips. He wants to stay forever. He wants to bury himself inside you and never pull away. 

“Mmm, Detective,” you purr. “So strong.”

“Yours,” he grumbles, his plush, wet mouth feverishly tracing a path along your jaw. “‘m yours.”

“Hear that, Maxie?” You beam at your husband, threading your fingers through Tim’s behind your back. “He’s mine.”

Max grins. “Let him prove it. C’mere, honey.”

Tim walks you to the couch and helps you kneel, settling behind you. Sitting in his lap, his mouth on your throat, you watch Max approach, slowly fisting himself. He kneels, too, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit. You gasp his name, your back arching, and Tim uses the opportunity to slot himself at your entrance, sinking you down on his cock with none of the care he took the first time around. 

He’s deeper at this angle, grinding up against your front wall, absconding with any attention he had for staving off his orgasm. His teeth nip your earlobe, your jaw, one arm banding around your waist and squeezing your breast. 

In front of you, Max grips himself and continues to rub your clit with the head of his cock. You mewl like a cat, and Tim groans, burying his face in your neck. 

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he hisses, his hips bucking up into you. “Jesus, baby.”

“He’s a blasphemer,” teases Max. 

“Good,” you sigh, your head falling back onto Tim’s shoulder. The scent of leather and sweat engulfs your heightened senses, and the erratic thrum of his pulse echoes in your ears. His blood is warm, thick, rich—

Just a taste, you think, your eyes drooping at the very thought. Just one taste. I’ll be good…

Max coaxes you to another high with the pressure at your clit, but when he sees your mouth drop, he takes it away from you. You pout, petulant as ever, and Max mirrors it mockingly. 

“One dick inside you isn't good enough?” He shuffles closer, yanking your head back by your hair and kissing you hard. His tongue dips into your mouth, and your fangs begin to descend, catching his lip before he breaks away. 

Max prods his lip with his thumb and watches the blood bead, reaching out to smear the small crimson stain onto your lips. Hungrily, you lick it up, the cat with the cream, staring up at him with those faux-innocent eyes. 

He snarls, fitting the head of his cock at your already-filled entrance. “Relax.” It’s Tim's raspy voice, mouth still fixed to your throat. You sink into him, letting Max open you up wide. 

“That’s fuckin’ it, baby,” says your husband, smoothing his hand over your belly and wrenching open your hole to fit himself next to the detective. “Feel us in here?”

“Unnghhh.” Your mouth is open, your pearly fangs glinting in the dim light. Tim drags his nose up your throat and opens his eyes to study your face in the moment of pleasure. 

He barely registers the too-sharp teeth, the blackened veins crawling from your eyes. You're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. It's all he knows as he begins to fuck you in tandem with your husband. His body vibrates with desire. His head is static. He belongs to you. 

You’re so full. You're going to burst, and they're relentless, uncaring, caught up in the list and pheromones and perhaps the competition of seeing who can get you there first. You can only manage faint squeaks as they repeatedly take you, your body suspended, a pretty toy they get to use as they like. It’s so erotic that your cheeks burn, your core building with the pressure of another orgasm. 

So fuckin’ tight.

Such a pretty fuckin’ doll, letting us use your body.

Gonna take our cum, baby? You gonna keep it all safe inside you?

She’s coming. Looks so pretty when she comes. 

Come, pretty girl, and we’ll fill you up. Give you a nice treat.

You no longer know who’s speaking. It's all rolling around in your head, the smell of blood pounding in your skull, the temptation to turn your head to the side and taste the nectar from his throat. Your orgasm devastates you, your body quivering, both men lavishing their tongues and mouths over your skin as they continue to wreck your cunt. 

Fingers flex against your ribcage, your wrist, and Tim is coming, his teeth bared against your temple and the leather holsters on his shoulders scraping wetly against your back as he grinds into you and stays there. His hot cum pumps into you, splattering your walls and Max’s cock. His balls continue to empty inside you as your husband reaches his peak, nudging your chin upward so he can sink his teeth into your throat, gulping down your blood. 

Max’s head goes fuzzy with your taste, sweet and soft as velvet as it slides down his tongue. You moan at the feeling of his cum filling you up at the same time he depletes you of blood you don't need. They both empty themselves inside you and let your body slump against him. You hear the rustle of a key in your handcuffs and feel them release, falling to the floor. 

Max and Tim ease out of you, and you turn around to lower yourself onto Tim’s hard chest, toying with the buttons of his shirt. Behind you, Max scoops up globs of cum that have slipped out of your used hole and stuffs it back inside. 

Tim’s eyes are fixed to you, dark and gentle, his hand gently squeezing your wrists. “Did I hurt you?”

“You couldn't hurt me,” you purr, sliding your hands under his collar and threading your fingers through his tousled hair. “You're so sweet to me, Detective. So big and strong.”

He trails his fingers up your back until he can cup your face in his hands, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb. “Your teeth…,” he murmurs, a vague expression of puzzlement on his face. 

“You aren’t going to take me down to the station, are you, Detective?” You curl your finger around a lock of silver hair, pouting down at him. 

“No, baby.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you. I’d never. You’re safe. Safe with me.”

You beam at him and playfully nip his nose. “You’re a good detective, Mr. Rockford. You’ll find the killer soon.”

He nods vigorously. “I will.”

“And you’ll put them away,” you say, biting your lip as you slowly unbutton his shirt. “Because you're so good.”

“I’m good,” he echoes, unable to tear his eyes from yours. His body feels limp, calm, satiated, when he's touching you this way. The job disappears. The stress disappears, the exhaustion and the malaise. Humankind is a pathology, and you are his cure. 

“Max,” you coo, resting your cheek on Tim’s chest and listening to his strong heartbeat. “I like him.”

Max hums, his knuckles gently dragging up and down your spine. “I know, baby. You wanna keep him?”

Quietly, you nod, littering kisses from his chest to his neck. You indulge in the fluttering pulse beneath his jaw. Tim smiles, sedated, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

Max nods, giving your ass a playful squeeze. “Okay, honey. Go on—ask him.”

You prop yourself up on Tim’s chest and trail your fingers through his beard. “Do you wanna stay with me?”

Tim’s brows crease. “You want me to stay?”

“Forever,” you whisper conspiratorially, your fingers drumming an eager little dance on his chest. “I’ll make you real happy. I promise.”

Tim sees the points of your canines, the veins bleeding from your darkening eyes, and feels no fear. He lets you tip his head back, baring his throat, and he lets you lick a bold stripe up his neck. My answer is yes, he thinks, and he hopes you can hear him, crawling happily down into a hell that will warm his body for eternity. 

Peace overcomes him as your eyes meet his, and your fangs sink in deep, the light slowly dimming to a faint memory. 

CASE CLOSED. 

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #tim rockford x reader #merge mansion #tim rockford #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x f!reader #max phillips #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips x you #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x reader x tim rockford #max phillips fanfiction #tim rockford fanfiction

[sageispunk]

Control (18+)

gif from pinterest (@javier-pena i think)

Kinktober Prompt: sex pollen, thigh riding, forced orgasm (day 4)

pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

summary: Drinking with your boss goes differently than you'd planned.

“Mm baby, I bet I could get one more out of you, what d’ya think? Can you cum one more time for me, like a good girl?” You looked into his eyes, seeing his hunger for you, it was carnal, lecherous.

wordcount: 2.3k+

warnings: no Y/N, this is sort of dark, DUBCON, max has a thing for reader, boss/employee dynamics, drugging (w/blood), intoxication, dom/sub vibes, teasing, nipple play, grinding/dry humping, voice kink, praise kink, magic kinda, making out, overstimulation, small visual hallucinations, multiple orgasms (2), use of “good girl”, dirty talk

A/N: max is a little OOC also my vampire science is slightly based on true blood–if a human ingests vamp blood (so not sex pollen exactly), they sort of trip on it BUT there are less extreme visual hallucinations + it just makes you feel rllyyyy good and very h-word. he can also influence you if you make eye contact for a few seconds (which is just glamouring in TB lol)

“How’s it taste?”

Max watched as you took a couple sips of his fancy red wine (whose name you couldn't pronounce), eyes a bit widened in excitement. You let the taste linger in your mouth for a moment, before replying. “Not bad, it's a little strong, but smooth. Reds usually don't do it for me, but this, it's pretty good.”

He smiled at your candidness, subtly scooting a bit closer. The two of you sat on high stools in his kitchen, talking at the marble island. Max had invited you over early in the day, during your lunch break, stating that even though you'd been working there for a few months, he barely knew anything about you. Said it would be good to get to know each other, it would help ease you into the work culture.

“I’m glad you like it.. it's been fermenting awhile, probably longer than you’ve been alive!” He says, with a slightly obnoxious laugh, watching you giggle in response.

The both of you chat about random stuff, mostly about you– how long you’ve been in the city, where you came from, etc. Every time you want to ask him about himself, he sort of beats you to it, pulling bits and pieces of information out of you.

A few moments later, you start to feel woozy, more in your head and upper body. “Woah, that stuff was strong.” You’re giggling, reaching for the bottle that stood on the counter between you and Max, wanting to read it again.

“You feelin’ it?” He asks, eyes steadily trained on your face, his body turning to better face yours. A chuckle leaves your throat, “Yeah, it's…” You just shake your head and sit the bottle back down, at a loss for words to describe how your body was beginning to feel.

It was good, a sort of light feeling, as if every particle of your being was being lifted up by tiny little angels, washing away that heavy burden of being a person. No more stress, no more doubts, no more responsibilities, no more ego.

There was also a physical tingling slowly radiating from your spine to every other part of your body, your head, your tummy, your toes, fingertips..

You brought your hand up, eyes wide in amazement at the faint glowing you could see emanating from your nails. You eyes briefly left your hands, going up to meet Max’s, your mouth hung open as if to say do you see this? but nothing came out. He watched you, with a sort of amused, content look on his face, lips slightly upturned.

Your arm slowly reached out, hand stretching towards him, wanting him to see and feel what you were experiencing. When you touched, it felt like electricity– “Oh!” You gasped.

But the sharp feeling quickly turned into a soothing, warm sensation as Max fully took your hand in between both of his. He gently rubbed your hand, while you sat in complete awe. You met his eyes again, and this time you could see the darkness in them.

His orbs were almost black, gaze trained on you with such intensity that sober-you would've simply imploded. But right now– they were comforting, nearly tranquilizing.

“How are you feeling? Good?” His voice was deeper, more…sensual–it hit your ear in a different way than before. You wanted to hear more.

Nodding your head, you leaned your body in a bit more towards his, reaching your other hand up to his face. You were only slightly surprised to feel that jolt again, that static that seemed to sit on his skin. You stroked his cheek softly, soothing that electricity just like he did with you.

“Mmm..” Max groaned and his eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back slightly as your fingers graced his jaw. You watched as he reveled in your touch, leaning into your hand. Your fingers traveled along the outline of his face, going down until they were loosely grasping the side of his throat with your thumb stroking his cheek again.

Max’s eyes opened again, looking as though he was shocked that you could get him like this. “Come,” And then he was pulling you by your arms, so quickly that it didn’t feel real. For a split second, you stood there, in between his legs, with your faces only an inch apart, so close that there was equal static flowing between you two.

And then you were falling.

You’d been sitting for so long, you didn’t realize how numb your legs were. “Woah there, mama, let's get you up.” Max cooed, standing up to catch you and help get you upright. You weakly held onto him, less focused on your legs and more focused on how close you were to him, the woody scent of sage and cedarwood in his clothes, and the way he was holding onto your body, his own tall figure serving as a protector for you. “C’mon, baby, I’ve got ya.”

The lights were low, the constant whirring of the ceiling fan lulled you in the background, and you were in heaven. Max had led you into his living room, sitting the both of you down on the soft sofa with you atop his lap. He firmly grasped your chin with his right hand, bringing your eyes back up to his. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

His voice had a tone of dominance in it, and his eyes had you falling into that peaceful trance again, unable to focus on anything other than him and the wonderful sensations happening within your body. “Feelin’ good,” You meekly whispered, voice a bit hoarse from not having spoken in a minute.

“Mhm?” He looked pleased with your answer, leaning back into the sofa as you remained straddling his lap. His hand dropped from your face, both coming to rest on your hips. His eyes wandered, first to your lips, then your neck, down to the curves outlined in your short black slip dress, especially your breasts.

Max lifted his hands up to each of your breasts, gently holding each of them in his palms while you looked down at him, nothing but calm in your eyes. Then his thumbs lightly flickered across your nipples, drawing a gasp out of you. His eyes lit up at both the sound you made, and the way you jumped in his lap, subtly grinding into his hardening cock.

“Do you always wear such revealing clothing when at your boss’ house?

Your eyes widened at the question, head shaking in response, feeling yourself become needier the longer his hands were on you.

“Hm?” He stopped thumbing at your nipples, eyebrows raised with a stern look on his face.

You got the hint. “No, no I don’t..”

“It's just for me?” The touching resumed, now turning into soft groping.

You nodded your head, “Only for you.”

He squeezed and massaged your breasts, causing you to let out breathy moans above him. A cocky smile graced his face as he began to pleasure you. Max was now fully hard and slightly grinding his bulge up into your soaked panties, hissing at the feeling of your warmth, even through his pants.

“Fuck, baby…you’re so good, y’know that?”

A pang of electricity shot through your stomach, making you feel even weaker. His hands, his eyes, his cock hard under you, and his fucking voice… everything had you so far under.

“Jus’ wanna be good for you,” Your voice was so soft and hushed, but you knew he’d heard you. “Yeah?” He asked, and you nodded in response, your eyes low and focused on his.

He sat up to come in closer to you, his firm hands coming up to your face, pulling you in until you were an inch apart. You stared into his eyes, the depth of darkness pulling you in, enticing you. All you wanted was him. To become one with him.

You kissed him, a bit too fast, with a sort of hunger, and then you quickly pulled back and leaned your forehead onto his. He panted, a feral, frenzied look written all across his face, letting you know that he needed this as much as you did.

Your faces pulled back together and his hands shot down to your ass, pulling the bottom of your dress up above your hips. Feeling that you only had a thong on underneath, Max hissed in pleasure. His hands grasped each of your cheeks, squeezing and groping, more obviously grinding his bulge up into your heat. “Y’feel that baby? Feel how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” You let out a breathy moan, your head swimming in clouds. “It feels so good.”

“Show me. Show me how good you feel.”

Your hips began to move, rocking back and forth on his lap, your clothed clit rubbing against the hem in his jeans. Every time it hit that one spot you let out a moan, each one getting louder than the one before.

His right hand came down on your ass hard and fast, feeling like a lightning bolt shooting through your backside. You yelped, now humping a bit more frantic. You could tell you were nearing your peak already, though it felt much different than when you normally do, alone and in the darkness of your bedroom.

It was more intense. Your body trembled and your eyes kept fluttering shut as the waves of pleasure amplified. “M-Max, I-”

“I know, baby, let it out,” His voice grunted out, hands tightly guiding you back and forth on his lap, getting you closer and closer, until all you could feel was static electricity, all over your skin, on Max, inside of you…

He brought a hand back up to your jaw, holding your face up to meet your gaze. “Cum for me.” His eyes pierced yours and you felt yourself let go, hips stilling for a moment then twitching uncontrollably. You cried out as your eyes rolled back into your head, immediately feeling overstimulated all over your body.

“Good girl,” He cooed in your ear, his body stilling under yours. “You did so good, baby.” Your body continued to twitch slightly, still coming down from the most intense high you’ve ever felt. “So beautiful, all soft and sweet like this. I’d pay–no I’d kill to see you break down like that again.”

You whimpered at his words, his voice still having a strong effect on you and your body. “Mm baby, I bet I could get one more out of you, what d’ya think? Can you cum one more time for me, like a good girl?” You looked into his eyes, seeing his hunger for you, it was carnal, lecherous.

You wanted to say not yet, you needed time to recover, to fully come down. But his eyes, they bore into you, taking over every thought of denial your mind came up with. Ignoring your oversensitive clit and tired hips, your fuzzy head nodded.

Max patted his right thigh, “Up here,” You straddled his thigh and a shiver shook through your body at the feeling of the strong mass under your panties. “Look at me. I want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nodded, once again. He grasped your hip with both hands and began to pull you back and forth on his thigh. He kept it slow at first, only beginning to slowly speed up once he noticed your sensitivity wasn't as high anymore. “Touch yourself,” He ordered.

Your hands moved immediately, both gravitating towards your breasts again, this time you slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders. You gasped at the feeling of your own fingers pulling at your hardened nipples. You twisted and pulled until they were too sensitive to the touch, and resorted to simply groping your own tits.

“So fuckin’ beautiful…” His praise hit your ears and sent shocks down your body, right to your slick pussy. You were dripping, thong completely soaked and ruined, as were Max’s pants. Your hips found their rhythm again, wanting to chase that peak he had you nearing again.

Back and forth, and back and forth. You even added in a small circling to create a different feeling than before. The closer you got, the more your sensitivity intensified. It was twice as strong as your previous high, and you didn’t know it you would be able to take it. Max could tell, he could see the way you were beginning to doubt yourself, a nervous look written on your face. “Don’t think about it baby, just let it happen. You’ve got it, doing so fuckin’ good.”

“Max, I don’t know–” Your gaze began to fall from his, but he grabbed your face, not as gently as before. “No, you’re gonna cum for me. Right now, you’re gonna cum like the good girl that you are, and you’re gonna fuckin’ love it.”

“Ohhh, my…” Your voice trailed off into a high-pitched wail, your second orgasm hitting you, causing your body to completely lock up for a few quick moments. You watched Max’s face as you came, he had a proud look on his face, and you felt it within yourself as well.

You slumped in his lap, unable to hold yourself up at all. He rubbed your back and tucked your face into his neck. “You did so well for me baby, m’proud of you.” Strong butterflies pounded in your chest, his praiseful words aiding your harsh come-down.

The longer you laid there, the more you realized how exhausted you were. Your head felt heavy again, eyes low, nearly closed with drowsiness. Your body was tired and sore, in several different places. You didn’t focus on the pain though. Max’s hands on your back and head, rubbing in rhythmic circles, had you falling deep into a peaceful slumber.

A/N: that was so hot to write omg. it took longer than expected but i'm still proud i got it out:) max was a little difficult bc i don't know his character super well (i've only seen the film once) but it was still fun playing around with it. please like and reblog (and leave plenty of comments) if u enjoy reading this. feel free to send requests/suggestions!! <333 (follow @sageispunklibrary + turn on notifs for updates)

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

#kinktober #fawktober2023 #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips smut #bloodsucking bastards #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #smut #dark fic #supernatural #my writing #max phillips x you #max phillips fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #max phillips fic #max phillips x f!reader #sageispunk

[wannab-urs]

Prickly

Prompt #536 - “You’re like a cactus.” / “Because I’m what? Prickly?” / “No, because you can get killed easier than people believe.”

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Summary: You versus Max... Who will win?

Warnings: minor character death, canon typical violence, referenced smut WC: 391

A/N: Today's actual prompt fill (look ma i met a deadline!) Thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for the beta and the title &lt;3 OH and this takes place in the Hand Over Fist universe

Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi | Hand Over Fist | Prompt Fills

“You’re like a cactus,” you mutter. 

“Because I’m what? Prickly?” Max taunts. 

“No, because you can get killed easier than people believe.”

“I’d really like to see you try, sweetheart.” 

You spin the wooden stake on your palm and stalk across the room toward him. There are bodies scattered across the office floor, vampires and humans alike. It’s down to you and Max. 

He grabs a broken office chair and hurls it in your direction, but you dodge it easily. 

“You’ll have to try harder than that, Maxxie.” 

You grab a stapler off a nearby desk and launch it at his head, but he simply steps out of the way faster than human eyes can track. 

The second you’re within his reach, he grabs you – one hand under your thigh and the other around your bicep. Your back hits the floor, Max landing on top of you and pinning your arms by your head. 

“Shame. I really thought you’d make this interesting,” he sneers at you.

You smirk at him before driving your knee up into his exposed groin. The shock probably affects him more than the pain, but he lets go of you nevertheless. 

You take the opportunity to drive the stake up toward his throat. He grabs your wrist and you use the momentum to flip the two of you. 

You straddle his hips and grab his hair with your free hand, yanking his head back at an awkward angle. His growl of frustration quickly turns to a whimper. 

He twists your captured wrist until you drop the stake and brings your hand to his throat, his eyes pleading.

“Oh Maxxie, you always make it so easy to win.” 

“‘M sorry, mistress. You’re just so much stronger than me,” Max whines, starting to grind his hips into yours. 

You close your hand around his throat and press a kiss to his forehead. Dragging your lips down to his ear, you whisper, “No, baby. You’re just weak.” 

You roll your hips and Max loses control, face morphing into something angry and red and fangs descending over his trembling bottom lip. 

“I’m gonna have to punish you now, baby. Think I’ll make you come in your pants and then leave you here to clean up our mess, yeah?”

Max ruts into the cradle of your hips even more frantically. 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

@creativepromptfills

#Max Phillips #Max Phillips fics #Max Phillips fanfiction #Max Phillips x reader #Max Phillips x you #Bloodsucking Bastards fanfiction #hand over fist #prompt fills #creativepromptsforwriting #536

[prolix-yuy]

Reflective

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Summary: His management style is effective AND refreshing. And as his executive assistant, you're partially to thank. But as your professional relationship blurs, are you getting too close to the middle manager monster of nightmares?

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, horror elements and themes, graphic descriptions of blood including drinking, background character un-death, violence, fingering (f-receiving), vomiting (not descriptive), descriptions of a panic attack, a dabble of sleazy coworkers, playing fast and loose with vampire lore.

Notes: Heeeeeeere's LJ! I'm back from my October hiatus just in time for a Halloween fic! Thank you again to @harriedandharassed for the prompt "How does Max Phillips handle not being able to see himself in the mirror?" I was grasping at something to write for Halloween and this prompt came at the perfect time.

This story will include horror elements such as violence, descriptions of blood and some graphic scenes. If that's not your cup of tea, scroll on friend! It was fun to go back to some of my horror writing roots, especially mixing it with the dry comedy of Bloodsucking Bastards. It's Max season babes, and I could not resist writing for this smarmy boy.

There is a part 2, which will post tomorrow. The Discord besties made an excellent suggestion right after I finished the story, and it was so good I needed an addendum. So without further ado, enjoy lovelies and Happy Halloween!

Cross-posted on AO3

If anyone asked Max Phillips what the worst part about becoming a vampire is, he’d probably tell them things like “not getting a tan” or “swearing off Italian food” or “always getting complaints about cold feet”. The last one was often followed by a lewd comment to get a pretty young thing in bed with him to prove it. It’s all farce, of course, clever little quips you’re sure he practiced just like you’d rehearse for a job interview. It gives you a funny little trill when you catch one of those lines again, because you know the truth.

He hates that he can’t see himself in mirrors.

Being Max’s executive assistant, you’re trusted with more than some of your colleagues. Well, that’s debatable, you’ve heard horror stories. But your friend Carla’s stories about her boss’ wife choosing his Peloton instructors for minimum hotness pales in comparison to your early morning runs to blood banks and private contracts with hospital cleanup crews. Max might not be a centuries old vampire, but he’s planning on getting there. You can’t live several lifetimes with a messy trail anymore.

Enter you.

The job listing had been normal enough: Executive assistant. Five years experience. Good references. Not squeamish. Discreet. It was the last three words that piqued your interest the most. You wouldn’t call yourself delicate, at least not for the things Max needed you to do. Your stomach turned when men wanted to stay the night, or your parents begged you to come home for Thanksgiving. Not so much when you had to bag a severed hand. 

When it came to the interview you almost walked straight back out of his office before saying a word. The moment you saw him you knew his type. Arrogant, self-centered, prideful, smooth with a customer and cruel in the next breath if you were in his way. You’d seen too many people like him, avoided working with them at all cost. He was young enough that boomer sexism probably wouldn’t be an issue, but you could smell the demand coming off of him. He’d be a yeller, a paperweight thrower, or worse require you to be on call 24/7. You clocked him in a glance and felt the claw of escape behind your ribcage.

And then Max Phillips did something that convinced you to reconsider just as quickly. He stood from his desk, ushered you in, looked you and your resume over for a moment, and spoke.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Max Phillips, Director of Sales, and I’m a vampire.”

The quick introduction, complete with another curious word at the end, made you bark out a laugh.

“What kind are we talking about? Emotionally, mentally…” you rattle off, tight posture relaxing just a fraction. If he was joking with you, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Oh you know, the usual kind. With the blood,” he says nonchalantly, baring his teeth dramatically when your eyebrows raise. 

“You don’t say.”

“I do, actually. And you want to be my assistant.”

The conversation flows, with some fits and starts as you realize he’s not kidding. He is indeed a vampire, tossed out like his zodiac sign. The questions he peppers off range from highly professional (tell me a time when you performed well under pressure) to unsettlingly irregular (do you know how to remove blood stains from silk?). You shoot the answers back just as quickly, waiting for the moment when either the charade will drop…or you’ll get the job. Because you want it now. It’s easily the most interesting thing you’ll do in your whole life. 

“I think that’s all I need,” Max ends abruptly, shuffling your resume into a pile with some others. Panic grips you, and you rush into your next sentence without breathing.

“Are there any concerns you have about my qualifications?” 

Max raises an eyebrow and smiles, one that is much too charming to be in its path too long. Casting your eyes down, you glance at the worn-out toes of your nice interview heels, bemoaning getting them out of the closet for another failed interview.

“On paper you’re perfect,” Max says, and being in the same sentence as perfect skitters up your spine for a moment. You bat it away peevishly. “I only worry that you don’t have the constitution for what I’m looking for.” You shift on your feet, pull one corner of your lip between your teeth while you think. It makes you miss Max’s too-long glance at your mouth.

“I’ve watched all of the Saw movies,” you finally say, meeting Max’s eyes with determination. It makes him bleat out a laugh. 

“Okay, not squeamish. Those are movies, though, and this is the real deal,” he teases. “Favorite vampire movie?”

“Let the Right One In,” you answer quickly, your face scrunching with regret seconds after. “Or Only Lovers Left Alive. I watched Queen of the Damned three times at a sleepover once. Have you ever seen Vampire’s Kiss? The one with Nic…” Max’s chuckle lets you trail off into silence.

“And you didn’t even say Twilight.”

You were signing employment paperwork the next day.

Most executive assistants put up with a certain layer of bullshit on a daily basis. Booking flights, picking up paperwork, schedule maintenance. You’d stood in line for four hours to pick up a previous employer’s new iPhone once. 

Max had very different needs. 

You were briefed on your duties in the privacy of his office. While he did reveal to you how many of his sales force were turned by his hand (or fang, you thought with a giggle), discretion was still a priority. He needed someone to go to his blood bank hookup a few times a week, take care of daytime activities when the sun beat down too hard. Body disposal on very rare occasions (so far only the one time) among all of the normal activities you thought you were signing up for. 

The one duty that gave you pause, made you tap your nail on the printed line, was close to the bottom of your orientation packet.

“You need me to ‘maintain your appearance’?” you asked, looking up at Max from across the shiny acrylic tabletop. He was lounging back in his chair, knee pressed against the edge of the desk and spread out with boredom. He rolled his head to his shoulder as you flipped the page around to show him.

“Oh that. Yeah, I need you to check me over, make sure everything looks sharp, especially if I’m going to a big meeting.” You quirked a brow at him.

“Can’t you just look in…a…oh,” you said, slowing to a molasses vowel by the end. 

“Yeah, mirrors and I haven’t been on speaking terms since Romania,” he sighed, one heavy thumb tracing the crest of his full lower lip. You tried not to notice the subconscious stroke. 

“So you need me to…be your mirror. Make sure your hair isn’t a mess and you don’t have spinach in your teeth.” You were rewarded with a sheepish nod from Max. “Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“What else is true about vampires? Or fake, I’ll take either,” you asked, crossing your legs and settling into the wildly uncomfortable modern chair. Max’s smile turned secretive, and that was the first moment you felt him brand you his confidant.

“The sunlight thing is a bummer. I miss the beach, and swimming in the ocean. Garlic just makes my mouth go numb. Inviting someone into your home has a lot more loopholes than you think. And the sign of the cross does jack shit.” You nodded, making a mental list of even more questions to pepper into everyday conversation.

“Why do you think that all is? Because you’re essentially…undead?” you prodded, getting another bark of a laugh from Max and a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Hey, undead is a little harsh. It’s more like…a virulent vitamin deficiency. If I don’t get what I need, everything starts to shut down.” Max pondered on this analogy for a long moment, looking at a dull mass-produced corporate painting. 

“But all the superstitions…like why are those true?”

Max shrugged, running his thumb along the inseam of his dress slacks in a way that pulled your eyes to his thick thighs.

“It’s not like there’s a manual for this. Half the stuff is supposed to be because I ‘have no soul’,” Max made finger quotes as he says this. “But mirrors stopped being silver backed ages ago and I still have to be careful when I go into the men’s room.” He shrugged, taking an exaggerated sip from his iced coffee straw. “I just know what works and what doesn’t, and you just need to help with those gaps, pretty girl.”

You almost choke on your tongue, shooting Max a warning look. He raises his hands in deference, but keeps a raised brow.

"Sorry, I call it like I see it. Can't have someone with poor taste in charge of my appearance."

"Yeah and if you don't want to walk in to a meeting with HQ with a Kick Me post-it on your back, you'll be mindful of that mouth of yours."

The crinkles around Max's eyes deepen, something knowing passing by, but he nods in acquiescence.

It’s honestly not as bad as you thought it might be. You could even call it boring. Max thankfully isn’t a paperweight thrower, though he does speak to most of his subordinates like they’re idiots. Never you, thankfully, he’s all smiles and winks and traded comments during your daily interactions. You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

Routine is your master, and you follow its pattern to the letter. It’s what makes you a great assistant. First thing in the morning is Max’s coffee order, set on his desk atop a coaster you provided when you saw the coffee cup stains. He whirls in, all noise and breeze, and you help him get ready for his morning meetings. A straightened tie - you can practically knot one blindfolded now - a quick sweep of fingers through his short hair, a pantomimed smile so he shows you his teeth. It’s all utilitarian, fast, not thrilling or intimate in a way you’d rarely been with a man. Of course not. That would be…unprofessional.

Lunch involves a teakettle, a blood bag, and a deep bowl that you use to warm his meal. All done in the safety and privacy of the kitchenette in his office. You pour the contents - a balmy 98.6 degrees by the time you’re finished - into a silver to-go cup, which he takes with appreciation when he bursts in. The first few weeks you left right after, but once you were more settled he asked you to stay while he sipped on his “lunch”. The conversation was always interesting, if not a little one-sided.

“You really don’t want to eat like, a salad or something? It’s just O-Positive Capri Suns for the rest of your life?” you asked, stabbing at some lettuce in your tupperware. Max laughed, a braying short one, and put his chin in his hand.

“You can technically eat cardboard and not be hungry, but it’s not food, pretty girl,” he replied, a shit-eating grin stretched across his broad face. You'd scolded him enough about the nickname that it's almost a joke now, except for how those words made you feel. His lips were a deeper red, and the sight plucked at something forbidden in your chest. Not disgust, more like morbid fascination. The sight pulled something primal to the surface, his tongue several shades darker when he licked an errant drop back into the lush cavern of his mouth. 

You are not allowed to be lusting after your vampire boss is your mantra when thoughts run rampant.

The afternoons tend to be boring, filled with schedule juggling or email management. Max is often occupied through to the end of day, so you’re left to your own devices. You have a lot of “guys” now, as Max calls them. A blood guy, a disposal guy, a law enforcement guy. It makes you feel important in a way other jobs have lacked. You spend your afternoons making arrangements, both professional and personal, for your boss. It’s when you get the bulk of your work done, but it’s also when you have to be most on guard. 

You see, Max has a few other “hungry” employees, and as the day grows long they tend to saunter by and watch you with barely veiled appetites. Brad in sales is the boldest, leaning over your desk and making a show out of smelling you with half-lidded eyes. Creepy. You’d told him off several times, but as he likes to say with just the right amount of douche, “I’m a closer baby, I always get the deal.”

In the metaphor you’re not sure what part of the “deal” you are, but you have no intention of finding out. Enough polite excuses and faked phone calls have kept him at bay, but you worry what might happen if he gets bolder, or gathers a few more vamps to sway your opinion. Is there a clause in your contract about not getting turned into a creature of the night? You should have checked.

The end of the day is often a quick affair. Max gets a debrief of anything important that came up, and what’s on the docket for tomorrow. Normally he packs up his suitcase with a little small talk, bids you a good night, and is off to do…whatever a vampire does when he’s off work. 

Today, however, the script has a few additions.

“What’s wrong?” Max says, movements slowing as he takes in your shaking hand placing an itinerary on his desk. You tighten, smile forced.

“Nothing! Just fine,” you spit out, which only increases Max’s suspicion.

“Did something happen? Did someone say something to you?” he asks, voice dropping to a low fuck-that’s-hot register. You swallow hard and will something, anything to come to mind.

“Just Brad being Brad. I don’t think he’s turned anyone in a while and he’s getting desperate,” you try to chuckle lightly, but Max’s eyes darken. He stands to his full height, shoulders straining against his jacket. Planting his hands on his hips, he pins you in his sight.

“Did he touch you?” This is a true growl now, and Max’s face changes into a terrifying mask, perfect teeth suddenly lengthening to points as he fights against the rush. Your mouth drops open, but only monosyllabic words come out.

“No. Safe,” you gasp, and the simple admission sobers Max. His jaw ticks, rolling his shoulders and jaw until the transformation recedes. You wish your heartbeat could slow that quickly. After a few steadying breaths, Max finally turns back to you.

If his gaze was electric before, it’s damn close to lightning when your eyes meet. The jolt pulses in your veins, and his nostrils flare briefly.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says, all smooth professionalism like you haven’t just watched him vamp out because a coworker was a sleaze. You nod once, grateful, trying to ignore the sweet friction taking a step back gives to your core. 

“Will there be anything else?” you ask, the customary end to your daily exchanges. Max gathers his briefcase, movements purposeful but fast. 

“Nothing more, enjoy your night,” he answers, slipping past you with a wave of copper and musk that can’t be hidden by his Hermès cologne. You echo the sentiment but wait to take a full breath until you hear the elevator ding.

The next day Max walks in like a goddamn gladiator, powerful strides and testosterone rolling off his wool jacket. You can sense him before you see him, sometimes wondering if that’s part of the power he wields.

“Good morning!” he booms out, coming to a stop in front of your desk. You type out the end of your sentence and turn to him, smile at the ready, when your eyes drop to a box in his hand. The smile twists to confused amusement.

“What’s that?” you ask as he places the box in front of you with a pat to the silk bow neatly wrapping it. 

“Happy six months of working here,” he says with more pomp than necessary. You narrow your eyes; it’s only been four, but his face is eager so you shrug it off. The bow is buttery soft under your fingers, and your heart rate ticks up rapidly. The box hinges open, and nestled inside is a women’s Rolex watch. 

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s stunning, the perfect mix of feminine and authoritative. Gleaming oystersteel and everose gold, diamonds circling the watch face laser etched with delicate leaves. It’s easily worth four months of your pay. Your mouth drops open in disbelief.

“Max, I can’t…” you start, but he places his palms on your desk and leans close, tilting his head to one side to favor your cheek with his spearmint breath.

“Wear it. No one will dare touch you, pretty girl. I promise.” His eyes are darkly confident, and the reassurance does ease the shock of the gift. 

“Okay,” you manage to squeak out. “Thank you, Max.” He nods once with a lopsided smile before returning to the usual routine of your day. While he settles in, you slide the ungodly expensive timepiece out of the box and onto your wrist. It snaps shut in a perfect fit, and the thought of Max demonstrating your wrist size to the sales person makes heat radiate in your cheeks. 

Miraculously, he was right. Brad spies you in the afternoon but one look at the watch has him about-face and leaving twice as quick as he came. At lunch the next day you ask Max about it. He smiles conspiratorially, leaning up against his desk to look down at you seated with your sandwich. You might have thought he was trying to cop a peek at your cleavage, but you had a turtleneck on today, and his eyes didn’t roam from your face.

“The sign of the cross doesn’t do shit…for me. I wasn’t a church-going kid, never got into anything organized. For a talisman to work, the belief has to be twofold. You have to believe it will protect you, and they have to believe it too. So if you want real protection against something out to get you, you have to know them intimately.” He pauses, thumb absently rubbing along the line of his bicep where he’s folded his arms. “If you both believe, anything can work.” 

“Like this?” you ask, lifting your wrist with a twist. A flash of something passes over Max’s face before he gives you a lopsided smile.

“You believe it protects you?” he asks, his voice dropping into a softer lilt. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“You told me it did.”

“And they all believe it does, because I gave it to you.” An unspoken phrase hangs between you.

I’ll protect you.

“Could have chosen something less flashy,” you joke, needing to cut through the heaviness in the air. Max’s smile cracks his face, shaking his head as he moves to his side of the desk.

“Where’s the fun in that? You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

"And you're on thin ice, Max."

"My favorite place to be."

When it’s actually your six month anniversary, Max schedules a dinner for you. Private chef, live music, a beautiful venue. He told you to bring whoever you wanted, and his name dances on the bow of your lips for a moment. You thought hope might be in his eyes that you’d let it spill. But cowardice struck, and instead you brought your two sisters. They gush over the decadence.

“Are you sure he doesn’t want to fuck you?” One says, forking another mouthful of the best chocolate cake you’ve ever tasted into her mouth. “This is like, fourth date level extravagance.”

“He’s my boss, god. Just shut up and eat.”

“I’m just saying, my husband takes me to the Cheesecake Factory, and while I will never say no to another round of Bang Bang Shrimp, this is above and beyond what anyone would expect from your boss.” 

Your other sister doesn’t say anything until you’re alone.

“Just…be careful. This could get really messy.”

Oh you have no idea.

You nod, folding your hands under your chin and looking out at the glittering skyline.

“I will, I promise. We just have a…different working relationship than anyone’s used to. But he’s never made me feel uncomfortable.” 

Quite the opposite, really. You’ve never been so comfortable with another person in your life. You’d given him floss picks and wiped shaving cream from behind his ear, smoothed flyaways and cupped his chin to inspect an uneven sideburn. He’d let you touch every part of him without comment, brushing lint from his broad shoulders and tucking inside-out pockets back into their rightful homes. 

In return, he treated you with respect. Apart from the nickname, which you won't admit you've come to enjoy, he treated you kindly and professionally. He was a womanizer, but not with you. You weren’t naive, he was definitely fucking plenty of women in the last few months you’d been working for him. Sometimes you saw the ghosts of them in his suitcase, or crumpled in pockets. Once you’d been ready to knock on his closed door but high, breathy moans held your hand at bay. Janet from Web Design left an hour later (impressive, though you’d never say it) and Max called you in shortly after, hands freshly washed and the heavy musk of sex combating faux floral notes of air freshener. Neither of you addressed it.

The difference, you assumed, was professional. He lauded your work, told you how much he appreciated how smooth you made everything for him. He wouldn’t want to fuck that up for a quickie over his desk. Or against the mahogany door. Or on the kitchenette floor, his reddened lips leaving sticky trails on your breasts. 

The blast of chill outside the restaurant sobers your thoughts. You send a text to Max, thanking him for the dinner and sending a couple selfies of you and your sisters. His return text is swift.

You deserve it, pretty girl. Looking gorgeous.

The wine loosens your inhibitions just enough to send a text back. 

What?

Instant response.

Guess.

Your hands start shaking too hard to respond, suddenly feeling much tipsier than you thought. Typing a hasty, “Thanks again, good night,” you get into the cab and spend the ride home regulating your breathing. Max doesn’t respond.

Minor issues aside - a rowdy employee or two, some tense negotiations, a race to the finish one month for sales - you like your work. You’re considering settling in, maybe not looking for the next big thing for a little while. The pay is good, the benefits are better than most, and you’re happy. For the first time in years, you actually look forward to coming to the office. And a tiny part of you that you hide away knows why.

The start of October is always a favorite time of year for you. Scary movies in abundance on TV, fall decor, and the excitement of heading into the darker months. Thanksgiving and Christmas are fine in their own rights, but Halloween is your personal favorite. You don’t add frivolity to your desk beyond a tiny pumpkin next to your pen cup, which Max eyes with a wry little smile, and a bucket of Halloween candy that anyone is welcome to dip into. It twists the mood just a fraction away from corporate dullness to corporate-appropriate holiday spirit. You even catch Max with his hand in the candy jar once or twice, waving a snack-size Twix or KitKat as he comes and goes. 

You do wonder if the childishness of the holiday is something Max dislikes. 

“It’s a little naive,” he bemoans, swallowing the dregs of blood from his insulated mug as you wash your tupperware in his kitchenette sink. Wordlessly you hold a hand out for the empty cup to clean. “Seeing everyone gallivanting around, pantomiming monsters, when they’re all too real.”

“More than vamps? Friends with any werewolves?” you tease, soaping up the sponge designated for Max’s lunches and scrubbing the congealed mess out of the lid threads. 

“Would you like to meet one?” he answers, a sing-song mockery of your own joke. 

“God no, I have enough supernatural shenanigans with you,” you laugh, washing your hands clean so you don’t smell of copper. You’re careful to slide the gifted Rolex back around your wrist when you’re finished, a ritual Max watches closely every time. Clearing your throat, you gather up your lunch bag and move to leave.

“Maybe a Halloween party would be good for morale,” Max says nonchalantly, voice stopping you in the door. You wrestle the smile off your face before turning back to him.

“Would you like me to arrange something?” you ask, failing to keep your expression breezy. Max flashes that conspirator’s grin that drums up excitement in your chest.

“Please.”

The office latches onto the party date, only a couple days before Halloween proper. There will be food, drinks, a few small prizes for best costume and raffles. You count down the days with mounting excitement, the spirit of the season making you bouncier, lighter in and out of work. Max teases you about it.

“So you’re not going to tell me what you’re going as?” he wheedles, watching you lay piles of paperwork in neat folders on his desk. You shake your head, clucking your tongue when you notice you’re one short.

“Half the fun is the surprise,” you call over your shoulder as you speed back to your desk and return with the final folder. Max doesn’t even pretend he’s interested in the documents. “What are you going to be?” His eyebrow cocks, shaking his head with derision.

“I’m a vampire, honey, I am my own costume,” he drawls, making you roll your eyes.

“So I should expect a cape with a high collar? Some dollar store plastic fangs? Hair gel?” you tease, making your hands into claws over the desk. “I vant to suck your blooooood!” you mime in your best Dracula impression, getting your own eye roll in return.

“If you’re not telling, I’m not,” he throws back, finally scooting forward in his chair and opening one of the folders. You straighten up, triumphant, and leave him to his work.

The day of the party greets you with excitement. You made the decision to go subtle, since you’ll be sitting in costume all day. Your coworkers would have time to change before the party, but you were organizing and didn’t have that luxury. So on went a sensible white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and sheer black nylons. Slipping them up your legs, you grind your lip between your teeth. The back seam of the nylons, paired with the black stiletto heels you found in your closet, turn the dress from something mundane to possibly recognizable. When you turn your back to the mirror, crossing your ankles prettily, one of the most recognizable movie posters in history pulls to the forefront. 

You could give Maggie Gyllenhaal a run for her money.

The last piece - an addition that turns the costume from seductive to silly - you tuck into the chest pocket of your blouse before leaving. 

The day passes quickly, Max calling to tell you he’s meeting with HQ through lunch and to get the festivities started without him. You usher in the caterers, laughing with your coworkers when they ask what your costume is. So far the cover story works, and they all enjoy the clever play on words. 

The party is in full swing, raffle tickets being handed out and drinks starting to flow, when Max enters. His voice precedes him, and it’s a good thing it does because if you didn’t have that brief moment to gather yourself your mouth would have dropped open.

It’s a perfect recreation of Gary Oldman’s Dracula costume. It’s so on the nose a laugh almost bubbles out if you weren’t breathless. He’s swathed head to toe in dove gray, save for the sharp shock of black around his neck, the shine of his shoes, the rich dark leather of his gloves. The waistcoat pulls tantalizingly against his stomach, a bright silver pin at the base of his throat. He’s slicked his hair into a side part, small blue-tinted glasses perched halfway down his curved nose. Leaning on the walking stick and crossing his ankles, he makes a sweeping “ta-da!” motion with his hand. Applause erupts, giving you cover to gasp in some much-needed air. 

“To All Hallows' Eve,” he croons, sharing secret looks with the team members you know are his brethren. By the time he catches your eye across the room you’ve finally comported yourself, smiling brightly at his nod. 

It takes him some time to get to you, fighting through the crowd of people wanting to rub elbows and make an impression. He gives them all their five minutes of fame in his presence, annoyance slowly ticking up with each stop. You keep busy organizing the raffle, handing out voting sheets (Max will certainly win best costume) and watching him out of the corner of your eye.

It’s at the first lull in your duties that Max slides up next to you, a warm hand on your lower back. It makes you jump, but settle quickly when his impressed smile comes into view.

“I think I know what you’re supposed to be,” he murmurs, coming to stand in front of you to get a better look. His brow furrows when his gaze lands on your breast pocket. “Hmmm, maybe not. So spill, what’s your costume?” he says, leaning on the cane and dragging his gaze up and down your body. Aiming for a carefree smile, you tap on the little calculator peeking out of your pocket.

“I’m someone you can count on,” you enunciate, the confusion and realization swirling in his eyes until a laugh bubbles out, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you came to the party as a pun,” he chokes out, both of you now giggling next to the bags of chips and finger sandwiches. When he finally gets control of himself he nods approvingly.

“Well, you might not win best costume with that…” You shrug, conceding, “but I’d give you the prize if you admit what you actually came as, pretty girl.”

Time slows to sticky seconds as Max inches closer to you, eyes sliding over your shoulder, tracing the curve of your neck, lighting for much too long on your lips. He knows, knows you wore the outfit from Secretary and for no one else but him. You keep your stare trained on his face. It’s not the first time you’ve considered throwing out professionalism in favor of hunger. It’s not like anyone else has been upholding your rigorous standards. Would it be so bad to let Max chase his desires with your body? To bloom underneath him, above him, around him? Would you like the taste of his mouth, coppery and thick? 

He’s close enough to be more than professional but not so close to be indecent, hot fingers tracing the band of the Rolex circling your wrist. Your mind blearily wonders if that’s when you let down the wall that kept him out. His eyes finally meet yours, a question in their depth, before his face contorts and he steps back quickly, a grimace painting his features.

“Are…” You swallow, mouth torturously dry. “Are you okay?” 

He nods, fighting on a smile and straightening with effort.

“Yes, sorry, I was…busy this afternoon, haven’t eaten yet.” He raises his hands in defense at your scolding glance, the tension back to a bare simmer. 

“Well go get a drink, I won’t announce the winners until you get back,” you say breathlessly, giving him a dazzling smile that he returns shyly. The tables are turned for once in your favor, and you savor watching Max on unsure footing. “Do you need me to heat something up for you?”

“No, I’ve got it taken care of,” he assures you, making his way to his office. A wave back at you is the last you see before he closes the door.

Finally able to make sense of what’s going on, you get back to the party, mingling with the girls you like from marketing and keeping tabs on the liveliness of the party. Max doesn’t return, the time to announce the costume winner closing in. You worry at your cuticles, his absence starting to toll on your mind. What if he was passed out in his office, weakening by the second? While you were out here with coworkers that had never given you a second glance?

Your resolve snaps, mother henning be damned, as you move to Max’s office. The din of the party muffles your voice, stepping close to listen at the door.

“Max?” you call, with no answer. Heart thumping, you test the handle. Locked. A quick trip to your desk has the spare key in your hand, ready to slot into the lock. 

“Max, it’s time for the announcement, I didn’t think you wanted to miss it,” you say, and this time you hear something. A low, pained groan.

The key slams into the lock, turning frantically as you whip the door open, two steps in with it shutting heavily behind you before you register what’s happening.

Max is not alone. And he’s…

He’s…

Oh fuck.

It’s easy not to see the monster when it looks like a middle manager. It’s easy to pretend the blood is a beetroot smoothie, or that the stains on his shirt are red wine. When Max makes it seem so dull, so boring, you sometimes forget he’s something strange and powerful.

But when you’re face to face with the truth, it all comes rushing to the forefront.

Max has Janet, the pretty thing from Web Design, spread out on his lap, her hands gripping the armrests of his chair. One hand is covering her mouth, leaning her head back to loll against his shoulder. The other is buried under her skirt, and from here you can see wetness shimmering inside her thighs. The lewd flexing of his forearm working her with those fingers you covet day in and day out almost distracts you from what’s actually happening. Almost.

Dragging your eyes up, you take in the true horror of the situation. You recognize the change, his face contorted with lines of deepening purple and red streaking his skin. The same that you saw when you told him about Brad. His mouth is latched onto Janet’s neck, red oozing around the seal of his lips. He’s groaning, swallowing thickly as you imagine mouthful after mouthful of her blood pouring down his throat.

The slam of the door drags Max’s eyes up, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline when he sees you. Mouth popping off Janet’s skin, he growls your name, deep and drunken. The loss allows blood to spurt from Janet’s neck, thick droplets spraying across her bare legs, the carpet, his desk, staining papers you laid there just this morning. Your stomach churns violently, legs weakening as Janet thrashes against Max’s hold. He tears his eyes from you to look down at the mess, a rough, “shit,” falling from his blood-stained lips before he fits his mouth back to the ring of teeth. 

There is nothing darkly romantic about this now, no suave vampire lover sipping delicately from a young debutante’s neck. Blood sluices down to stain Janet’s pink top a deeper red, her face painted with rusty smears that gather between his fingers. Max pounds his fingers inside her, the telltale spasm of her orgasm accompanied by the liquid squeak of her flats slipping in her own blood. He withdraws, a sticky string of her cum trailing across her thighs. Pressing her flush to his chest, he sucks and growls and hums until Janet goes still, fingers falling away and body slumping. The pop of his mouth off the wound lets a dribble slip between the swell of her cleavage, more still smeared and dripping from his mouth. He sighs with relief, thick tongue lazily licking at the mess around his lips. He bands his arms around Janet and lifts, folding her face-down on his desk, legs dangling limply over the edge. Her eyes are sightless, blood smearing onto the Meyer report. 

A maddening thought - you’d have to reprint that - spikes through your consciousness.

Max stands, swaying slightly as he rolls his shoulders, finally looking at you trembling in his office. His eyes are blood red, human only in that he sees you with them. Realization flits across the face you barely recognize, smile going predatory. As if a body isn’t lying mere inches from him, he places his hands on his desk, leaning over to give you a sultry look.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he purrs, a sound that vibrates in two tones. It makes your fight or flight instinct claw up your spine. Specifically the flight part. The fight part is warring against the fiery arousal burning in your belly at Max’s slick mouth, the generous tenting in those gray pants, and the rabid desire in his eyes. Fear sharpens your pulse, and you know it would take barely anything to make you cum with a wail if he’d only touch you. 

“Can smell you from here, little secretary. Know you want me to devour that juicy pussy.” Max lengthens his neck, closing his eyes and inhaling with a satisfied moan. Flecks of blood dot the gray waistcoat, jacket abandoned in a heap on the floor. The black shirt hides the color but not the wetness of what Max could not eat. “I would, you know. I would eat you even if I was full to bursting. Let me taste you, pretty little thing. I want you on my tongue. I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll wash me clean.” 

He’s prowling around the table now, steps soft and light, and you’re a frozen gazelle with a tiger approaching. No, that’s too grounded, too finite. You’re a candle flame in the middle of an ocean, a moment away from being swallowed up. Your face is wet; you’re crying. You’re scared. You’re so aroused it hurts. You’re so in over your head you’re drowning. 

You can’t breathe. 

You can’t breathe.

You can’t breathe.

Realization flickers over Max’s face and you watch him change. The veining and depth of his features recedes, eyes clearing back to soft brown as he slows his advances even further.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, I’m not…I’m not gonna hurt you.” He turns his palms up, keeping his distance as you struggle to let air back into your lungs. The first whoosh makes you so lightheaded you stumble back, falling to your knees. Max goes down to his knees with you, one hand outstretched but still too far to touch. You can’t stop shaking, taking in big gulping breaths. Max waits, a drip of blood from his chin shocking him into scrubbing his sleeve over his face. Most of the gore vanishes, but the pink hue remains. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I would never hurt you,” he tries again, scooting another pace forward. “I’m sorry, you were never supposed to see that. I fucked up, please…” 

His hand brushes your ankle and you know you’re going to be sick. Bile rushes up your throat and you scramble blindly for the trash bin. You make it just in time, emptying your stomach with retching sobs. A warm palm strokes your shoulder and you snap your arm out, head still hanging.

“Don’t touch me!” you rasp, and the hand is gone, letting you finish shuddering and coughing into the bin. When your stomach stops cramping you crawl away, ignoring Max’s concerned face in your periphery. You lost one of your shoes, picking it up from its topple onto the floor and holding it in your hand like a weapon.

“Please, look at me,” Max begs, and you finally take him in. He’s much more the Max you know, but so different now. Same hair you arrange for him, same soft-shaved face you touch more than you actually need to. Same brown eyes that look to you for guidance. But when you look closer you can see the film of blood on his teeth, droplets clinging to his eyebrows, and a never ending hunger in the depths of his eyes. 

You scramble to your feet, hobbling in one shoe. Max stumbles back up to your height.

“Pretty…?” he begs again, but you’re opening the door, striding out into the ruckus of the party. A couple people turn, eyes expectant until they see you. Confusion, or realization, turns them back around to ignore you. Heart thumping in your throat, fear pangs through your chest. Is there any blood on you? A quick inspection finds none, so it must be your haunted expression and disheveled appearance that inspires discretion. 

Unable to spend another moment in this building, copper still strong in your nose, you stuff your shoes in your bag and try to hurry out the back door. You need to get home, behind a locked door, maybe several. Somewhere you can think, get a level head, figure out what to do. 

Then Brad steps into your path, and your stomach plummets again. 

“Hey, where are you going? You haven’t announced the costume contest winner yet!” he laughs, blocking your path. Stepping to the side, you watch in dismay as he does the same. Again, but the other way, and he follows. Tutting, he nods at your Rolex.

“Seems like this is just an expensive gift now,” he bemoans, dunking you in clarity. 

You have to believe it will protect you.

Nothing can save you now. 

Only yourself.

Another step-dodge hides your hand diving into your bag, and when Brad grabs your wrist you swing your arm back and drive your stiletto into the side of his neck.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts, hands coming up to staunch the dark blood seeping around the wound. Faintly you hear Max’s door open and the party drop to silence, but you leave the noise as you burst into the stairwell, racing to your car and away from the hell behind you.

Max stumbles out of his office as the door slams behind you, clothes sticking to his skin and mouth full of metallic tang. 

“Bitch put her heel in my goddamn neck!” Brad shouts, stomping up to Max. “Your assistant needs some fucking discipline Phillips.” He must have more to rant about, but two swift hands snap Brad’s head clean around and off, letting his body crumple to the floor. Max watches with disinterest, pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling long and deep before tossing the head to join. 

“Okay people, cleanup protocol,” he calls out, and the vampires in the crowd all look at each other. 

“Boss?” one of them says, making Max snap his attention to them in frustration. 

“You heard me, we’ll start relocation tomorrow.”

Max ignores the screams of his turned subordinates feeding on the human ones, his eye catching the glint of something on the ground. He kneels, heart sinking at what he finds. The Rolex, her talisman. Picking it up, he turns it grimly in his hands. Brad shouldn’t have been able to touch her, not with this. As long as she still believed it worked. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb over the face, an errant smear of blood clouding the crystal.

You get the call on Sunday afternoon, a whole weekend spent locked up in your apartment and stressed over what Monday would bring. The unknown number is the district manager letting you know that your office is being outsourced, effective immediately. Do not return to the building, please ship company property back to HQ, on and on. Part of you is relieved to not have to step foot back there. The morbid voice in the back of your mind whispers that there’s more to it than cheaper labor. You let that voice fade in favor of relief.

With enough savings for a few months out of a job, you begin the search anew. HQ gave you a generic recommendation letter, which should be enough for your new employer. It would have been preferable to have one from Max, but thinking about what it might say gives you hysterical giggles.

Can warm blood up to body temp perfectly.

Handles high stress situations such as scheduling a body dump.

Looks into my eyes like she’s known me forever.

You force yourself out of this line of thought. 

Three weeks after you ran out of that building for the last time, you get an email.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Can we talk?

&lt;no body copy>

Your fingers hover over the keys, throat tightening. The hysteria died down after the first week, your trips outside cautious over the second, and finally a sense of calm had settled back into your life. Did you want to invite chaos back in?

To: [email protected]

Subject: When?

&lt;no body copy>

Your reply sends and moments later your inbox pings again.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Now?

&lt;no body copy>

Your face scrunches in confusion before the sharp buzz of your front door bell jars you out of your chair.

“Fucking…Max, give a girl a minute,” you curse, smoothing a hand through your hair and shrugging at your loungewear attire. Padding to your intercom, you click the button to activate the video screen. No one is standing on the stoop of your apartment. Confused, you press the talk button.

“Hello?”

“It’s Max.”

You’re stunned into silence before a smile creeps onto your face.

“You’re not visible on cameras too?”

“Ha ha, yeah I know, it’s great for a life of crime,” he drones out sarcastically, and even though you can’t see him you can imagine that mocking face.

A ball appears in the back of your throat. You missed him.

Buzzing him up, you wait at your door, leaning in the entryway. You don’t think he’s here to violently tie up a loose end, but you could be wrong. Your good judge of character has been suspiciously absent in the last eight months.

Three swift knocks and Max is standing in your doorway, holding a bouquet of sunflowers. You’d assumed he’d be in a suit, but this one is more casual, no necktie and his collar open. He’s wearing a cocky I-knew-you-missed-me face, but underneath there’s a current of worry, concern, and care that warms you.

“Oh, you never told me,” you say, holding the door open thoughtfully, “what are the loopholes for entering someone’s home without being invited in?”

Max’s eyes crinkle up as he rolls his eyes. There’s the man you’d been falling for.

Oh.

Oh wow.

Shit, that’s the first time you’d thought that.

“So in the movies it sounds so formal. Like ‘may I enter your home?’ and the other person has to say ‘yes, you may,’ but nobody talks like that anymore. You can just say come in, and that’s it. Or I can ask if I can come in and if you say yeah, that’s good enough. I’ve even had people tell me to come get a hug, or get out of the cold, and that worked too. Human language has evolved so much and…I am absolutely babbling like an idiot right now.” Max trails off and you stifle a smile behind your hand. It pulls a relieved one onto his face.

“I missed you,” you say, the words coming easier than you expected. Max’s eyes soften.

“I missed you too.”

You look at each other in silence before you snap back to the previous conversation.

“Oh, shit, right, yeah come in,” you stutter, Max crossing the threshold and handing you the sunny bouquet. The plastic wrap crinkles around your fingers, making for a good distraction as you move to put them in water while Max hangs his coat. 

It takes you a few minutes to snip the stalks and place them in a vase, and then a few moments more to ask Max if he’d like something (“whatever you’re having”) and brew two cups of black tea. Entering your little living room, you find Max sitting at one end of your couch, thumbing through a travel book. He puts it down to accept the tea, setting it to cool on the coffee table. Placing yours beside, you settle into the couch and try to think of where to begin. Thankfully, Max starts.

“I’m sorry you had to see any of that after all that you’ve done for me. It was inappropriate for me to feed at work, even more so to scare you. It was wildly unprofessional and I completely understand if you don’t want to be associated with me after that.”

You blink slowly at him, absorbing this carefully rehearsed apology. He waits for your response, damnation or salvation.

“Is Janet okay?”

You watch his face cooly as he struggles through a few different emotions. Confusion, incredulity, amusement, relief. 

“Yeah, Janet’s fine, I turned her. She’s moving to England, not as much sun.”

Silence slips between you before you break into giggles, Max following along as the tension unwinds. When your breath stops hitching you give Max a warm smile, picking up your mug to take a sip. 

“Sounds like HQ just wanted to sweep all this under the rug. Would it always have ended up this way, or was the party to blame?” Max shrugs, arm slung over the back of the couch and ankle resting on his knee.

“It’s different every place I go. Sometimes it’s longer, other times it’s only a few weeks. You made it easier,” he says, a blanket of fondness warming your lap. Tracing the lip of the mug with your fingernail, you sort through what you want to say next.

“Before the party…was something going on between us? Or is that some weird vampire thing to make humans easy to manipulate?” Peering through your lashes, you think you see Max blush.

“I can assure you I did not use my supernatural powers of suggestion on you. Only on difficult clients,” he laughs, tilting his head lazily onto one shoulder. “Yeah,” he adds quieter, face turning to his lap. “Yeah, there was something going on between us.” Slowly, giving you time to shy away, he reaches out to brush his fingers along the inside of your knee. A trill of excitement flutters through you. “I hope it’s still there.”

Just as cautiously, you reach out and let the tips of your fingers meet, his hand turning over to cup them in his palm. The softness of his skin entices you to stroke along his broad palm, the undersides of his fingers, until he moves to lace them with yours, joints stretching pleasantly around his larger ones. When you get the courage to look up he’s regarding you with quiet wonder, lips parted. You smile at him, eliciting one in response.

“I have something for you,” he says, voice tight as he digs into his pants pocket. It’s a smaller box than the first gift he got you, and you release his hand to take it. Sliding the top off, you’re treated to a delicate silver chain. 

“I don’t think the Rolex quite expresses what I’d like us to be now,” Max says, lifting the chain out of the box. It’s even more dainty in his hands, thick fingers struggling briefly with the clasp. 

“So you’re not asking me to keep being your assistant?” you say, pulse pounding in your ears so loud you’re sure he can hear it. 

“Put this on and I’ll show you what I’d like us to be,” he says, a soft challenge but no fire in his eyes. Instead there’s a question, one that you’d struggled with in the weeks following the party.

Could you handle this? 

Pushing up on your knees, you gently lift one leg over Max’s lap, settling on his thighs. His eyes widen, then that bratty smile comes back to grace his face. 

“I’m waiting Max,” you tease in a sing-song lilt. He lifts the chain to loop around your neck, fastening the ends together. It hangs cooly against you, sensation slowly disappearing as it warms to your skin.

“This will protect you, if you believe in it,” he says, and as he breathes the words he leans up to place a soft kiss to your collarbone, pressing the chain between his lips and your skin. “It will protect you from those with ill intent,” he continues, trailing his lips along the necklace as he places another kiss at the base of your throat, “because I will never let another creature, living or undead, bring harm to you.” Here he places an open-mouthed kiss on your sternum, a tentative lick pebbling your skin. “And it will protect you from me,” His mouth moves up the other side of your neck, peppering kisses along the way, “because I will never lay a hand on you that you’re not begging for.” 

You bury your hands in his short locks, scratching your nails along his scalp. The groan he lets out makes him circle you in his arms, sliding you down his thighs to sit tight against him. His breathing becomes erratic, and he rolls his hips below you.

“I’ll never…fuck, I’ll never drink from you. I’ll never bite you, I promise,” he growls, and now his mouth is hot and possessive on your neck, sucking and scraping teeth up to worry behind your ear.

“I like biting,” you whisper back, grinding lightly on him. “Only these teeth, though, not the sharp ones.” 

The dark chuckle he makes precedes him pulling you back, looking up at you with wide eyes and a damp mouth. 

“I still want you to be my assistant, though, I’m a mess without you,” he pants, eyes glittering with mirth. Shaking your head with a sigh, you dip down to capture the mouth you’d been coveting. He tastes like bitter tea leaves, coffee, and the primal coppery heat of blood on the back of his tongue.

It’s a taste you could get used to.

NEXT

#max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #prolix fics

[oonajaeadira]

WINKTOBER DAY 10: Double Penetration (Max Phillips)

I’ve been playing chicken with Max. I get right up to the line of writing something for him and then back away, never doing much more than these little ficlets aka the gateway drabbles....

Anyway, with every little bit I write for him, I get closer to writing more. I really enjoyed this one and it may have given me ideas....

“Honeybunny, baby doll, sweetmeats,” Max coos as he swaggers in from the kitchen, placing a glass of juice and a plate of cookies on the coffee table before you and sidling up beside you on the couch, “how’s about a little snack?”

Of course he chooses the climax of the horror film you’re watching to interrupt and you hit the pause button with a sigh so you can side-eye him and tease, “Fine, but let’s see if you can do it with one fang tied behind your back tonight; I have a meeting tomorrow and I don’t like explaining away double bites.”

His arm snakes around your shoulders, drawing you in, and you can feel him just barely holding back his allure on you, trying to be good and wait for your consent as he licks his lips and his eyes flood dark, his voice dripping with honey, “It’s just science, kitten, it comes out faster with two holes and ohhhh soooo ssssatisfyingly bathes my tongue in you, you delicious pudding pie.”

“Like poking an air hole?” you ask, incredulous, feigning mild offense, but deliciously transfixed, unable to move away even in jest, swiftly losing the ability to speak coherently and slurring something like, “I donwerk liiiike that, behbee….”

“Aw,” he pouts, nuzzling your neck in that way that sends beautiful tingles along your nerve pathways, prepping your body to feel pleasure instead of pain and melting you against him, “I thought you were into double penetration.”

What you think is, I’m not a juicebox, Max, before you can hear his velvet answer in your mind– But you’re just as sweet--and your last coherent thought goes toward pushing your throat eagerly against his lips, yearning for him to feed before finally surrendering yourself to the euphoria...

—

WINKTOBER 2022 MASTERLIST

#winktober #six sentence ficlets #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader

[morallyinept]

Polynesian Kiss - A Max Phillips One Shot

Summary: It’s that time of the month, and your period cramps force you to call in sick at work, but Max is only too keen to help you feel better. Isn’t he such a nice boss? And vampires get a bad rep, tsk, tsk…

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 4.8k-ish

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.” 

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.  

Warnings/Triggers: - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/blood/menstration kink/sex whilst menstrating/oral F receiving/fingering/anal play/general vampire noms/Max is just a bloodsucking bastard and we love him for it.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.  

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: After rewatching Bloodsucking Bastards again, this abomination came to me. I make no apologies for it. If you’re currently suffering through your monthly woes, I feel you. Hold strong, besties. 

MAIN MASTERLIST | MAX PHILLPS MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

“Hey, hotshot. How’s my best PA?” 

“Max. I’m your only PA. You ate the others.” You titter with a wry smirk to him with the phone pressed to your ear.

“Guilty, as charged.” He chuckles down the phone, and it’s like you can see that razor sharp gleam as it spreads across his lips reflecting at you here, like a dazzling mirror shard that blinds as deep as it lacerates.

“Are you in the office?” You query knowing he’s a stickler for early starts, seeing as he doesn't sleep himself, but there’s a foreign commotion you can hear around him in the background. 

“En route. Getting my caffeine fix. You want me to pick you up a ‘chino? Extra cream, right? My treat.” He grins down the line and it leaves prickles flooding over your skin. “Ooh, they’ve got those cinnamon swirls I like. Scandalous.” He snorts deliciously around a moan and you feel it steam between your thighs.

“No. Uh, thank you. Listen. I’m not coming in today,” you begin intrepidly.

“Oh no. We’ve got the final audit to prepare for, was counting on ya slugger… Six shots please, and a cinnamon swirl. No, make it two swirls. Fuck it. I’ll go to Pilates this week.” He merges fluidly in between conversations with you and the drive-thru window.

“Although, I already know we’ve smashed it.” Max snickers with a husky breath to you. "The stats are off the fucking wall!" He sounds as excited as a little boy who has just discovered his penis for the first time.

“So modest.” You smirk.

“Hey, my management is style is highly effective. You’ve seen the results.”  

You smile faintly. “Mmhm. Nothing like the constant threat of imminent death to drive success...”

“You better believe it, honey. No, you have a nice day, champ.” You hear the sound of his electric window winding up and can imagine those hands of his bound tightly in his black leather gloves, so the sun doesn't penetrate his skin, as he reaches out through the dark window just rolled down enough for him to take his coffee order.

Driving with Max is like driving in the pitch dark constantly. Blacked out windows and the air conditioning blasting ferociously in the summer heat making his Mustang feel like an unrelenting ice box.

“What’s up, beautiful? You’re sounding verklempt.” His tone is serious now, concerned even over the masculine power roar of his engine, and it makes you melt.

“I’m uh… Not feeling too great.” You sigh, wrapping your arm around your stomach as another cramp rips through your womb. 

“Oh.” You can almost hear him pout. “You got the flu or something?”

“No.” You state toneless.

“Has it happened?” His voice is lower and it sends shivers down your spine alerting your nipples to wake up into stiff, aching peaks in subjugation. 

You nod even though he can’t see. “Yeah.” You whisper.

“You’re early this month.” his voice is but a low din, a growl even.

“I am?” You question, perplexed.

“Yeah. By two days.” You hear him suck in a deep breath and then click his lips. He keeps track of it better than you do. “Okay then. Get prepared. Rest. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

"Max, your meetings-" You don't have time to finish your limp protest.

"I said, I'll be there as soon as I can." He snarls darkly before making a kissy noise down the line. 

You hear the phone hang up before you can argue again at how his diary today is simply too full, but he’s gone and you put yours down on the table in front of you. 

You sit back, folding your arms tightly over your abdomen and sigh out waiting, your heels thudding against the floor occasionally; some automatic anxious reaction that originated from somewhere in your childhood no doubt.

A bit like biting your nails down to the skin until they're sore and tight, or shaking your knee incessantly without realising until someone yells at you to stop fucking doing that!

The first few times it had happened, it had been unpredictable - he was unpredictable.

A volatile mess that scared you the first time he was alone with you in his office; his voice leaving gnarly claws to protrude through the walls to come and get you.

Max Phillips was unlike any other man - any other boss - you’d ever known, although he wasn’t a man, not really.

There was a haunting aura about him, a distinct eeriness that hung off of his Peter Pan-esque shadow that laughed on its own, and you scoffed at first when he’d suggested it. Like it was a joke of some kind; a disgusting, unhygienic joke.

Max didn't laugh, however. He was deadly serious. Emphasis on the deadly.

But then he’d tapped into your curiosity with those wandering brown eyes and hypnotic smirks around pearly canines that had a knack of making you feel like you could walk on cotton candy clouds.

He had mutated any trepidation you'd had until you’d agreed, nodding like a puppet, and you were certain at that point there probably wasn’t anything you wouldn’t agree to where Max was concerned.

He was fucking beautiful and yet under it all, somewhat inherently terrifying.

And it turned you on so much. God, it was fucking unrelenting the way the tops of your thights now constantly stuck themselves together with your slick.

You had sensed it about him, unsure exactly what it was - what he was entirely. That dominant, toxic swagger about him, amped up on fuckboi steroids, that would cause carnage in the office, and you could never put your finger on it. The unusually high turnover of staff, the lingering stench of copper on his breath. The fact the blinds were always drawn and the air conditioning was always on, to the point you could see your breath.

You never spoke about it, none of you. Until the time he tore up the office and replaced all the bone idle employees with the walking undead and then it made perfect sense; he was a vampire, d’uh.

He said you could trust him though. He said he wouldn’t turn you, unless you wanted it - you didn't - and you believed him. He had been true to his word; he hadn’t hurt you at all - not without your express consent for him to take a little nibble on your jugular now and again anyway.

He liked it when you repelled him, made him work harder for it. Fuck, it made him so hard in his tight suit pants when you did that. Strutting around the office in your short skirts and barely-there blouses just to make him see red and chew on his tie.

He’d promoted you, although it was more of a candid expectation seeing as he’d picked his teeth clean with your predecessors.

You did in fact trust him enough to invite him into your home and let him roam unbidden and free inside it and do all those things to you that made your toes curl in the deliciously right way.

Fuck buddies with your boss. Or was it blood brothers now?

You couldn’t help but become enthralled by his spooky enthrall somewhat more and more, and was now resorting to adding this monthly rendezvous to your clandestine proclivities with him as though you had completely lost your sanity, and perhaps you had.

Max was always sharp and concise, straight to the point and no funny nonsense, ma’am. Unless you count him fucking you, bent over his desk, whilst you attempt to type up the meeting minutes as anything but serious.

He could talk his way into anything, including your cunt on a regular turn.

Somewhere inside, it made you shiver. Like something wicked and disgusting was unfurling and leaving those sharp nails to rake down your spine that make you feel sick and giddy in wanton anticipation.

It had to be something that was shameful, immoral; taboo, and yet you willingly engaged in it. You wanted it, craved it as much as he did it seemed.

You just craved him.

You take in a deep breath, the cramping that was present since it had begun in the early hours is deep and twisting in your gut, seeming to increase in its ferocity - it’s like it knows and is getting itself into an excitable tizz. 

You get up and make your way upstairs ready to prepare, clutching your stomach as you go. 

You run the shower in the bathroom; he likes you to be clean. Or as clean as you can be at this time of the month anyway before he dirties you up again.

Day one is always the worst - the heaviest and most painful - but the absolute best time for Max; the most important day where the blood is fresh and plentiful - when you are incredibly ripe for the plucking sweetheart, as he once put it.  

You climb into the shower, washing your hair and body with fruity scents that would make his mouth salivate, and the hot, inviting water starts to soothe the incessant pang pulling inside your uterus. 

There was no pain killer; Max had said it made the blood taste weird so you refrained from taking any. It would barely scrape the sides anyhow. No, the only thing that could tame it completely was him. 

But at this point, after the hot water subsides, the cramps increase in their veracity. A period is the equivalent of a heavy kick in the balls to a man.

No, make that several hundred kicks in the balls, then stamping on them relentlessly.

Or, imagine someone has taken a sledge hammer to them instead; just whacking the shit out of them tirelessly.

Yeah? Well, period pain is fucking worse, buddy.

Feels like someone is twisting your insides without a let up, and then pulling them apart slowly just to spite you. Some women would tell you that child labour hurts less than menstrual cramps.

They would be fucking right about that. 

I think my vagina hates me. I’m not sure what I did to piss her off…

You groan out as another cramp thunders through your core. You look down to see red spots making marble spirals around your feet in the suds, like inkblots being diluted in the water as they swill down the drain. It’s kinda pretty in an abstract way, as you’re mesmerised by those budding tulips for a while. 

You clench internally at what is to come and once out of the shower, dried and dressed in a robe and a clean pair of white cotton panties - without a tampon or towel as instructed by Max, thems the rules, baby - you brush through your hair after blow drying it and wait for him to come to you.

The waiting is the worst part.

You’re sure he’ll be there in the office frantically rearranging his diary, cancelling meetings for you as he gulps desperately at his strong coffee. It curbs the cravings, he'd said after you’d queried his collection of empty six-shot espresso cups collecting in a temple on his desk with a raised eyebrow.  

You gear yourself up to the point your pussy is already sopping and you're desperate to appease yourself with some release. But you never can bring yourself to, knowing that if you save it - save it all for him to have - it would be so much more sweeter. 

Thinking of Max makes your clit swell and throb, that tingle that teeters on the edge of pain and makes it uncomfortable and heavy inside your panties, but the moment he would touch you, it would be worth all the edging and gnawing pressure.

You can feel yourself getting wetter down there and knowing it isn’t just all the blood makes you smile sinisterly. 

When he finally arrives, he lets himself in. 

You could hear him pull up in his red Mustang and the creaky squeak of the door slamming shut after that deep roar of his engine was reduced to a dying purr.

Those quick scraping footsteps of his polished leather shoes against the gravel as he plays hopscotch with the shadows out of the direct sun.

The sound of him using the key you gave him to let himself into your apartment. Inviting the monster in to come and play with your guts and offals. 

You had to invite him in the first time. Laughing as he physically couldn't cross the threshold of your door without verbal invitation. Like there was an actual barrier there. Now, he comes and goes as he pleases.

Sometimes, in the dead of the night, you would wake to find him pawing at you; fangs and cock bared. He takes from you whenever he wants, and you always let him.

Goose bumps flood all over your body and tingles run tightly across your scalp in suspense. 

As he rounds the stairs up to your door, Max can smell you already and his gut rumbles as does his loins inside his tight, navy suit pants.

Once in your apartment, he pushes the door open to your bedroom to see you lying on the duvet with a towel spread underneath you, and you're wrapped up in a fluffy robe looking a little worn and tired despite flashing your effervescent smile for him. 

“Hey,” you beam at him and he shuts the bedroom door behind him with a gentle click.

He’s holding a small posy of flowers and it makes you smile that the vampire is a little bit of a sentimental doof under it all. 

He stands there watching you and keeps his distance for a few moments as you shuffle upright; a hot water bottle is revealed to him that's tucked inside the folds of your gown resting against your stomach to quell the pain.

“Are those for me?” You ask, as he puts them in the vase on your dresser, discarding the old ones that are slightly withered now into the trash can.

They are pink and bulbous and always a token of affection in thanks for what he is about to do to you. But you don’t see it as a quid pro quo at all. You want this just as much as he does. The peonies are just a pretty bonus.

Max nods at you and smiles thinly through his pink lips. 

“How you feeling, baby?” He queries. He loosens his tie and then slides it out from under the shirt collar completely and tucks it into his back pants pocket. 

“I’ve been better.” You say. 

“I can smell it.” He sighs, smirking. "Pungent. Mmm."

You nod slowly. “I know.”

“Show me.” He instructs, removing his suit jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves to reveal tan arms. An unusual trait for a vampire, you think. 

You remove the hot water bottle and plonk it on the floor by the bed and untie your gown, slipping it off over your shoulders. Puffy nipples that were embedded asleep inside your warm areolas greet him and he stares like a letch at them, licking his lips. 

You rest back on your elbows with your knees drawn up and he zones in on the damp, bloody patch that has seeped through your cotton panties peeking back at him between your ankles.

Incredibly exposed before him - the most intimate you could ever be with him - you're spread vulnerable and showing him exactly what he's after as you part your legs. The red patch is soaking into your panties like a flower slowly blooming and opening up just for him.

You pull your panties up by the waist band, using them as reins as you rub them against yourself, smearing it in further. He watches with a thick smirk as you moan and pant at the feel of them grazing against your engorged clit.

It feels fucking delicious.

“Take them off,” Max directs with a hiss between his teeth, lying his jacket down on the chair by your dresser after folding it neatly. 

You shimmy them down slowly and hold them out to him. His long, thick fingers snatch them from your hands and immediately they go to his nose.

He sniffs in deep and his eyes roll into the back of his head leaving just the whites, before he puts the crotch of them inside his mouth and sucks deeply against the damp, stained cotton. 

A desperate catch in the back of his throat he can all but choke on, sounds out of him like a wolf howling at the moon as he growls out in satisfaction.

The taste of your syrupy fluids and blood dancing over his tongue in a delightfully salty-chrome tango, is firing his synapses and setting his whole body alight.

He’s barely holding it together as you notice him visibly shaking.

“O-open your legs,” he growls menacingly through his mouthful, peering down at you and fighting to stave off his other face from making an appearance - his true face that he knows unnerves you. You do as he instructs, desperate to please your marauding boss.

You watch as he shudders more and sucks greedily at your panties, arousing you further as he stares at your glistening, ruby soaked cunt with eyes turning more jet by the second.

Max clocks the sanguine vision of you spread before him on the bed, making his mouth salivate and his fangs ache to protrude fully. He blinks away the red mist descending upon him and swallows through a now tightly constricted throat.

He puts the panties inside his jacket pocket for safekeeping and kneels on the end of the bed, crawling up it like an ominous spider creeping towards you.

"All for me," he purrs with a devilish grin.  

He runs his lips against your knee and up your thigh as he descends upon you. His teeth catch on your nipple making you gasp before his tongue soothes it with a wet pop out of his mouth.

He takes your wrists and pulls you down towards him, positioning you just right so you are lying fully supine now; the towel is still spread out underneath you, not that you’ll need it.

He’ll make sure to get every last drop of you.

“Come here, you.” He growls and cold mist is pouring out of his mouth onto your body. "Going to eat you the fuck up."

Max can smell it; see the glistening claret shine around your pussy lips sparkling at him, and that plumpy clit growing and swelling out of the hood of your skin desperate for a good lick.

Droplets of crimson fluid bead at your entrance and a couple had rolled down your skin towards your ass leaving a delicious track for him to devour.

It’s darker in colour around your sodden hole and the iron rich smell is driving him crazy, his jaw twitching and cracking. “There’s so much,” he says with keen appraisal. “Does it hurt?” 

Max runs his hand up your leg and rests it on your abdomen; his palm splayed across it like a giant starfish swamping your navel, and feeling the coolness emanate from it as it's absorbed into your skin makes you whine with need. 

His healing hand soothing you as he presses onto you a little with his weight and it's those small gestures like this from him that make it all better to endure through the pain somehow.

That make you believe you could mean something more to him than just being a walking, talking bloodbag.

You nod and bite your lip as his fingertips feel like they throb and burn on your skin’s surface despite their cold. 

“I’ll make it all better, baby.” Max assures. And you know he will - he always does. 

His dark, now almost fully black eyes, flick down to your sopping slit as he shifts, and he cranes his head forward a little, licking up the length of your seam slowly with a flat, pressed tongue.

The taste of you floods his taste buds and senses immediately like he’s just shot up.

You throw your head back taking in a deep, heavy hit of oxygen. The feel of his cool breath against you and the slither of his serpent tongue leave electric sparks flooding through your veins. 

"Mmm, Max..." You shiver and grin.

His hand is still on your stomach, thumb stoking in little circles below your belly button; his other reaching towards your centre where his long fingers are sliding and probing against the edges of your sodden slit.

Max runs his index finger along the fleshy ribbons of your folds that are dyed a deep, entrancing scarlet. He would go to push it inside your tasty well and then pull away, teasing you.

“Mmm,” you moan, your body squirming and flinching under him.

“Easy, sweetheart.” Max simmers, smirking.

He knows what he's doing when he winds your body up like this. With that darned smile he can get away with anything and you both fucking know it as it slithers across his face like a snake about to attack its prey ferociously. 

“Please,” you whine. "Don't tease me, not today."

“You’re so fucking cute when you’re needy.” He soothes and plants a little kiss just above your clit making you groan further in frustration. He pouts and makes his voice a little squeaky. "You like that, baby? Hmm? Like it when I tease your little, needy pussy like this?"

"Max, please!" You growl this time. "Just fucking eat me."

He snickers and pats onto your pussy before rubbing his fingers all in it, knocking against your hard clit through the squelches, and running the pads all over those fleshy, swollen lips. Finger painting inside the rich red that coats them making them shiny like latex, before putting them inside his gluttonous mouth.

Max groans out as he sucks and licks each of them clean, savouring the metallic taste and dipping in again and again before he presses his lips to your sex finally to feast. 

"Oh shit!" You simper.

You feel his tongue dart in and out in quick succession and the flesh on your legs dissolve. He removes his hand from your stomach and spreads your lips with his thumbs, opening you up for him and running his tongue in your wet slick, flicking back and forth across the hard nub of your spongy clit. 

“Fuck,” you whine seeing stars and feeling the heat simmering in your lower abdomen start to boil.

He sucks and gnaws on it; slurping loudly around it and pulling it between his pert lips before letting it go, sending your body erratic and writhing under his expert touch. 

“Max...” You groan out utterly beside yourself.

“Say my name, baby. Let me hear you.” Max coerces with a mirthy chuckle and suckles on it again, pinching his teeth around it and watching you lose your shit every time. 

“Oh fuck, Max!” You wail as your back arches and your pussy spasms. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Tastes so good,” he confirms. "Want to devour you," he grunts darkly at you. The skin on his face darken a little, his muscles and features changing shape; shadows becoming more prominent.

"Eat me all up?" You squeak, your fingers gripping tight around the duvet.

"Until there's nothing left of you." His voice changes; it's deeper, more throatier and you know the vampire within is awake and stirring now. "Gonna rip this cunt open!"

Your right thigh judders uncontrollably as he polishes that pearl with his tongue; flicking back and forth with acute speed and bringing your first come session of the day so easily.

Growling and grunting loudly as he feasts on you with unhurried abandon. His grip on your skin is harder and you can see the strain whitening his knuckles as he fights to hold back from fully vamping out.

"Oh fuck!" You keen, shaking and tensing.

He watches, his dark eyes flicking up as his mouth stays firmly clamped to your slit, as your breasts jiggle and your nipples are as hard as diamonds.

Your whole body jolts and jerks hard before you flatline under him when you can take no more. 

You’re stunned, smashed around the head with gold stars, and panting as your focus shifts back to his creeping shadow between your legs after being blind and boneless.

Your face is all red; nipples swollen as you come wildly in his plundering mouth.

You watch him with blown out pupils mouthing all over your pussy; clit pulsing under his thrashing tongue and ready for more as you feel it start to tighten and cinch again.

"Mm-maax!" You groan. It's so senitive, so plump and swollen. So... delicious.

Smirking, Max curls his middle two fingers into your soaked, scarlet entrance and laps up his reward; your blood, your come, smearing around his lips messily, like trying to apply lipstick on a rollercoaster.

He fucking loves it.

"You wanna come again?" He taunts darkly through a raspy smirk.

He hums out in satisfaction as he drinks more from you greedily, sticking his tongue in further and further to get more from that sodden inkpot that feels like it’s gushing constantly for him now.

He pushes your legs up by the backs of your thighs, opening you up and licking down your gooch towards that puckered urchin of your ass hole, where a lusty mix of his saliva, the blood and your pussy slick had dripped down it creating a wonderful cocktail that he would get drunk on happily, all day. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m having a reeeally good time.” He slurps menacingly. “So glad I cancelled that meeting with the Bordstein Group. Mmm, fuck.”

Your neck cricks up at him. "Wait. You cancelled it? They were hard bastards to pin down..." You whine as he laps against your ass hole and pushes the tip through your rim. "Oh, that's so good, Max. Oh Jesus..."

"You can re-arrange it. It's cool." He shrugs, his mouth full of you.

"You make it sound easy. Pete is a - oh fuck, yeessss - a-a busy man."

"Look, if he wants a collaboration, he'll make time." Max snorts. "You can sweet talk him, baby. Now shut up and give me another one." He smooshes you further into his mouth with a quick yank of your hips upward.

You yelp and chortle waspily as he dives back in. He runs his tongue around the sticky rim of your ass and slathers around it before sliding his index finger in as he works his mouth back towards your bloodied snatch, clamping around it once more as he drinks you down. 

He finger fucks your tight hole as he eats out your trembling cunt, and he can feel you clench around his finger as he invades your butt deeper. 

“Relax,” Max soothes you, his teeth stained pink and clamps right back onto that messy muff.

He slips in another wet finger and fills up your ass to the knuckles, sucking on your clit again.

“Oh fuck!” You flop down onto the pillow, getting a neck ache from craning to look at him and just succumb to the blooming feeling inside your ass, completely distracting you now from the cramps altogether. A wonderful placebo to occupy you as Max fucks you up sideways with that dangerous hot mouth of his. 

He smears his tongue around, mopping you up and getting as much of you as he can; sucking you dry and clean before he would dart into your pussy hole and tease out more that you had to offer. 

All the while he keeps his fingers inside your ass, curling and pumping as he watches your thighs tremble and pulsate around the sides of his head.

He marvels at how your body reacts to him without him having to use his enthrall; you submit to him wholly and he loves it.

With a gooey, slick smile, Max laps at your pussy hungrily again and again like a rabid dog as you start to come apart at the seams once more. 

“Oh God!” You call out, gripping hold of the duvet and pulling at it tightly as your body contorts and bucks against his face. You can feel another orgasm building and twisting your spine out of shape.

“God isn’t going to help you, sweetheart,” Max confirms before he chews on your clit once more and lets you explode again. "The Devil on the other hand..."

“Oh, I can’t, I can’t-” You’re quaking now, the pleasure doing an absolute number on you and he keeps his tongue on your sensitive clit. You can see flashes behind your eyelids; feel your body contort and pulse. “Maa-hax!”

“You can,” he encourages as he flicks across your nub hard with a fast, busy tongue. “Come in my mouth, baby. Give it all to me.”

And you do.

"AaaahhhohGodpleasepleaseMax!”

You arch your back, trying to get away from his mouth, the wonderful feeling becoming too much; you’re drowning, unable to breathe and so fucking dizzy, but he presses down on your stomach again holding you in place so you can’t scarper away.

"Oh fuuucck!"

He forces you to confront it, to accept it and drown in that tidal wave as it crashes over your head and pulls you under. Your ears are ringing and your toes are breaking.

“Fuck me, Max...” You plead, gasping and burning at him as you resurface. “I want you to fuck me.”

“You want me to fuck you hard?” He replies, teasing you.

“Please, just cover your cock in me.” You gasp as he draws up and unzips his pants.

He pulls himself out, thick and hard and leaking pre-cum as he pumps a few times before lining himself up against you. He wastes no time in giving you what you crave. 

You grip onto him, his shirt twisting in your vice-like grip as he sinks his cock inside you and begins thrusting, hard, just like you want it.

He feels you squeezing around him almost immediately as he rips through you, sending you erratic and spiralling and coming so forcefully around his dick quickly, that your body goes rigid and shakes as though possessed.

“Yeah, like that!” He coos at you, growling. He bears his teeth, grunting as he power fucks into you. "There you go, baby. Love it when I destroy this pretty cunt, don't you?"

“Maa-hax, fu-uu-ck!” You cry out; your voice being battered out of your throat, releasing uncontrollably and panting wildly.

It’s so wet between your legs that every thrust squelches obscenely.

“What huh, you want me to stop? I don’t think you want that.” He growls. Once more his face shifts, his fangs are out fully now.

You shake your head, gasping hard through a dry throat. You grip onto him as his face lwers closer to yours, the vampire breaking through.

You whimper and squeak through your pants.

“You want me to stop?” Max prompts again as he eases his grip, slows his pace with smooth, deep strokes; another tempo just as easily fucking you up again.

You can feel him so deeply inside you as he drives his hips forward; his body crushing yours like a hydraulic press into the mattress.

You can see he's fighting to stay fully in control as his human face reappears from under the dark lines and brow ridges.

“No, don’t stop,” you choke as your body fizzes like fireworks. “Please… More.” You whine, losing your breath as he fucks it right out of your lungs until you can no longer form coherent words around your tongue and you’re left babbling.

“That’s right; you don’t want it to stop, do you? Such a fucking slut for my cock. Letting me fuck you whilst you're bleeding all over it." Max croons into your neck and you can feel his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin there. "So fucking nasty, baby."

Fisting through his hair, you grip him tight as his hips snap into yours with vigour. “Not even breaking out into a sweat.” Max taunts inside your ear. “I can keep this up all day. In fact, I think I just might.” 

“Oh God, fuck.” You mewl.

"Want to drink you again. Let me?" Max presses his tongue over that juicy vein in your neck.

"Yeah," you pant as he gathers your hair away from the side of your neck. "Not too much-"

"I know," he croons. "Just a drop or two. You can take it."

Sharp stings are felt on your throat as he tastes you there too, puncturing the skin and swallowing you down.

It’s a heady feeling as he drinks; the niggly pain soon dissipating and making you see bokeh stars behind your eyelids.

The pull is sumptuous, dreamy. Comforting as your eyes flutter shut and you sink into the serene peace his immortal kiss offers.

“Fucking delicious,” he smirks as he runs his mouth up the side of your cheek; his hot, blood stained breath left to condensate inside your ear canal.

Growling and rabid, Max pulls out and slides down your body and licks up your oozy slit again, tasting you and smearing the bloody and sticky pulp across his lips.

"You’re such a good little PA for me. You take it so well every time.” He praises, pushing his fingers into your pussy once more and rooting around inside of you. "Going to give you more, baby. I know you've got more for me. And I'm nowhere near full yet."

He strokes your cushiony insides that are sodden and plump and allow him to slide in and out with ease. You still feel tight and bound from your orgasms, but he's able to bring about another one that leaves you caterwauling for him again.

He’s the conductor and you his orchestra, making sweet music to his ears whilst he faps and eats you out and then some for hours, until the day is bleached away into the encroaching twilight outside.

His stamina destroys you, bruises your bones as he fucks you over and over until you think you’ll never be able to walk again. 

And when he eventually comes, with a deep throaty howl that seems to vibrate through the whole building and cracks your neighbour's window panes, spilling himself wholly inside of you, he sucks it all out with the blood and swallows it down, remaining rock hard until he does it all over again. And again. 

And a-fucking-gain. 

“Hmm... love this pussy,” Max confirms, suckling gently at your over-sensitive bud and you’re beside yourself with the intense rapture of it all. 

Boneless mush. A drooling mess. Crying and wailing for more, pumped full of sequinned delirium.

By the time he’s finished feasting on you, you’re utterly exhausted and barely able to keep your eyes open. 

Max spends time cleaning you up. Licking around your inner thighs and filling up on all the spots he might’ve missed.

Fawning, delicate. The vampire is fully satiated for now.

He walks over to your dresser, running his thumb around his lips to get the crust of the dried blood over them, and his once crisp, white shirt is now a pink stained mess, like an artist who has gone berserk with his paint pots.

He pulls out a pair of clean underwear and slides them up your legs and taps your ass gently, rousing your sleepy focus back to him. 

"B-12," he finger shoots at you and you nod over to the supplements on your dresser. He brings them, and a band-aid that he sticks over the bite marks on your neck, and gives it a gentle press in place.

"There, all better." He smirks darkly.

He then leans forward and kisses you on the lips. Max pushes those plumpy, blood stained lips of his onto your own and kisses you deeply, slowly.

He slides his tongue into your mouth and massages it delicately. You can taste the metallic remnants of yourself on him, taste your salty-sweet cunt all around his gums. 

“See why I can’t get enough of your taste, hmm?” He murmurs around your lips as you sample yourself on him with mounting fervour.

He’s right, you do taste good.

Max groans into your mouth as you clutch at the back of his head hungrily and wanting more, despite your battered body yelling at you to rest. He falters again, sliding forward on the bed and gripping you tightly into his body.

You can feel the bulge of his still solid cock poking you in the gut, and you reach down to give him a rub and a gentle squeeze before he removes your hand and strokes your fingers inside of his stained ones.

God, he's like walking viagra. Constantly fucking hard. Well, he is dead. Technically the term is rigor-mortis... 

“The things I still want to do to you..." he utters with a low grunt. "But you need sleep.” He purrs gently, smoothing down your frayed hair.

“Stay,” you whimper as he pulls away.

“Can’t tonight, baby. Got lots to catch up on. You’ve kept me busy all day. Going to have to pull an all-nighter.”

“Oops.” You smile dreamily at him.

“Oops.” Max remarks with a dangerous grin. “You think you’ll be in tomorrow? Could really use your support with the audit.”

You nod. “I’m feeling better already.” 

“Good.” He smiles and kisses you once more. “Rest up. Tomorrow I’m going to fuck you in the supply closet from eleven til half-twelve. I'll send you a meeting invite.” He smirks as he pulls down and buttons his cuffs.

The noise that comes out of you in response makes him chuckle darkly.

Holy fuck… 

Max pulls away from you, slipping out of your grip, leaving you to settle on the bed as he gathers his jacket. He pulls your bloodied panties out and gives them a sniff as he winks at you.

You can only imagine what he's going to do with them later.

He leaves the bedroom and you hear him let himself out. 

You collapse back on the bed, somewhat bereft, hearing his car start up with that familiar deep roar.

It fades away down the street and takes any sense of conscious thought you have with him. 

Rolling over and reaching for the B-12, you sigh out with a satiated smile and close your eyes thinking about the supply closest.

And the amount of times your freakishly insatiable boss, Max, has fucked you up in there already.

I really hope you enjoyed reading this Max Phillips story of mine. Just love a bit of hungry, gnarly Max, don't you? If you enjoyed what you just read, please consider re-blogging. Thank you so much! 🖤🩸

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[chronically-ghosted]

the only thing we have to fuck is fear itself

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5309

summary: You get drunk at a happy hour and tell Max to his face you don’t find him scary at all. He takes that personally.

warnings/tags: drinking, like two seconds of scary vibes, smut, (secret) established relationship, work hard, play hard, have secret sex with your coworker even harder

a/n: I’m so sorry to FDR for butchering his quote for the sake of a title, but i like to think that horny bastard would have loved my smut.

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Despite working at a place that was quite literally soul-sucking, your coworkers could throw one hell of a happy-hour. 

There wasn’t a bartender in a ten mile radius from the office who didn’t know you all by name, didn’t shout a greeting over the tightly-packed house the instant you walked in. Rarely was it just a single crew member at the bars – you often got accused of moving in a pack like a five-headed hydra that could drink double its own weight in liquor, beer, and frosés – and being only two-fifths human, the Monster Squad was an alcoholic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe because you actively promoted unity amongst the species, like poster children for positive and “non-toxic human-demon relationships” HR kept encouraging in their Monday-Funday email blasts, but your little group was something of a legend in the area. You thought any notoriety was more likely due more to your faces plastered all over the bars’ trivia night winner boards, but in the office, people tended to stare. Trish, a siren from Santa Barbara, loved the attention, said it was good for her skin – gave her a “dewy” look. Nita, the only other human in your group besides you, disagreed with Ken (a quarter leprechaun on his mother’s side) when Ken claimed the whispering came from the sheer volume of nonsense that started around 4PM in the office on Fridays and continued until you all left the office. Ken was of the belief that the notoriety was actually infamy – to which he was promptly booed and had to buy the next round. 

And yet, to yourself, to the quiet conversations you had in the bathroom mirror after two long island ice teas and whatever was in what the centaur bartender at Lucky’s called an “Ass Whooping”, you suspected there might be another reason the Monster Squad even had a name at all. Within your own fields, each of you were respectable – Ken and Trish were both heads of marketing and Nita oversaw a considerable team of engineers, with you of course a department leader over in legal – one member of your group was, let’s say, more well-known. 

Well-known because he was the flashiest, the loudest, and certainly the most demonic of you all: Max Phillips, VP of sales, money-maker extraordinaire, and a fan-favorite amongst your Overlords, the rest of the sales team, and anyone with working and interested sex organs in the near vicinity. 

To your complete and utter annoyance.

You don’t quite remember how you all came together, who brought who into the group, and when it was unanimously decided that you’d stop snatching up office workers like limes at $5 margarita night after Trish, but it was Max who kept you together, who set up the group chat (somehow mysteriously gathering all of your phone numbers after a very late night), who bullied anyone who responded to his weekly “winner winner liquid dinner” texts every Friday morning with a tepid maybe into coming out that night. He already seemed to know half of the bartenders in the city, all of whom were happy to send over a free round of tequila shots as a “thank you to Max’s friends”. While you’d never look a gift vampire in the mouth, you were suspicious of his influence. Was that vampire hypnosis real? Did he have a pack of lesser, baby vamps to send out to tenderize the hunting grounds?

One thing’s for sure, he definitely didn’t scare them into it. 

“Has Halloween, like, changed for anyone else?” Nita grouched over her second Sangria Spritzer two hours into another fantabulous happy hour at Heel Clicks. The four of you were huddled into your comically small booth up on the landing near the back bar – of course there were other seats available but this had the best view, the closest access to your favorite bartender, and at some point, the shoulder-to-shoulder proximity served as a way to counteract the tipsy swaying. 

Trish leaned around Ken, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Nita shrugged hopelessly. “It used to be one of my favorite holidays when I was a kid. I loved the candy, the costumes – all of it. But I really liked being scared the most.”

Ken sorted into his old-fashioned. “Well, if you’re still scared of things you were as a kid, Nit, I think you’ve got a bigger problem than seasonal preference.”

She elbows him and he knocks into Trish.

“Not like that . . . but, like, monster movies aren’t really scary anymore? I mean, I used to watch Ginger Snaps religiously around Halloween, but, uh, now that I know an actual werewolf and he’s the nicest little old man in accounting, I dunno . . . it’s just not the same.” 

“Sorry to burst your bubble on monsters,” Ken shrugged. “But I personally cannot relate. As a member of the Free Folk, my people have always been welcomed, seen as bringers of good will towards man.”

“You know there’s eight movies where a leprechaun murders literally dozens of teenagers, right?” You turned to Ken over Nita, your entire right buttcheek hanging off the edge of the booth. 

“Oh, yeah, baby Jennifer Aniston,” Trish mused, thinking. “If that’s what your uncle looks like, Ken, then I posit Halloween is still fucking creepy.”

“Halloween is definitely creepy and it sucks.” Your ringleader has returned with electric-green jello shots. Max Phillips carried a tray with one hand, his immaculate blue jacket gone to display firm forearms underneath his white, rolled-back sleeves. “Bunch up, kiddies, Daddy’s back with treats.” 

Half the group groaned, the other squealed in delight.

Max hip-bumped you, his ravenous cologne immediately making you think unwise thoughts, as he pushed his way onto the bench absolutely not made for this many people. He looked back at you as he passed out the drinks.

“Now why are we all in agreement that Halloween is a lame holiday?” 

“Nita claims that because she personally knows a werewolf – Ned, right? – she’s not scared of monster movies anymore.”

Max scoffed. “Well, there’s your problem right there. Werewolves were never scary to begin with.”

“What monster movies have you been watching?” Nita gaped at him. “Maybe it’s bad representation, but all the movie werewolves can tear you to shreds!”

Ken nodded solemnly. “This is why affirmative action is so important.” 

Trish smacked him over the back of the head. 

“So, what?” Max continued, crunching up the jello in its plastic cup. “Now that you know me, a vampire, you think all Dracula movies give blood-suckers a bad rap?”

“No, being a human-sized mosquito with too much hair gel is doing that all on its own.” You smirked, dead-eyed, at him. Behind you, Ken and Trish snorted so hard they almost spilled their drinks. 

Max narrowed his eyes at you, in a look he only gave you when you wouldn’t let him ease around legal loopholes “for the good of the business”. Only Nita seemed to be oblivious. 

“That’s a good point, Max.” She thoughtfully stirred her jello with her pinky, unsticking it from the sides of her cup. “I mean, I guess I never watched that many vampire movies to begin with.”

Max broke his heated staring contest with you to look around at Nita, elbow pressing up into your chest as he leaned forward on the table. “I can promise you, doll face, vampires have been and always will be more terrifying and lethal than werewolves.”

“Not the argument I think you want to make, mate,” Ken murmured as you shifted yourself to face Max entirely. 

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us all –,”

“Nope,” Trish called down the row, “we’re taking this shot before you two get into it again.”

“To Ned!” Ken yelled. 

“To Ned!” 

Plastic crunched, tongues slurped, as jello ungracefully slipped into every open mouth down the bench. You licked your lip, tip of your tongue green. Max watched the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“So, enlighten us, Max, why should we be so afraid of you?” 

Max grinned out the side of his mouth. “One, I’ve seen more bite out of a pomeranian than one of those Tribbles. And two, whatever-wolves can only get it up once a month. I’m all monster, all the time, baby.”

At this, everyone groaned.

“Dollar to the Dick Jar!” Trish smacked her hand on the table.

“Here, here!”

Max pouted as he took a dollar out of his wallet and slammed it into the center of the table, payment towards tips or the bill or whoever suffered the most due to The Dick. 

“Face it, buzz,” you shrugged as he put his wallet away. “You’re just not scary any more, if you ever were.”

“Is that right?” 

Fuck, you were in a lot of trouble. Beneath the table, his thigh soaked yours in heat. 

“That’s right.”

“You know what is really scary?” Ken muttered, digging around in his crushed up for the last remnants of jello. “Kelpies.”

“Ah – yes! They’ve got sloppy fangs covered in algae!”

“Hey – that’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

Heel Clicks was hands down one of your favorite bars in the area. Devoted to the local music scene in the area, the vibe was a mix of old 70s rock bands, modern steel, and whatever justified lots of mounted horns and hairy cow-skin stools. The drinks were great, seasonal too, and there was always live music on the patio out back. In a twist that you found particularly cool, the old rum-runners tunnels had been converted to comfortably spacious bathrooms in the basement. Behind the solid oak door, the noises from the above bar are nearly entirely muffled, making the slow descent to the bathroom something of an out-of-body experience when you’ve had a few and the sudden silence is almost an echo. 

Plus, these fucking stairs are a death trap. 

You embarrassingly clutched at the railing, the wooden stairs at far too sharp an angle even if you were sober as a judge, much less at a Monster Squad happy hour. 

Stupid Max and his stupid drinks and his –

What was that?

You stand up right on the third to last step, listening. 

In the half darkness in front of you, there are three paths available. To the left, employee storage, the lights above the door flickering, the sign reading “do not enter” pulsating in and out of visibility. To your right, another door, maybe an exit. Always unmarked and always locked every time your drunken curiosity got the better of you. 

And across from the stairs were the bathrooms, left women, right for men.

God, what year is it? Shouldn’t it all just be gender-neutral? You think to yourself, a tad bit more aggressive than you’d usually oppose the gender binary – primarily to wash out the rising concern at the back of your neck.

You are alone down here. It’s obvious. It’s not like there’s that many places for some dastardly villain to hide. Four shut doors and three hallways. Unless some maniac was curled up under the stairs, you are the only person in the basement. 

At least, the only person you can see. 

You don’t realize how sweaty your hands are until you try to continue your way down the stairs. You take a step and nearly slip, the eyes you know are on you somehow laughing. 

One blinking light. No where for anything to hide, so why are you so nervous? You are an adult woman, for god’s sakes. You make it to the floor, the most likely candidate for your demise behind you and –

The stairs creaked. 

The empty stairs that you just walked down creaked and you nearly leap across the hallway to put space between you. Heart in your throat, you make the monumentally stupid decision and call out, “hello? Is anyone there?”

As if the serial killer was just going to announce himself, give up the whole element of surprise.

Blinking through the bleary haze of too many drinks, you take out your phone and flip on the light. A white beam chases back the encroaching darkness, a frantic worried ghost peering through the gloom. And yet, like you consciously know, there’s nothing there. But the darkness feels heavier, the eerie distant noise from the bar above so quiet and removed the sound is more of a memory – the idea of what comfort and community should sound like. But it’s not. It’s too far gone – if anything were to happen, it’d be hours before they found you. If they did at all. 

“Oh my god,” you scold yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Get a fucking grip and go pee and then go back up those fucking stairs and –,”

Okay, that was definitely breathing.

Breathing, right behind you. Ragged, hungry, disembodied breathing, in your ear and your heart ricochets into your chest. Your own breath turns short, choppy, panic swelling into your ears, over your fingers. You think you might drop your phone, your fingers are so numb from fear, so you clutch tighter, the trembling throwing white light across the paneled wood in a craze. 

Be rational, this is crazy, there is nothing down here! 

The stairs snarl again and you squeak, all but bolting for the women’s bathroom, desperate to put at least some space between you and those fucking stairs, put some boundaries between –

The door is locked. When the fuck is this door ever locked?

Panic recedes to overwhelming rage because fuck, fuck, fuck, now you’re trapped in here – you can’t go back to the stairs – you rattle the handle, shaking the door against its lock –

“Fucking let me in!”

The light above the exit door goes out. And then the other. You throw all of your weight against the bathroom door. You claw at the handle, begging it to give way. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck – you can hear the darkness breathing –

No, speaking – it’s saying something, chanting, mocking, calling out – calling out your name –

The door suddenly unlocks and you stumble forward – into something solid –

Its hands grab you and like a fucking fool, you played right into its trap. 

It turns you, throws you up against the tile wall, its claws around your shoulders, cold tile against your cheek and you whimper. Whimper when you feel the soft pin-prick of fangs against the back of your neck – fuck, this is how it ends?? – and –

“Got you.” 

That voice.

That condescending, snide, bratty, little –

You elbow the solid body behind you and Max lets out a puff of air, staggering back. You whip around, nearly snarling in his smirking, beautiful face. The bathroom is dark, black tiled walls and floors with a faux-wooden sink and dim lights across the top of the mirror. In the flushed orange light, his eyelashes encourage thick shadows under his eyes and in the collar of his throat. If it wasn’t for that insufferable smile, he’d look painted from thin brush strokes and heavy scarlet paint. 

Caravaggio, eat your heart out. 

“Max, what the fuck was that?” 

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hit him, at the top of his ribcage. “Oh, c’mon, it was just some fun. Saw you sneak off after you got Nita’s drink and thought I’d mess with you just a bit.”

You sigh, willing your heart to slow down, throwing your gaze to the ceiling and dropping your head against the tile.

“God, you asshole, I thought I was gonna die.” You swallow and move your hair out of your face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I what?”

“You scared –,”

That smile, the crack of fangs across his mouth, widens, the bottom of his lip rolling back over the cut of his teeth, those brown eyes melting into a warm, obscene black, as he meets you hip first against the wall. 

His hands climb over your waist, as though daring you to hit him again, and your thigh muscles tighten. Your hands instinctively trace the exposed skin left by his opened collar at the dip of his throat when he comes closer, chest pressing up against yours, nose against your temple. 

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this easy for him. You sigh through your nose, eyes rolling shut, when he nips at your cheek.

“I think you were supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am,” you groan. “I’m livid. I’m enraged. I’m –,”

His thumb brushes your ribs – not tickling, not entirely touching, but just reminding. Reminding of the force behind his touch, behind his teeth. 

“Baby girl,” he chuckles softly, the sound running down your neck like rain, “you’re melting in my arms.” 

“This doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.” You focus on the softness of his hair between your fingers, the heat of the back of his neck beneath the pads of your fingertips – resolutely ignoring the radiating scent of his cologne coming from up under his collar. More than once had he come across you in his apartment bathroom, sniffing that bottle like some dopey perv looking for a quick fix. Of course, instead of admonishing you, he bent you over his sink and fucked the daylights out of you, his wrists singing with the smell of that cologne. Now he wore it to work wherever he wanted something from you, particularly to overlook some pesky lines of legalise. 

In the hallowed darkness of the bar’s bathroom, he drops a single kiss just below your jaw, inches beneath your ear. He grumbles when your pulse there quickens, and again his fangs find a curve of skin to press against – a reminder. 

Always reminding, always lurking, a threat without a promise.

And he knows exactly what that does to you. 

You release a full body shudder when his hands drop lower, guiding you back against the wall, fingers rounding around your thighs. Like interlocking pieces, your bodies slide together, your arms curling around his neck, the heat of his chest branding yours as it forces you against the wall. You’re breathing all wrong again, but for different reasons this time. You catch a flash of the ink-well darkness of his eyes when he nuzzles out of your neck to admire the mess he has made of your skirt.

“Can I fuck you in this or is this thing too tight?” He asks, like he specifically didn’t get on his hands and knees and beg you to wear that gray pencil skirt only twelve hours earlier. 

You lean up, snagging his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him roughly and showing him he’s not the only one with a little bite. He groans softly, one hand curling into your hair at the base of your skull, and he licks you, from the front of your lips up to the valley of your mouth. He tastes like the sweetness of his whiskey n’ coke, his tongue rubbing the flexing muscle of yours, the sharpness of your molars. You could spend hours just sucking on his plush mouth. 

Maybe he did scare you. Maybe he should have scared you more, the threat of anyone discovering your relationship a real danger to both of your careers. Maybe it should have scared you, how little you cared about any of that when he palmed your breast over your shirt. 

You inhaled over his mouth, popping off his lips with a moan, his hand cupping you roughly as he dove in to suck marks on your neck. Every moment that passes, you feel your skin ratcheting up with heat, blood almost hot. He thumbs your perk nipple through your shirt and you arch your chest, his massive palm nearly cupping your ribs to your spine.

“Max, either you figure out how to fuck me in this skirt or you owe me a new one.”

“You want me to rip it off you?” He slurs, eyelids heavy, his thigh slides in between your knees, the fabric preventing him from going higher, to the place where you both need him. You groan in frustration and his hands squeeze your hips at the sound. “Tell me fast, baby, because I can’t–,”

“For the love of – just fucking lift it up–,” His hands fumble over yours as your fingers curl under the hem, his own want making that brilliant mind for numbers almost stupid. His warm fingers overwhelm your own as they push your skirt up your waist, and then dig around the line of your pantyhose. 

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to Fort Knox me out of your pussy? Why are there so many layers?” 

You hiss at him as you slide out of your heels and shove your nylons to the ground, hopping on one leg to take them off your feet. “It’s like you’ve never undressed me before.” 

Freed of the chaos of your underthings, Max’s hands rush to his belt, the clinking of the metal sending shivers down your back and straight up your cunt. He doesn’t notice because he’s obsessively watching your thighs. “I’ve never undressed you with our coworkers a floor above us and probably becoming increasingly suspicious about where the fuck we are–,” 

You take him by the back of the neck, hand clenching around the starch white of his shoulder. He comes to you, zipper digging into your hip bone as he pulls you up off your feet. For once that chatty mouth is quiet, open and wet with desire as he takes in your flushed face, the blood pumping under your tits. Max is nothing if not almost supernaturally consumed by the look, feel, texture, and taste of your tits. 

The look on his face is one of those reasons you tend to throw caution to the wind, why your heart almost feels too big for your chest, whenever he’s around. 

He hooks an arm around your low back, tilting your hips forward. You feel the heat of his cock somewhere below you and it takes all of your strength not to grind down. 

“Max –,” he’s not even inside of you and you’re already begging. You bite down on his ear to stifle whatever was rising up your throat. 

“Hang on, baby, I gotta make sure you . . .”

Using your shoulders as counterbalance, he holds himself up against the wet warmth of your cunt, breath stuttering as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds. That bratty aloofness is gone; he wants to sink so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t even get you ready – but you’re already so wet –,”

You don’t resist grinding down now and he knocks his shoulders forward, needing movement, but fighting against the urge to buck up into you, gasping from the feeling of your cunt. 

“Please, Max, just –,”

“Yeah, I know, baby, okay, just, I gotta . . .” 

He angles himself and you arch your back, unable to watch with the mess of your skirt around your waist, but he finds it, finds your opening, the place he loves to mark, and without any warning, thrusts his length up into you. 

The stretch, the surprise, the ear-ringing split between being empty and then stuffed so full – you can’t help but moan so loudly, you sing to the ceiling. For a moment, your bodies hum with the stillness, the blood in your cunt pulsating around him, you claw at his broad shoulders, need him closer, needing that smell of him that haunts your empty bed as far inside of you as his cock is. His hips stutter and he presses one hand against the tile by your ribs, teeth clenched against the sensation. 

“When I fuck you, every time feels like the first time. Every goddamn time.” 

It’s not particularly the confession it could be, but you shake your head, clearing it of anything stupid like feelings for Max Phillips, your chin brushing his jaw, his nose against your ear. 

“Then do it,” you whine. “Just fuck me, Max.”

With a groan that could be mistaken for a snarl, he lifts you both up right, pushing your hips down and spreading yourself over him. You lock your ankles around his back a second before he pulls out halfway, then to jerk back in with such force and precision your eyes roll to the back of your head. He sets a pace that has pleasure weaving a tight drum just under your stomach. Each sweaty thrust fires sparks up your spine. He really is so fucking good at this. 

This is the release you need, you both need. Sure, it’s an after-effect of having a high-powered job, but it’s also more than that. Max fucking you is unfortunately very often the highlight of your day. He knows what you need, how you need it – how hard to drive his cock into you, it makes you tongue-tied and dizzy. The fast pump of his cock, how it feels to split you apart over and over again, the back zipper of your skirt digging into your back – it’s too fucking good.

“Don’t know where you get off giving me orders,” he grunts, the pounding of his hips into yours rapidly shoving you up your ascension. The slapping, wet noise in the empty room is obscene. “I’m a fucking VP, little girl, and I–,”

You tense your muscles around his cock and he fumbles, his knees buckling momentarily. 

“Do not fucking bring up the org chart right now,” you hiss, your own edge yanked away when he stills. “I’m almost there–,” 

Quicker than he’s been all night, Max lunges forward, mouth open and teeth bare. He bites your neck and then he bites you. 

Fangs puncture your skin, not deep, but enough that your body is thrown into a messy coil of nerves and adrenaline. It knows you could die like this, even if you’ve only ever called the vampire a mosquito to his face, and triggering a self-preservation instinct, your body trembles from the sudden blast of sensation.

Your pupils dilate further than they were, your skin becomes overly aware of every drop of sweat, every flutter of hair, every rub of flesh – and your fucking nerve-endings feel like static, as if brushed by lightning. 

Pleasure so-white hot it almost burns roars up your spine, slick coating his cock inside you, and you cry out. Wail in his ear. Begging him to make it better. To give you your release. The feel of his cock pounding up inside your now-overly ripe cunt brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck – Max, p-please –,”

“Can you handle it if I touch you?”

You shake your head. “Yes, yes, please, touch me.” 

“You can’t keep screaming like that,” he scolds you breathlessly, the punch of his hips bouncing you against his cheek. For all his vampire stamina, the flush of exertion across his cheeks is truly staggering and a triumph for your ego. Flecks of blood dot his mouth. “Someone’s going to come looking.” 

“I don’t care,” you groan, angling your hips to take more of him. His hand not on your back cups under your knee, tugging it higher up his torso. His pace is relentless, overwhelming – with his weight on top of you, and his cock up under you, inside you, you’re consumed by Max Phillips. “Whatever you do, d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“You scared I’m gonna?”

“Yes,” you whine. You can feel your heart pounding out its shape into your ribs. 

“Good girl. And good girls get to fucking come.”

Balancing your increasingly limp body, he holds you up right, his hand snaking beneath your skirt, between the sweat of your thighs and his torso, and –

He thumbs that buzzing bundle of nerves, “come for me, baby”, and you do. You come screaming, the tension snapping, vision sparkling with stars, and you are shoved over the edge. You don’t know you’re wailing his name until he comes too, all concern for getting caught seemingly gone as he begs you to continue as he fills you up with his pearly, gooey cum:

“That’s right, say my name. Say my fucking name, sweetheart.” 

His hips thrust weakly, some instinct choking him until he makes sure every drop of him stays in you. You’re going to be dripping for hours. 

His skin is fire-hot beneath his starched white shirt. You’ll be thinking about that for days afterward when you see him in the hallways of the office. 

This is what scares you the most. When you realize it's over and neither one of you want it to be. 

Shaking from exertion, Max slowly sets you down, unwinding your legs from his waist, your ankles trembling against the cold tile. You couldn’t imagine putting your nylons back on, the thought of that pressure against the curve of your lower stomach while you are so full of his cum practically unbearable. 

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes intentionally avoiding you as he inspects where he bit you, breath coming in ragged, long gasps. Sweat darkens the hair at his temple and that post-fuck blush is staggeringly gorgeous on him. He pricks his thumb on the sharp edge of his fangs and with a scarlet bead balanced on his thumb, he smears his blood against the puncture wounds, like someone would wipe dirt away from a loved one’s skin. 

It doesn’t really hurt, but the effects leave your neck tingling. You’d never say this out loud, but you fucking loved when he did that. 

He steps away without looking at you, giving you time to adjust your skirt, your hair in the mirror. You help him straighten his collar because it’s not like he can use the mirror to check himself.

He grins, the flush fading far too rapidly from his cheeks. 

“What are you going to tell them?” You nod to the stairs on the other side of the wall. “This can’t look good for us.” 

“You got attacked by a werewolf on the way to the bathroom. I saved you.” 

“Thought you said werewolves weren’t scary.”

He shakes his head, smirking, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Just said I was the bigger monster between the two of us.” 

“My hero.” You turn your head until his lips drink in yours. 

It is dangerous, your feelings for him. 

He taps you on the butt, pulling away. The lines around his eyes do an excellent job of masking the hurt in the brownness of his eyes. 

“Gimme five, then you come up. Can’t have you looking so completely debauched.”

He kisses you again, betraying whatever amounted to “cool and collected” he attempted for, and without another word, he slides out the door. 

His smell lingers in the air long after he does. The throbbing of your cunt also serves as a fantastically bitter reminder.

You go back to the mirror because yes, you could not have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign that said, “hi, yes, I did just get my back blown out.” You try to fold your hair around your ears at least a dozen times before pulling it back in what you hope to be a casual pony-tail. You toss your nylons into the trash can, pleading that the “oh, I tore them in the bathroom” excuse might hold an ounce of water. 

You think about what’s waiting for you a floor up and your stomach clenches. 

Fucking Max could upset the dynamics of your little group, your little Monster Squad. Whatever the stupid office bylines were, your happy-hour social group is one of the bright spots in your life, especially while working at a place run by those bastard Overlords. 

And Max knew that. He didn’t want to risk your long-term happiness for his short-term. 

Max didn’t scare you because he was a monster.

He scared you precisely because he wasn’t.

You open the bathroom door and return to the world. 

#max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips smut #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters

[absurdthirst]

Immortally Human {Max Phillips x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: Vampirism, suggestive banter, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, mentions of child planning, hypnotizing, sacrifice, witch's protective spells, violence, throat ripping, staking, gore

Comments: When Max falls in love you, a human, he must get permission from his sire to tell you about his true nature. When he tells you, he must turn you or kill you and you don't want to be a vampire. Leaving Max to protect you at the cost of his own immortality.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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

“Babe! Are you ready?” Max calls over his shoulder from his spot on your sofa. He knows you are running behind, but the reservations are hard to reschedule and he pulled a few favors to make sure he got a table tonight. He has a very important question to ask you. “I’m coming, almost done!” You yell back breathlessly, making him grin as he checks his watch. If you had told him six months ago that Max Phillips would be in a committed, monogamous relationship, he would have called you an idiot. Laughed in your face right before he went about doing whatever he wanted. But that was before he had invited you out for a drink and fallen head over heels. Most who know him would call him egotistical. A frat-boy douche has been thrown his way several times when he’s smoozed his way into a promotion or stolen an important client. Business was what mattered and he was good at it. Leaving his private life a series of hook ups and perpetual bachelorhood until you had flipped his world upside down. 

Max was faithful. He was trying to be kind and thoughtful. Loving. Bringing you lunch or taking you out to dinner. Even sitting through movies he had zero interest in. Not because he was looking forward to getting laid after - although the sex is mindblowing - but because it makes you happy. Even though you don’t live together, he’s positively domesticated and is ready to take the next step with you.

When you come out into the living room, Max whistles. “Daaaaaaamn baby. Look at you. Looking fucking delicious.” He stands up and reaches for you, pulling you up against him to inhale your scent. He hears your blood pulsing beneath your skin and his mouth waters but he pushes that aside. Your relationship is perfect…except for one thing: you don’t know he’s a vampire. He hasn’t had the guts to tell you. Scared that you’ll reject him or be terrified of him and he only wants to see love in your eyes, not fear. He will tell you. He has to tell you. Max murmurs your name and you slap his chest playfully when he asks if you have to go to dinner. 

“Yes. It took forever getting ready and we need to eat. You can devour me later.” You say and Max waggles his eyebrows, “is that a promise?” You snort and slap his chest again but he catches your hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. “Come on baby, let’s go eat.” He says and lets go of you so you can get your purse.

Hustling you out to his car, Max races around it and slides behind the wheel. “Hang on, baby.” He tells you with a smirk. “Gotta rush to get there.” He prefers to drive fast, in complete control of his reflexes, but you always seem to worry when he’s zooming through the streets. “We don’t want to miss our reservation.”

You grip the handle on the door and squeeze as Max rounds a corner too fast. “We aren’t indestructible. I don’t care if we are late, I just want us to make it.” You wince as the tires squeal as he accelerates and Max snorts, wanting to tell you he’s indestructible apart from wooden stakes to the heart. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’ll be fine.” He promises and reaches for your hand that isn’t gripping the handle.

You snort in disbelief beside him and Max takes his foot off the gas for a split second, allowing the speed to go down by a few miles per hour. He still can’t tell you why he’s so confident, but soon he will. “I know you’ve been looking at the menu. Tell me what you want to order, baby.” He knows talking will keep your mind off his driving.

You snort again, amused that he knows you look up the menu beforehand and already know what you will order. You squeeze his hand, "I was thinking about getting the duck. It's not something you see on a lot of menus. I want something different. Then they have this Death by Chocolate cake that is to die for, according to the reviews." You say, and Max smirks slightly at your choice of dessert.

“Then that’s what my girl will have.” He hums as he turns a corner sharply and wheels protest again. He’s only a mile from the restaurant and the reservation is in five minutes. It means he will pull up to the valet in time to escort you inside and be seated. “And we have to have a bottle of good wine to go with it.” 

“I’m gonna need a drink after your driving, Phillips.” You chuckle breathlessly as he screeches to a stop at the valet booth. “Thank God we made it in one piece.” You exhale shakily as the valet opens the door for you. Max is there in a blink of an eye to take your hand and you are always so amazed at how quickly he moves and you take his hand to let him guide you into the restaurant.

Max winks at the valet and slips him a fifty. “Take care of it.” He asks as he guides towards the door. “Was there any doubt that I would take care of you, baby?” He sends you a pout and a grin that somehow doesn’t look ridiculous on him when combined. Leaping forward so he can open the door for you to enter the building and biting his lip as your ass shakes in front of him. At the host stand, he gives his name. “Phillips, party of two for seven o’clock.”  

His commanding presence has always turned you on and to see him like this has you eager for him already. You are escorted to your table where Max holds the chair out for you and you sit down. “This place is gorgeous. You didn’t have to spurge like this, baby.” You say with a slight tut, knowing Max likes to spoil you but you never ask for it.

“Of course I did.” He winks at you and sends you a small air kiss. It might look smarmy to some, but he adores you. “Tonight is special. And there’s nothing like spoiling my girl.”

You wonder if you've forgotten an anniversary or something but you've been with Max for just over a year now and every day he seems to spoil you despite your requests that he saves money - you are happy to sit down at home with take out and watch a movie. You reach for his hand after he sits down, "you're too good to me. I'll have to make it up to you." You smirk, stretching your leg to nudge his ankle.

“Hmmmm, I know you will.” His own smirk is knowing, loving how uninhibited you are and how you just want him. Not anything else. You are addicted to him and he doesn’t have to do anything more than what he does now. The waiter comes up and Max looks over at you. “What kind of wine do you want, baby?”

“Mmm I think red.” You say, having decided on the duck before even sitting at the table. Max takes the wine list and scans it, selecting a Cabernet and you squeeze his hand. “Excellent choice sir.” The waitress says and says he will be back to take your order. “What are you going to order?” You ask him, “do you want to get an appetizer? I think I just want to have the entree.”

“No, no appetizer.” Max decides, sending you a suggestive smirk. “I want to save room for dessert.” Waggling his brows suggestively, he knows he will have your thighs spread wide and his tongue buried in your cunt tonight. “I’m going to just have a steak, rare.” He decides, barely even looking at the menu, too busy staring at your beautiful face. 

You fluster at the way he stares at you. Still unnerved by the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world for him. “That’s what you always get. And you never eat it. I swear…you always make me take it home for lunch.” You shake your head, concerned about him paying for a steak and never eating it. Before Max can explain, the waiter comes back with the bottle of red and opens it, allowing Max to taste before pouring your glass. He takes your orders and leaves you and Max to enjoy your drink.

“To us.” Max offers, holding up his glass as a toast. “To our future together and tonight is the beginning of happily ever after.” He offers, giving you a sincere smile as he waits for you to react to that. 

Your heart flutters at his words and you clink your glass against his. "To us." You practically sigh with contentment. Part of you wonders if Max is going to propose tonight and that makes your stomach twist with happy anticipation.

Taking a small sip of the wine, he makes a noise of appreciation and sets it down. Much preferring to watch you until he can capture your hand again. “I love you, baby.” He starts softly. “I’ve never felt this way, about anyone, but you - you’ve completely changed me. I can’t imagine my life without you.” 

"Max." You gasp softly at his speech. He's a very physical lover, cocky with his words but never emotional. This is rare for him to say and you are shocked but happy. He loves you and you are so in love with him, all of him. You look down at your joined hands, "Max. I- I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine."

“I want to ask you something serious.” His brow furrows slightly and he squeezes your hand. “I want you to go away with me, meet my family.” He’s never mentioned you meeting anyone in his family and while it’s not exactly a proposal, this is serious for him. “Would you come with me to Romania?”

You’re surprised again. A little disappointed if you’re honest. You thought he was gonna propose. You soon gather yourself, replacing your slight frown with a smile as you tilt your head. “Your family? I- I thought you said your parents are dead.” You frown again and Max nods, “yes, but I have an uncle. I want you to meet him. See where I’m from.” You bite your lip and think for a second, seeing the desire in his eyes and how can you resist? You nod, squeezing his hand. “Of course I will. I’d love to meet your uncle and see your homeland.”

He can tell that you are disappointed that he didn’t pull out a ring and propose to you. Knowing that you are unaware that he has to get permission from his uncle - his sire -  to marry you, and to tell you that he’s a vampire. “I love you baby. I promise that you won’t regret it.” He leans in and presses his lips to yours. “He’s going to love you.” 

**** 

It’s cold when you land in Romania and you are escorted to the black car waiting for you outside of the airport. “How the hell did you deal with the cold when you live in L.A?” You ask Max when the car is moving along to your hotel. You’re nervous to meet Max’s uncle. You haven’t heard much about him other than Max wouldn’t be who he is today without his uncle.

“Jackets.” He jokes with a grin, although he really isn’t affected by the cold like you are. It’s one of the perks of being a vampire. “You need me to keep you warm, baby?” He asks, scooting closer to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “I can warm you up just as soon as we get to the hotel if you want.” 

You giggle, turning your head to kiss his jaw. “I wouldn’t mind that. After all, this is our first vacation together. We might as well make the most of it.” You smirk and nudge your nose against his jaw. You and Max don’t live together. It’s been over a year of dating but you’ve never pushed it, knowing he might just want to do things traditionally and get engaged first. “When are we meeting your uncle?”

“Tomorrow.” Max knew that jet lag would affect you, so he had told Serge that he would bring you by tomorrow afternoon. He didn’t want you to be tired or less than your best when you meet the man who had turned him into a vampire when he was here in college. “That way you can get a good night’s sleep.” 

You snort, “a good night’s sleep with you around? I doubt it, Phillips.” You nudge him and he squeezes your arm, “I want you to like each other so maybe best if you don’t look like you got your brains fucked out all night long, huh sweet cheeks?” He hums and you smirk, “you say that now but wait until you see what I brought with me to sleep in:”

Max groans, rolling his eyes at the thought of you in lingerie. You love wearing things that make him feral to touch you, although he’s never shown you how feral he could be. Carefully keeping that side of him contained, so he doesn’t hurt or scare you. “So you want me to fuck you all night, got it.” He smirks. “Besides, it’s gonna be on the floor in shreds within minutes of you showing me.”

“That’s why I brought more than one.” You smirk and kiss his jaw, making him growl softly under his breath. 

****

“Max. This isn’t a hotel, it’s a goddamn castle.” You gasp as you enter the impressive abode, the drapery and stone imposing but warm as you step into the foyer followed by Max.

“Did I forget to mention that?” Max squints as he looks at you questioningly. Of course he wasn’t going to admit that it was a castle, he wanted to see your face as you experienced it for the first time and you didn’t disappoint him. “Sorry if it’s not romantic enough.” He pouts.

"Are you kidding me?" You chuckle humorlessly, walking over to him to wrap your arms around his neck, dragging him down to press your lips against his. Your fingers running through his hair. "I love you Max. This is - it's incredible. Where on earth did you find this place?"

“It’s actually…” Max sends you an apologetic look, “not a hotel. This is my uncle’s house.” He explains. “But don’t worry.” He assures you. “I told the housekeeper we were going to keep to our room tonight. They will send up dinner and we can just crash…or…whatever.” He hums, waggling his brows again.

You are a little taken back that this is his uncle's place but you don't argue it, knowing that this place is incredible and Max likely didn't want to make you more nervous. "Uh, sure. That works babe." You nod, sliding your hands down his back. "Of course there's a housekeeper." You giggle, looking around the foyer in awe. His uncle must be important to have a home like this. "I think I'd like to try the 'whatever'." You tease, sliding your hands lower to squeeze his ass through his jeans.

“Yeah?” He leans in, growling playfully and he scrapes his teeth over your pulse. Never allowing himself to let his fangs descend, he tortures himself with the alluring scent of your blood. “Come on, baby,” he groans. “Let me show you where we’ll be staying.” His sire has already had his old rooms prepared and he knows that he won’t intrude on the two of you.

You let him guide you through the impressive hallways, walls lined with portraits, and you gasp when Max opens  the large double doors. "Max. Wow. This is - wow." You look around at the large four-poster bed, the heavy velvet drapes. It looks like a vampire's lair and the thought makes you giggle. "What's so funny?" Max snorts after setting down your bags and you spin to face him. "Nothing. Just can't believe this is real. You are - I am so lucky to have you." You turn sappy, wanting him to know how much you appreciate him.

You slide your fingers through his hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss and he slides his tongue into your mouth. You know you need to shower after the long plane ride so you pull back before it can get too hot and heavy. "I want to shower baby. Can you lift my case onto the table? I gotta find my toiletries."

“Of course, sweet cheeks.” He pulls back and gives you a little wink before rushing over to the bags. You don’t know about his vampiric strength, so it’s always fun to show off how strong he is. Lifting the heavy case easily and setting it on the table. “While you search for your toiletry bag, you want me to call down to the kitchen for anything? Something to drink? A snack?” Having a human lover means taking care of your needs, far more demanding than his own.

"Some water would be nice. A snack too. I don't know what your uncle likes or has. You know what I like so just pick something, okay?" You kiss his cheek, "thanks baby." You say as you rifle through your things for your toiletry bag and the bag containing your nightwear. You shower, glad to wash the hours of traveling from your skin, and after you dry off, you put the lacy little number you bought with Max's reaction in mind. You open the bathroom door and find Max sitting on the edge of the bed.

Checking his emails, Max looks up and freezes at the sight of you in the doorway. The lacy lingerie has his cock immediately hardening and he flips the phone out of his hand behind him, letting it land carelessly on the bed as he stands up. “Fuck, baby.” He growls. “You look good enough to eat.” He chuckles. “Fuck a snack, I want the whole damn meal.

You giggle at his hungry gaze and his hands find your hips, squeezing them, and you gasp at the strength in his grip. "Damn Max, you're gonna leave bruises." You warn him playfully and he has a guilty look in his eyes that you haven't seen before. "Hey. It's okay. I liked it." You promise, cupping his cheeks.

“Sorry baby.” He’s a little out of sorts, being here. The scent of vampires is concentrated, seeped into the stones and you don't even know. He’s feeling more possessive of you, and his more animalistic side is simmering just under the surface. “I’ll make it up to you.” He promises, guiding you back towards the bed. “By eating your pussy until you scream.”

"Now that's more like it, Phillips." You let him lay you down on the bed and you look up at him as he shrugs off his button-down and exposes his chest. He's not chiseled but he's built, a strength simmering beneath the skin that takes your breath away. He slides his hands along your legs, making you stare at him, chest heaving as arousal dampens your panties. "I love you." You sigh when he kisses your knee.

“I love you too.” He’s certain that he does and he wants to prove it to you. He wants to remind you of how good it is between you before you meet his sire. Starting to shift to his stomach, he kisses down your thigh, inhaling the scent of your wet pussy and the sweet blood in your veins with a loud, pleased groan.

You whimper when his mouth presses against your panties, mouthing at your clit through the lace, and it's enough to make a moan escape your lips. Loud and echoing off of the stone walls. "That's it, sweetheart. Lemme hear you." Max murmurs as he pulls your panties to the side and you watch as his dark eyes meet yours while he drags his tongue through your folds. "Shit." You pant, toes twitching as he dives in.

Max had been good at oral before, but it was always given selfishly. It was so the girl would suck his dick or brag to her girlfriends about how good he was. So he could possibly bang them later too. This is just because he wants to. Because he’s addicted to your taste and sounds. His tongue curling up inside you and then coming back out to flick over your clit as he devours you. Groaning into your cunt like a man starved, he could spend all night between your thighs just like this and be happy pulling orgasms from you.

You whimper as he happily eats you out like a man starved. You can never complain that Max isn’t a giver with the way he licks your cunt for hours. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair and he growls into your flesh. His fingers digging deep and you know he’s going to bruise you but you don’t care, too caught up in the feel of his tongue curling inside of you, his nose pressed against your clit. “Fuck, Max. So good. Always so good.” You praise him, “love this. Love you so much.”

Max loves when you praise him, soaking it up and it makes him work even harder to pull an orgasm out of you. His eyes are dark and lust blown as he watches you, just shy of turning yellow in his desire.

You see that dark look in his eyes that he gets a lot and you love it. The hunger there makes your stomach twist and pushes you closer to your orgasm. He pushes his tongue deeper, curling it inside of you and you fall over the edge. “Max!” You squeal, thighs squeezing his head as you cum, soaking his tongue and you throw your head back as your orgasm shakes your body.

Max growls, the sound vibrating into you and he eagerly drinks down every drop of your release that you will give him. Loving how completely undone you are because of him. You’ve told him how powerful the orgasms are and he gets drunk on the pleasure he gives you as he strokes you through the high with his tongue.

You reach down to run your fingers through his hair, a lazy smile on your face as you melt into the mattress. “Shit. I fucking love you, Phillips.” You sigh happily, licking your lips and you beckon him up to you by tugging on his hair. “Want you inside me.” You request softly.

Despite the fact that he is hard and aching, Max takes his time to kiss you. Pressing his lips to your gently and licking into your mouth when you open for him. Not minding your taste, you kiss him back eagerly as he starts to slowly cover your body with his own and slide his hands down to lift your legs up onto his hips. “I love you too, sweet cheeks.” He promises when he pulls back, looking into your eyes as he notches himself at your entrance and slowly starts to push inside you. 

You moan his name as he pushes deep inside of you. "Shit Max, feels like you're in my guts." You groan in bliss as he nudges the back wall of your pussy. He is longer than any other lover you've had. You caress his back as he kisses along your neck, making you tilt your head until his lips are over your pulse. Unaware of the danger he poses as he scrapes his teeth over your skin. "Hmmm Max." You hum as he starts to move.

“You feel so good, baby.” He groans, pretending to pant because he doesn’t need to breathe. Sliding his arms underneath you, he pulls you closer as his hips start to rock fast and deep, making sure you feel every inch of his cock inside you . “Love you so much, you’re perfect for me.” 

You know you’ve never felt like this about anyone. It’s gonna always be Max. He’s your forever and you don’t know how true that rings for him. Your hands caress his shoulders as you lift your thighs a little higher, allowing him to sink deeper inside of you. “Yes, baby. Oh shit. I’m gonna - you’re - I’m close.” You tell him, amazed at the ability he has to make you cum so fast.

“That’s it, pretty girl.” He groans, eyes rolling back at the way your cunt clenches down on him. “Cum for Max, show me how wet you get when I fuck you.” He leans down and presses his lips to yours again. “I love you. Cum for me.” 

You moan into his mouth, unable to stop your orgasm from hitting you hard and your nails dig into his skin as you cum, toes curling against his ass as you clamp down on his cock with a moan.

He loves it. Moaning your name, he can’t help but fuck into you a little harder. Not too hard, he can’t hurt his little human, but enough that it enhances your orgasm and makes you squeal again. Max buries his head against your neck, hiding the way that his face starts to shift, feeling his own end starting to build. It only takes a few more pumps of his cock before he’s growling, pushing deep and filling you up with hot ropes of his useless seed. 

You sigh as Max fills you up, loving the way he relaxes on top of you, and you kiss his hair as he grunts against your neck. “I love you Phillips. So much.” You murmur, caressing his back and you feel his muscles beneath the skin.

“I love you too.” He turns once his face has morphed back to normal and presses his lips to yours, making sure that he pants so you will believe that is out of breath. He slowly pulls out of you with a groan and nudges his nose against yours before he rolls off of you onto his back so you can cuddle against him. “Didn’t tear this set.” He muses as he slides his hand up and down your lingerie clad back. “Must be tired.” Turning, he kisses your forehead. “Do you want to soak in a bath baby, or take a nap?” 

“Nap.” You murmur, shifting onto your side so you can look at him. “Definitely nap.” You close your eyes and you smile when Max kisses your shoulder as he leans over you. “Get some sleep.” He orders softly and you hum, knowing he will clean you up before he goes to sleep. He always falls asleep after you.

It never takes long for you to fall asleep after he’s fucked you. Watching you as your breathing starts to even out and before too long, you are asleep. It’s one of the reasons that you aren’t living together yet. You would notice that he never sleeps if you lived together. He could always pretend to have slept for the few nights you stayed over, but if you were constantly together, you would figure it out. You aren’t stupid. When he’s certain you won’t stir, he slowly shifts out from under you, moving towards the bathroom to get a washrag to clean you up. Smirking to himself when he sees the cum on the inside of your thighs and dripping out of you. While nothing could ever come of it, it makes him incredibly possessive to see it. 

Max sighs as he lays down beside you, watching you sleep, and he wonders what you are dreaming about until he hears his name across the castle. He can hear his sire calling him from anywhere and he groans, shifting off of the bed to dress and make his way over to his “uncle’s” suite. “Max.” Serge greets Max when he opens the door. “It’s been a long time,”

“It has.” Max admits, knowing he has not been back for years but he doesn’t apologize for it. He had been busy making his way up the corporate ladder. “And this time you have brought a human.” Serge’s expression is amused and he watches his protegé carefully. “The entire east wing smells of her blood. She is sweet.” 

Max swallows down the growl that threatens to make its way up his throat. “I’m assuming you’re here to ask me for permission to turn her?” He asks, knowing that Max needs the authorization of his maker to turn what some would call “his mate.” Max nods and stands straighter. “I’ll need to meet her of course. Tomorrow. I need to see if she’s suitable.” Serge hums, wiping some invisible lint off of his shirt.

“She will be suitable.” Max assures his sire, forgetting how abrupt he could be. “I- I love her.” He admits, knowing that Serge will take Max’s wants into account when meeting you. “She is perfect for me.” 

Serge chuckles, “I’ll be the judge of that. She smells delicious so I’m sure she will be sweet. She has tamed you, Maxwell.” Serge playfully tuts, “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He bristles slightly but allows himself to relax. “She has.” He admits. “She balances me out. Keeps me from being outrageous like I used to be.” He wants this to go well. “A perfect mate for me.”

Serge nods, “we will see tomorrow. I just wanted to see you when you arrived. You may go back to your human. She must be tired after all that traveling.” Serge says and looks out of the window at the moon that has risen high in the sky.

“Tomorrow.” Max nods and lets himself out of the suite to walk back towards his rooms. Hoping that Serge is impressed by you and allows him to turn you.

****

To say you’re nervous to meet Max’s uncle is an understatement. You know you need to impress the only family Max has if you have any chance of your relationship continuing and you focus on making sure you look good this morning so that Max’s uncle is impressed by you. You exhale shakily when Max calls you from the bedroom to let you know a breakfast tray is here. “I can’t eat, Max.” You admit, “what if your uncle hates me? I can’t ask you to choose between me and your only family.”

“Don’t worry baby.” He reaches out and wraps his arm around you to pull you close. “He’s gonna love you.” He nudges his nose against yours before he kisses you. “Please just eat a little? For me? I don’t want you to be hungry.”

You nod, kissing him again, knowing you should probably have something to settle your stomach. You reach down to take a piece of buttered toast off of the tray and bite into it, watching as Max prepares your coffee the way you like it.

“Don’t think of him as someone scary.” Max tells you, turning and handing you the coffee. “He’s just my uncle. I’m introducing the woman I love to him. He’s gonna be thrilled. You’re far too good for me.”

You take the cup and playfully roll your eyes. “Sure, Phillips.” You snort and take a sip of the coffee. “Says the man who brought me to a fucking castle.” Max chuckles and you set the coffee down after finishing it. “Okay let’s go.” You brush yourself down and try to ignore the hammering of your heart as you prepare to meet Max’s uncle.

Max holds your hand after leaving the suite, wanting to reassure you. “You look beautiful today, but you look beautiful everyday.” He compliments, lifting your hand up to kiss the back of it. “We are going to meet Serge in the drawing room. Nothing too formal, baby.”

“The drawing room isn’t formal?” You snort and Max smirks as he squeezes your hand to guide you through the ornate house to the drawing room. You exhale shakily, unaware that both men can hear your heart pounding as you enter the drawing room to find a man around Max’s age standing in the room already. That confuses you. Unless he looks really good for his age, Max can’t have an uncle that’s the same age as him.

Max beams, guiding you close to the other man. Saying your name, he motions towards Serge. “This is my uncle, Serge.” He explains. “Serge, this is the woman I want to marry.”

Your heart flutters and you turn to smile at Max as he says that. You figured he wanted to take the next step bringing you here but to hear him say it aloud has you grinning from ear to ear. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You hold your hand out to his uncle who hums as he takes your hand in his. “She’s a pretty one, Max.” He says with a wink towards you, squeezing your hand. “Do you think she’d make a good vampire?” He asks and you can’t stop the confused chuckle escaping your lips.

Max doesn’t laugh, just nodding seriously. “She will.” He tells his sire. “She has amazing self control and she’s smart as hell. If you allow me to change her, it will be good for our coven here and in the States.” Serge cares that he chooses wisely when turning people now, the unfortunate fiascos that can occur when you turn too many has been a lesson learned over the decades. He turns to look at you with a proud smile. “She would be amazing.”

You turn to look at Max with confused eyes, waiting for him to say “ha, gotcha,” but he doesn’t and that makes you gasp. “Wait…are you joking? Or - or are you for real? Like- like vampires exist and I- you are one?” You ask Max, still waiting for him to burst out laughing and say it’s all a joke.

“It’s real sweet cheeks.” Max reaches for your hand again. “It’s the reason that I’ve not been able to move in with you yet. Serge isn’t my uncle, he’s my sire. He made me a vampire and I have to get permission from him to tell you about all this.”

You pull your hand away from his reach and stare at Max in shock. He's a vampire. He drinks blood. He wants you to become a vampire. You feel sick and dizzy and have a thousand different emotions. Your vision goes fuzzy and your eyes roll into the back of your head as you collapse.

That had not been the response Max was expecting. His inhumane speed keeps you from hitting the ground and he scoops you up to move you towards the sofa. Serge tuts and shakes his head. “Does she do this often?” He asks, unsure of how well you would take transforming into a creature of the night if you fainted at the news. 

“No. She’s shocked.” Max huffs, caressing your cheek and looking down at you worriedly once he’s got you settled.

“Well she might be shocked but you have two options now. Either she’s changed or you kill her. You know the sacred rule…no human can know about us. It’s one or the other and if you can’t make a choice, I’ll have to kill her.” Serge declares.

“I’ll change her.” Max promises, knowing that he can’t kill you, not when he loves you like he does. “When she wakes up and accepts what I am, she’ll want to be changed.” 

Serge nods and turns to walk out of the room, bored with the scene. “See that she does, Maxwell.” He warns his vampiric offspring. “Or I will destroy her.” 

****

You wince when you come around, the bright light hurting your eyes and you hear Max shut the curtain as you open your eyes properly. “Max?” You croak and Max kneels beside you.

“I’m here baby.” He promises and you swallow, your throat dry. “Here.” Max says as he hands you a glass of water and you shift to sit up. 

You take a few gulps and hand the glass back to Max. “I had the weirdest dream. That you were a vampire and you -” You glance around the drawing room and back to Max. “Oh God. It’s true. You - oh my God.” You choke, trying to back away from him.

“It’s okay.” He soothes you, keeping his voice low. “Nothing has changed. I’ve been a vampire this entire time and nothing’s happened, right? I just can now offer you one hell of a health plan, eternal life.” He jokes, sending you a reassuring smile. “I love you baby, and I want to be with you forever.”

“I thought - I thought you were proposing.” You choke and Max chuckles, “I kinda am. This is the vampy way of proposing.” He winks at you and you shake your head, “that’s why- you don’t eat. You don’t sleep. You - oh God. How didn’t I see something was off?”

“Because I didn’t want you too, baby.” Max reaches for you, wanting to caress your face, but you rear back from him. Making him frown, upset that you think he would hurt you. He’s never wanted to hurt you and he never would. “It’s okay baby, I’m still me. The same man you love.”

"I - I need time to think." You murmur, head hurting from trying to process that Max is a fucking vampire, and you struggle to reconcile that the man you adore also kills people. "I - what would - if you were to change me...what happens?"

“Well….” It’s good that you are asking questions. “You would be a vampire. You’d be extremely thirsty for a few days, but I will make sure you have exactly what you need.” He promises. “You’d have better hearing, vision, and strength. You wouldn’t need any sleep. You would be the best version of yourself.”

You bite your lip as you process his words. "What about...what about having kids? Would we be able to have a family?" You ask him. You had never discussed kids. You've tried but Max has always distracted you and now you know why he did.

“Baby….” Max sighs, blowing out a sound even though he doesn’t need to breathe. “I can’t have kids. I could never have kids. Not since we met.” He won’t mention that it’s because he’s technically dead. “But we could have our own version of kids. Anyone we change.”

“Oh." You sound so defeated, almost devastated. You have been so focused on your career that you always put the children talk on the back burner but you wanted the choice. Now that's being taken away from you if you want to stay with Max. "What - what would happen if I wasn't changed?" You ask and Max closes his eyes for a second, "I have to change you...or kill you." He barely breathes out the second part but you hear it. "If I don't, then Serge will." He admits and you nod slowly. 

"I love you. I do. So much. I- I don't know." You confess and Max knows he made a mistake bringing you here. 

"It's okay, sweetheart. I'll take you home. I'll - I can sneak you out and hide you. Serge won't find you." He promises and you reach for his hand, reminded that this is Max. 

"What would happen to you?" You aren't stupid, you know there'd be consequences. 

“I'd be killed but I've had a good life. I - you made it better than I could've hoped." He reveals and you feel your eyes sting at the thought of him being killed. 

"Max. No. No. I - I'll do it. You can change me." You tell him and he shakes his head, "I can't. I know you don't want it. I can see it in your eyes. I can't change you and see you hate me in a decade when you realize how lonely this life can be." He admits and you squeeze his hand, "I want it." You try to convince yourself and him, "don't you want to spend forever with me?" You ask, wondering if he's changed his mind.

“I will have spent forever with you.” He’s grateful that Serge had disappeared to do whatever so he could talk to you. “My last days will be with you. That’s all I want.” He promises. He knows he can’t turn you against your will and you don’t love him enough to give up your humanity. “Quick. We need to leave now.” He tells you, standing up and pulling you up with him. “I’ll keep you safe.”

"No. No. Max- I won't - I can't let you die because of me. Please. Change me now." You beg, pushing on his chest as much as you can and tilting your head so you can display your neck to him. "I can't let you die baby. Just bite me, now. Please. Before I change my mind and freak out. Do it."

Max loves you even more for begging him to change you to save his life. He cups your cheek and smiles at you gently, ignoring the panic in your words and leaning in to kiss your lips. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.” He orders you, looking deep into your eyes and hypnotizing you with his powers or persuasion. “You will sleep now.”

You collapse into his arms, passed out as you unwillingly fall asleep. Max carries you through the house, abandoning your things to prioritize your safety and he is quick to get into the car and drive you to the airport. He needs to get you out of Romania before Serge realizes you are gone. His sire has always had such a strong conviction to vampiric law and Max knows he won't rest until order is restored. 

Max keeps you asleep until he's laying you down in your bed and he pulls out his phone to call that witch girl who he fucked a few years ago. He needs a protection spell on your apartment. When you wake up, you're extremely confused to find yourself back in your bed and Max nowhere to be found. "Max?" You call out, throat dry, and you start to sob when you realize what he's done. He's going to be killed and it's all your fault.

Max has been listening outside your apartment door, waiting for you to wake up. Since the witch has placed the spell on your dwelling, even he can’t cross your threshold. A horrible side effect, but he knows he will do whatever he needs to keep you safe. He can’t even touch the door to knock. “It’s okay, baby.” He closes his eyes and sighs, standing back a few feet from your door. “You’re safe.” He hears you rush out of your bedroom and fling the door open. “Don’t step outside!” He barks harshly. “You’re safe inside. Serge can’t reach you there.”

You don’t cross the threshold but you stare at him with tears running down your cheeks, “why? Why did you do this? I- I wanted you to change me. Now you’re going to be killed. I can’t lose you. I love you, Phillips and I - I’m so sorry. I should’ve said yes. I should’ve let you change me from the get go.”

Max shakes his head. “I love you too, sweet cheeks.” He promises you. “That's why I can’t change you.” He shrugs slightly. “You want kids, and to grow old, and I can’t do any of those things.” He swallows harshly. “I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure Serge doesn’t hurt you, even if it means that he has to kill me.” He wishes he could kiss you one last time, but the kiss he gave you while you were asleep will have to do. “Don’t be sorry, and don’t blame yourself.”

You shake your head, "don't do this. Please." You choke, clinging to the door frame as you stay in the apartment and Max blows you a kiss, "I love you, baby. Be good." He says and walks down the hall, letting you know he's going to sacrifice himself. You sob, falling to the floor and you can't let him do this. You rush out of your apartment down the hall towards where Max just disappeared down the stairwell when the elevator dings. 

"Silly girl. He was trying to protect you and you just ruined his plan. Nevermind, it makes my job easier." Serge chuckles, speeding towards you to grab your neck, making you cry out. "Max!"

Max hears Serge, growling and whipping around to race back down the hallway. Fear and anger when he sees his sire holding you by the neck makes Max snarl. His face shifting and transforming in the truly horrific visage of his true self, eyes yellow and bone structure heavy. “Let her go.” He growls, wishing you had never left the safety of the apartment.

“You can’t kill her, Max and she has to die. She knows the secret and she can’t be left alive. Either she dies or you do and I can’t lose you. You’re like a son to me. Just let me kill the silly girl. You’ll forget all about her in a few years and you’ll find another human.” Serge scoffs, squeezing your neck a little harder and you reach up to grab his forearms.

“No.” The growl is low, furious as Max speeds towards you and his sire. Reaching out and grabbing the older vampire’s arm, he twists it to make him drop you, lowering his shoulder to push the threat away from you as he hisses, his fangs descending, deadly sharp canines on display.

You gasp, backing up into the wall as Max grabs his maker and shoves him against the wall in your hallway. The drywall cracks and Max growls as he manages to wrap his hand around Serge’s throat. “You motherfucker.” He growls and squeezes as he fumbles to open his jacket. 

“She’s worth this, Max? If you kill me, you’ll die.” Serge reminds him.

“I don’t care.” Max snarls. “As long as she lives, I can die a happy man.” Instead of tearing Serge’s head off, Max lunges forward and sinks his teeth into the man’s throat, tearing it out and then pulls out the stake he had put in his jacket. Plunging it into his maker’s chest, fully prepared to die to keep you safe.

You scream as you watch Serge explode, blood covering the walls of your apartment hall and you shake your head. “Max no!” You cry, scared that he’s going to die because of you. “Why did you do that!” You shout, “You are going to - oh God. Max.” You fall to the floor when he turns around and you see him covered in blood.

He’s getting a few more seconds. Seconds he doesn’t want to waste. Grabbing you, Max hauls you close to him and presses his blood covered lips to yours. “I love you.” He promises, right before the pressure in his body builds to the point where he screams.

You cling to him, uncaring that he’s likely to explode in a spray of blood. You want to be close to him in his final moments, the life he sacrificed for yours. “I love you.” You cry as he screams until he slumps down beside you. He doesn’t explode, he collapses onto the floor unconscious and you sob, reaching for him to caress his cheek. His bone structure is still heavy, depicting his true nature until it starts to shift under your touch. “I’m so sorry, Max.” You sob, leaning down to press your face to his chest, mourning the man you love so dearly.

Long minutes pass. His body is still and unmoving. Changing back to the body of a normal man and not exploding into a bloody pile of goop like you had expected. You continue to sob against his chest until a strange sound captures your attention. One that you realize you had never heard before despite laying on his chest after sex. A tiny thud. Repeating again and again until it starts to resemble something you never thought you would hear. A heartbeat.

You pull back, looking down at Max in shock, and he inhales sharply after several seconds, spluttering as he chokes on a breath. "Max!" You cry, thinking something is wrong until he opens his eyes. "Max. Are you - are you okay?" You ask, hands covered in blood as you cup his cheeks.

Max grimaces, his head pounding in the first headache he’s had in…..since he was turned. “I- fuck-“ he gasps out, feeling his lungs start to burn from the lack of oxygen. “I’m- I’m human again.” He whispers, realizing what all of that must mean. 

You are in shock, your palm on his thumping heart and you look at him. “Max. You’re human.” You gasp, helping him to sit up and you know he has to be feeling everything all at once. “Are you okay?”

“I feel like shit.” Max admits and after he thinks about that for a moment, he starts to laugh. “Baby, I feel like shit!” He repeats, aware that he’s never felt like shit as a vampire. “Serge must have known that killing him wouldn’t kill me.” He realizes. “Motherfucker lied.”

You caress his cheek, “you’re human.” You are in shock and You surge forward to hug him. “You’re alive. Baby. Can I - you hungry?” You ask, wanting to look after him as much as possible.

Max wraps his arms around you and frowns slightly as his stomach growls. “I- yes?” It’s more of a question since he’s only experienced thirst since being changed. “I- oh my god, baby, I’m human. I-“ he chokes up and buries his face in your neck.

You caress his back, wondering if he’s happy or angry that he’s human. “Are you- are you upset that you don’t have - that you aren’t a vampire anymore?” You ask, unable to believe how warm he feels beneath your touch. You’ve never noticed that before.

“I don’t care about being a vampire.” That’s true, he realizes as Max pulls away to look into your eyes. “I want to be with you. Forever, for twenty years, it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you.”

Your lower lip trembles as you stare at him with tears in your eyes. “I love you Max. I want to be with you. I would’ve spent forever with you but I’m happy to spend the rest of my life with you.” You promise, “I just - I hope you don’t regret this.” You sigh, leaning in to softly kiss him.

“I’d never regret you, sweet cheeks.” Max promises you. “But I’m starving.” He groans. “And I’m so fucking sore. And my head hurts.”

“Do you want to shower and I’ll make you something to eat?” You ask, running your fingers through his blood soaked hair. “And I’ll get you some Tylenol.” You promise, knowing that he’s going to have to adjust to human life again.

Max grins, leaning in and kissing you again. “I fucking love you.” He breathes out. “That sounds like heaven. And then I want it see what human sex is like with you.” He teases, happy that he didn’t become a Jackson Pollock painting and he gets a second chance at being human, with you. “See if those swimmers work now.”

You chuckle, “well I have an IUD. Didn’t realize it was a waste of time, but let’s go get you that shower.” You say, shifting to stand up. “I love you, Max Phillips.” You say when he’s standing up and you guide him into your apartment, leaving the blood in the hall to deal with later and you shut the door, guiding Max to your bathroom. You turn on the water and work on stripping off his blood soaked clothes. “I’m so happy you’re alive. I- I should’ve stayed inside. I nearly lost you.” You choke, cupping his cheeks once he’s bare before you.

“Baby, I would do anything for you.” Max reminds you, holding onto your waist. “Even die.” He chuckles. “But I’m glad that didn’t happen.” He admits, leaning in and sighing softly.

“Me too.” You murmur, working on removing your own clothes and you guide him into the shower. “Temperature okay?” You ask and he nods. You grab the body wash you’ve kept in your shower for him and you work on washing him, loving the way he groans when you rub his head. “My hero. Saving me. Sacrificing for me. You are incredible Max.” You whisper, wanting him to know how much you adore him.

Max hums, closing his eyes and enjoying the heat of the water and your hands on his skin. “You are worth it.” He murmurs quietly. “You’re worth everything, baby.”

You smile and kiss his chest, right above his now beating heart. You owe him your life and your humanity and you will love him until the day you die. You shift to rinse him off, working fast to clean yourself up. This isn’t sexual, purely comfort and you work fast until you are handing him a towel. “Get some sweats and I’ll make you some food. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup sound good?”

Groaning, his mouth practically waters at the idea of the simple meal. “That sounds amazing. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had that?” He asks. “I will eat anything that you want to fix happily.”

You smile, happy to look after him after he’s taken such good care of you. You quickly dress in your shorts and tank top and make your way into the kitchen to prepare dinner for you both. You are surprisingly hungry after nearly being killed and it doesn’t take long for you to have the meal on the kitchen table. “Max. It’s ready!” You shout as he comes out of your bedroom.

Max stumbles out of the bedroom, his headache still a dull throb and he’s actually used the bathroom for the first time in years. “It smells amazing.” He’s drooling as he sits down and looks at the deceptively simple meal. “Thank you, baby.”

You know it’s a big adjustment for him but you’ll be there every step of the way. You set the Tylenol down with the bottle of water and tell him to drink. “Drink, baby. Take some Tylenol. You have been through a lot.” You say and he follows your order, taking two pills and swallowing them before he digs into the meal.

It tastes so good that Max can’t help but moan and groan over the meal. “Oh my god.” He moans, chewing his bite of grilled cheese and taking a spoonful of the soup. “I could eat this everyday for the rest of my life.”

You chuckle, “you can if you want. Maybe we can go back to those restaurants and you can actually eat your steak. Or try something different.” You suggest, loving the way he’s enjoying the food. You’ve never seen him like this before. You finish your meal after he does, full and suddenly exhausted. “I’ll put this in the dishwasher. Go get ready for bed. I’ll be right in.”

It’s strange to be tired after years of not sleeping. Pretending to rest while he lays with you to make you think he had just woken up. Now, his entire body feels like it’s about to shut down and he still wants to touch you. He follows your orders and goes to get ready for bed, using the tooth brush that he leaves here.

You watch him come back into your bedroom and you pull the covers over, letting him get under them with you and you shift to pull him close, throwing your leg over his hip. “You have freckles.” You murmur, tracing his chest. “You didn’t have those before.”

He chuckles a little self consciously, wondering if the human version of Max Phillips will be exciting enough for you. “Yeah.” He hums. “I used to go to the beach a lot. Oh shit, I can be out in the sun for more than ten minutes again.” He realizes, eyes widening. “Can we go to the beach this weekend?” He asks excitedly.

You smile, “of course babe. We can go.” You promise and lean in to press your lips to his collarbone. “I’m so happy you’re alive. Vampire or human. I don’t think I could ever survive without you, Phillips. I love you so much.” You confess and lean in to kiss his jaw. “You saved me.” You murmur against his skin, “let me - I want to suck your cock.” You say, grinding yourself against him.

“Baby….” He whines, loving the idea. “Okay but you can't let me cum.” He tells you breathlessly. “I don’t know if I can stay hard. And I want you to cum too.

You nod, knowing that Max’s endless fucking isn’t possible now that’s he’s human but you don’t care. You love him more than anything else. You shift to pull the covers back, loving that he’s already half hard as you carefully pull down his sweats after he lifts his hips. You settle between his legs, spitting into your hand and you grip his cock, looking at those beautiful dark eyes as you lean in to wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

“Baby, I fucking love your mouth. It’s so good for so many things. Kissing me, sucking my cock, telling me that you love me.” He groans. “I want to tell you everyday how much I love your mouth.”

You moan around him, loving how he twitches inside of your mouth, and you work the base with your fingers, letting your saliva drip down to your digits. You groan when he grabs the back of your neck and you think he's going to push you further down his cock but he pulls you off. You whine, saliva dripping down your chin, "baby. Why?" You huff despite your cunt dripping for him.

“Want to be inside you.” He pants. “Want to feel you around my cock when I cum.” There’s enough time later on for him to let you swallow his cum. Right now he’s wanting to live every day like it’s his last and make sure you know how much he adores you.

You shift, pushing your shorts down and moving fast to straddle him, wanting to take care of him after his body has gone through so much. You reach down to grip his cock. "I love you." You murmur as you start to sink down onto his cock.

“Oh fuck baby, oh fuck.” Max groans, his toes curling up. “I love how you feel. It’s so, it’s so good. You're hotter. Wetter somehow.”

“You are hotter.” You tell him, “you feel - you feel so good Max.” You moan, caressing his bare chest to place your palm over his pounding heart as you start to move. You moan his name and he hisses when you clench around him as you start to bounce on his cock.

It’s crazy to feel lightheaded and out of breath. Feeling more now that he was human again. His fingers curl into the flesh at your hips and he moans your name. “Fuck baby, your so pretty.”

You preen at his praise, making you whimper his name and you rock a little faster. He is so soft beneath your touch and you never realized how cold he was until you feel his heated skin beneath your fingertips. “God, I love you Max. So much. Need - gonna make me -” You reach between you to rub your clit, so close to your orgasm.

He watches for a moment, obsessed with how you look. Then he’s slapping your hand away to rub your clit himself. He wants to be the one to make you cum. Loving the way you immediately buck when he takes over.

Your mouth falls open as you rock on his cock. “Yes baby. Oh shit. Yes. I’m gonna - fuck. You’re gonna make me cum.” You hiss, your thighs shaking as you grip his cock inside of you. Soaking him as you cum and you slump forward into his chest.

“Oh god, oh god, that feels so good.” He moans, wrapping his arms around you and sighing softly. He’s almost content to just stay like this but he wants to feel an orgasm as a human again so he starts to rock his hips up slowly. “I love you, baby. Nothing’s gonna keep us apart.”

You know there’s so much that could keep you apart but you’ll fight tooth and nail to make sure you spend the rest of your lives together. He rocks up into you and you get yourself together so you can rock down onto his cock, loving the way he hisses when your walls grip him. “Cum for me, baby. Wanna feel it.” You tell him, “wanna feel you cum inside of me.”

Max whimpers, eyes closed and he gasps out your name. Knowing that he should have died today, but he’s been given a new lease on life. “I love you.” He moans, thrusting up into you and painting your walls with his hot seed.

You moan, loving how it feels and you caress his chest as he twitches inside of you. “I love you.” You murmur, wanting to say it over and over now that you’re both safe. You aren’t sure how long you stay like that, just breathing each other in as he softens inside of you

Max’s eyes close almost immediately, his arms wrapped around you and he breathes you in. Smiling softly as he truly gets to inhale your scent. He might not have eternal life or everlasting youth anymore, but he has something much better, you.

#pedro pascal #max phillips #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips smut #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips imagine #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips bloodsucking bastards

[juletheghoul]

A/N; I’ve decided to try and post a bit more consistently. The plan, for now, is to post twice a week—a series chapter update, as well as one of the standalone pieces I have in the works. My confidence lately has been the pits, but I’m not going to let it ruin my life, or my desire to write. This is fun, and I still want to share the things that I create. If you’re still here and reading, thank you, hope you enjoy 💜 (p.s., I know the picture I used isn't Max, but that's how I see this version of him. A little younger, a little leaner-hungrier) (p.p.s, right now there is no plan for a sequel, but I never say never. Asks are always open, and so are the dms)

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Word Count: 8.2K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) mentions of loneliness, and alcoholism, language, He's a vampire (went with classic vampire lore for this one, needs a coffin, no sunlight), piv sex (wrap it up!), vaginal fingering, violence, talk of death, blood and some non-graphic gore, period piece

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

It starts with a prickle to the back of your neck, the hairs there standing on end, a shiver running along your spine. 

The main thoroughfare is busy as you make your way home, the lamplights illuminating the steps of your usual path. It's different tonight though, despite knowing the area like the back of your hand and recognizing more than a few faces as they pass, there is a tinge of something threaded through it all. 

You find yourself scanning every shadowy corner, peering through the windows on the businesses you pass, hoping to spot whatever it is that has your blood pounding loudly in your ears. 

Do I want to know? 

You catch yourself from stumbling at the thought, your imagination conjuring images of a dark, evil figure lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. You shake it off, scolding yourself for letting the fear get the better of you. 

Your home is visible now, just at the top of the hill and the relief is mounting, counting down the steps until you can tuck yourself safely inside, and lock the world out. 

“Excuse me, Miss.” His voice is low and pleasant, but it sends you a good few inches into the air from the fright. “My deepest apologies, I did not mean to scare you.” Your heart is pounding, your hand pressed up against your chest in some unconscious attempt to steady it. You let out a slow breath before answering, laughing shakily as you gather your thoughts. 

“Oh my, forgive me-” You let out another loud sigh, “You gave me such a fright.” You smile up at him out of habit, taking in his handsome face and worried expression. 

“No no, please–accept my sincerest apology.” He bows slightly, his head low in deference and you wave it away. “I saw you from across the street, and I thought, I simply must introduce myself.” He smiles now, and it’s a little jarring, his teeth are perfectly straight and bright white. “I’m Max.” He holds his hand out and you take it without thought, watch him almost in a trance as he brings it up to press it to his lips. The kiss is cool, and it brings curiously vulgar thoughts to the forefront of your mind. He tilts his head, expectant. 

“Oh! Sorry yes, It’s nice to meet you Max-” You cannot help but watch his mouth as you introduce yourself. “I’ve not seen you in town before.” You leave it there and his smile widens, his eyes scanning all around taking in your surroundings. You don’t fail to notice the expensive cut of his suit, the fabric rich, decadent.

“I’m new in town you see, just arrived this morning.” He towers over you, broad of shoulder, slim through the hip. “I see you are unaccompanied, which shocks me.” He offers his arm and again, and you move to take it without much thought. “May I walk you home?” 

“Yes, of course.” You agree, and begin to lead the way, ignoring every warning young women seem to learn practically at the breast, calmly walking with him up the street towards your home. “Where did you come from?” Your attention turns to the feel of his arm in yours, solid and strong underneath his layers. 

“Oh, I come from all over, I'm somewhat of a roamer.” His smile is roguish and you get the impression he might be remembering another young lady on another street, in an altogether different part of the world. “How long has this been your home?” He guides you gently as you make your way up the hill. 

“I have lived here all my life.” 

“Do you like it here?” He doesn’t ask it unkindly, there’s a genuine curiosity there. 

“I like it fine enough, but I have always wanted to see other parts of the world. It's difficult though.” You sigh, he frowns in the corner of your eye. 

“How so?” 

“Well, it is difficult to travel unaccompanied–it also requires funds I currently do not possess.” You laugh a bit awkwardly, surprised with your own candor. 

“Oh-” He seemed taken aback for a moment and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes, men usually don’t pay much attention to the struggles of women. “-yes of course. How ignorant of me.” He was frowning at his feet. 

“This is me.” You pulled him away from his thoughts, gesturing to your house. 

“This is lovely, you and your family must be very happy here.” He smiled warmly, guiding you up the steps to the large wrap around porch. 

“Yes well, we make do.” Your tight lipped smile wasn’t getting past him, his hand held yours for a moment, pulling your attention from your door to him.

“I don’t mean to overstep–are you well?” He held your hand in both of his now, a worried expression plastered on his handsome face. 

“Yes-I, I’m sorry, yes. I’m fine-” He watched you intently, studying and suddenly the words were spilling from your lips, unbidden. “-I’m just alone most of the time, my father works, or drinks, and my mother disappears to avoid the melancholy. My sister is wed and living her marital bliss across the city and I am sort of left to keep everything together.” The thoughts were always present, hiding in your throat, in the pit of your stomach, in the clenching of your jaw when the house was continuously empty. It was a welcome respite to be able to let go of them, for a moment at least. 

He hummed his acknowledgement, the worried frown in place. 

“That is unfortunate.” He was choosing his words carefully. “If you are partial, I would very much like to spend more time with you.” He kissed the back of your hand once more and a momentary madness took hold of you. 

“Would you like to come in?” His eyebrows raised and you hurried to clarify, “I could make you a cup of tea, maybe you could tell me about your travels?” He nodded graciously and a slow creeping smile overtook the frown as he walked up the stairs towards your now open door. His eyes flashed with something but it was gone just as quickly–no sign of danger as he crossed the threshold. 

“You’re too kind, I would love to.” You closed the door behind him. 

He seemed bigger once inside, somehow broader than before. His eyes were bright within the dim foyer, the honey brown of them alert and lively and lovely. You led him towards the sitting room with a shy smile, the thrill of having a gentleman caller in your home without a chaperone sending your heart a flutter. 

Maybe I’m too trusting.

The thought crossed your mind, taking up space until his smile shooed it away once more. 

“How do you take your tea? Or would you maybe prefer something stronger? I think there’s some brandy hidden away for visitors.” Your hands felt numb, the nerves of being alone with him catching up to you. 

“What would you prefer?” He made himself comfortable on the settee, and you noticed his choice with interest. 

“Well, the brandy is rather nice.”

“Brandy it is. Can I help with anything?” He made to get up and you hurriedly put your hands up to stall him. 

“Nonsense, one moment.” You walked away quickly, ignoring the pounding of your heart and soon you were standing in front of him once more, brandy glasses in hand. He took one from you graciously and once you were seated beside him, you took a generous gulp, wincing slightly at the burning in your throat. He swirled the drink in hand, bringing it to his nose, taking in the aroma and for a moment you felt like your father, just knocking it without savoring. 

“It smells wonderful-” He brought the glass to his lips and you did your best to pace yourself. 

“So, tell me about yourself.” You put the glass down and waited, enjoying the feeling of warmth spreading throughout your limbs already. 

“Oh no, I’d rather hear about you.” He placed his glass next to yours, leaning back with open arms facing you. “I’m very curious as to how no one has snatched you up just yet.” He said it with a friendly smile. “You must be of age to marry?” 

“Yes, I am no more wise than you are on the subject.” You reached for the glass once more, needing something in which to focus the nervous energy in your hands, which led you to take another obscene gulp. Half your glass already gone, what would he think of you?

“Have you had many would-be callers? I would have thought your father would be fighting them off with a bat.” He picked up his glass, swirling it as he spoke. 

“Not really, there was a young man who came calling, but he was indifferent as to which sister would take him, so he left empty-handed.” Your nerves calmed with the third gulp, so did the burning and now there was a pleasant, full body buzz flowing through your veins. 

“Well. The men here must be blind.” His eyes flashed again, something vulgar and exciting all at the same time. He put his glass back down, moving so he was sitting a little closer. “Your father would have trouble keeping me away.” He took the now empty glass from your hand and set it next to his rather full one. 

“Why’s that?” You watched him with baited breath. 

“Well, because I would be ruthless in my pursuit.” He moved closer still. “Would woo you tirelessly.” His hand came up, his thumb resting softly on the plush of your bottom lip. You sucked in a breath, acutely aware of the hot spike of arousal in your belly. 

“And–and if I were to deny you?” your voice was curiously breathless, such was the effect he had on you.

“Would you?” He moved closer, his eyes fixed on where his thumb rested on your lip, “Would you deny me?” He was so close, the tip of his aquiline nose nuzzling softly against your own. His lips so close it would only take a nudge to kiss him.

“No-” You knew you wouldn’t, this enigmatic man who’d appeared out of thin air, appeared out of some long forgotten dream, or perhaps a prayer. “I would not.” 

“May I kiss you?” He nudged your nose with his once more, the clean scent of him engulfing your senses. 

“Please-” You didn’t get the chance to finish the word before his lips pressed against yours with an ardor that burned through your whole body. His fingers curled around the nape of your neck, caressing the sensitive skin there while his tongue sought entrance to dance with yours. He pulled a whimper from somewhere in your throat before he pulled away, kissing your cheek, and then again, just below your ear.

You’d been kissed before, but never like this. 

He smiled, his gaze roving over your face greedily, no doubt taking in the lust blown expression shining back at him. 

You gulped. 

“I would decidedly not deny you Sir.” You let out a shaky laugh, feeling as the excitement and arousal flowed through you. Dampening your undergarments, hardening your nipples. 

“I thought not.” His thumb came up to brush against your lip once more, his eyes focused on your face so intently, it felt as though everything else had disappeared. 

“Take me to bed.” The words spilled out of your mouth unbidden, shocking even you and your stomach sank well into the floor when his eyebrows raised. “I-I’m sorry to be so vulgar-”

“Do not apologize to me, there is no sin in desire.” He stood, holding his hand out for you to stand before him. “There is no vulgarity in pleasure between two people, so long as both are willing.” He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, moving to your mouth once more to take the remaining coherent thoughts right out of your head. 

-

Up until today, your life had been, for the most part, predictable. There had been a basic formula to how your hours were spent, where you’d go, what you’d see, even who’d you speak to. You’d thought about it that very morning, the errands you’d have to run-what you’d wear. Whether you’d see your father intoxicated or not. 

Seeing a beautiful, naked man was not on the list of possibilities. For that gorgeous, naked man to have you practically mewling underneath him would never have crossed your mind, at least not that early in the day. 

The bed creaked with every thrust of his hips between your legs, his cock hard and heavy inside the wet clutch of your cunt. 

“Does that feel good?” He huffed out a laugh, his white teeth flashing as he moved a little harder. It was hard to articulate exactly how good it felt and he took your quiet moans as a challenge. “More? Is that what you want my darling?” his elbows came up to rest beside your ears, bracketing your head before he snapped his hips faster, smiling at the way your mouth opened in a silent scream. “There it is, that’s what you like huh?” His voice should have been breathless with the amount of exertion he was exhibiting–but every thrust knocked any coherent thought right out of your head. He shifted to one side, reaching down to slide his fingers around the pearl of your pleasure, thrusting you headlong into your climax. He slowed down, grinding slowly while you crested, no doubt making a mess of the sheets underneath you. 

“I could stay here for days.” He punctuated his words with a delicious swirl of his hips, burying his face into the crook of your neck while you caught your breath, your hands finding their way into his hair. 

“If it’s to be like this every single time–I’m inclined to let you.” You pulled his face up to kiss, needing to taste his mouth again. 

“Oh it definitely would.” He bit his lip, watching you as he spoke. 

“You’d ruin me for all others.” You ran your nails down the muscles of his back, feeling how they corded and bunched with each movement, the coolness of him perfectly complementing your almost feverish warmth. 

“I plan on it, plan on spoiling you rotten.” He kissed you quickly before pulling away and for a moment you thought he might spill his seed on your belly, but he made to move you.

“I would ask you–” Your tone made him pause, a frown on his face. “Beg of you, not to spill inside, I don’t wish to have any children.” It might have ruined the mood of the night, but a child would have ruined your entire life. His features relaxed, a soft smile blooming on his handsome face. 

“I cannot make children, I am sterile.” He pulled you up from your place, both of you kneeling on your bed, his tone sincere. “And even if I could, do you think I would just abandon you?” His hands caressed your back, moving down to hold onto your backside. It was so lovely to have intimacy like this, the loneliness of your days highlighted now in the comfort of his touch. 

“Well, to be quite honest I’m not sure what you’d do. I’ve only just met you–” You sighed, his mouth kissing a trail from your shoulder up to the sensitive skin of your neck, “-you should know, I don’t usually do this. I’m not in the habit of taking men into my bed so quickly.” Your fingers curled in the short locks of his hair. 

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, pretty.” His lips were still pleasantly cool, all of him was. “I just want to make you feel good.” His hands came up to cradle your jaw before he licked into your mouth, giving you the kind of kiss you’ve only dreamt about in the dark quiet hours. “Now turn around, I want to take you from behind.” he bit your lip, a tiny little nip that had you dripping and you turned to obey. 

His big palm pressed against your spine, pushing your top half down into the mattress before he grabbed your hips, pulling you to him a little rougher than you expected. It made you gasp and within a moment he sheathed himself in your tight heat. A hard thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs. 

“Your wet little cunt is dripping around me-” He sounded as wrecked as you felt, his words fueling the fire of your arousal, “-come up here.” He pulled you up, his arm wrapped around your middle to press you up against the solid wall of his chest, his chin instantly settling on your shoulder, lips pressed against your ear as he set a brutal pace. He sang the song of his pleasure directly into your ear, it flowed all around you, combining with the wet obscene sounds of your joining to push you further and further into a bigger, more intense climax. 

One of his hands moved down, slipping between the lips of your sex to pull you apart, the other sliding up to palm your breast. With a few perfect circles you screamed, digging your fingers into his arm as you clenched around him.

There was a sting. 

A sudden sharp pain at your neck that pulled you out of the haze of pleasure for a moment before it was replaced with something otherworldly. A direct current flowing through your fingers and toes, through your nipples, through the gates of heaven between your legs. 

It was enough to make you lightheaded. 

You blinked, finding yourself laying back on your bed with Max standing near the door, fixing his overcoat. 

How did you get dressed so fast? Why am I so exhausted?

You tried to call out to him, surprised to find your limbs heavy, your eyes fluttering closed. 

“Sleep now, my love.” You heard him speak, his voice sounding so far away. “Sleep, I will see you soon.” A cool, feather light kiss was pressed to your brow before the world went dark. 

-

Whether it was the sunlight streaming in through the lace curtains, or the nightmare, or possibly a combination of both that pulled you out from the depths of sleep, you’d never truly know.  A vision of something hunting, something tearing at flesh, a bone crushing bite flitting through your mind in those first few seconds upon waking making you shudder and turn towards the darker side of the room, avoiding the glaring light in your eyes.

What a horrible dream—wait, what happened again?

It had just been there but now it felt like mist, dissipating far too quickly for you to grab a hold of. 

It was gone.

A knock at your door had any remaining musings about it evaporating into nothing. 

“Yes? Come in-“ You croaked out the words before clearing your throat. 

Your mother waltzed in, already dressed for the day making you frown. She was fussing at her skirts, unbothered—or uncaring that you were still in bed, instead she spoke about a trip she and your father were taking, how the house would be your responsibility for the next few days and that she would see you when she got back. She didn’t wait to hear your thoughts or concerns, or to even ask if you were feeling well, she was gone as quickly as she’d appeared. Leaving you still in bed, studying the time on your pocket watch with confusion. 

Something seemed off, a long stretch highlighted the pleasant soreness between your thighs and then his face popped into the forefront of your thoughts. How could you have forgotten? 

The events of the night before were crystal clear, to a point. You’d been walking home, he’d introduced himself and things had gone well. You’d invited him back to your home—to your bed. Everything was replaying as though you were reliving the night itself, up until he’d pulled that second climax out of you, after that, things were blurred. 

No.

Not just blurred, not just hazy. That would imply there were memories to fog up, this was something else, something aggravating. 

You let out a frustrated groan, tossing in your bed to bury your face into your pillows. 

I wonder where he is now, wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

The jaded, realistic part of your brain said don’t count on it, and after all, why would he care to come back? You’d opened up your doors and your legs, gave him everything you had to offer and he’d left without so much as a fare thee well. At least, not one that you could remember.

Face the facts, you gave it up, and now he’s gone.

-

You were out of breath and not for the first time since waking that morning. Your heart raced as you stopped just outside the general store, needing a moment before starting your usual trek up the hill. The night was blessedly cool, a gentle breeze ruffling the sleeves and collar of your dress and it was only while you were distracted that he found you once more.

“Hello my sweet, I hoped to find you out and about, and so I have.” He smiled his bright white smile, reaching out to bring your hand to his mouth. 

“Max-“ you frowned at him, unable to hide the shock of actually seeing him again. “I—hello, I’m sorry I-“ you floundered, unsure what to say. He seemed taken aback by your response.

“My apologies, did you not wish to see me again?”

“No! It’s not that, no I’m very glad I just—well to be perfectly blunt I didn’t actually think I would.” You blurted the words out, throwing caution to the wind. He brought that out in you it seemed.

“Oh-“ his eyebrows raised into his hairline. “I see. You thought I’d seduced you and then left you to pursue other conquests.” His tone was light, but there was a hurt in it and it made you feel guilty.

“Forgive me, I misjudged you. I am very happy to see you again.” You gave him your biggest smile and he returned it, forgiven.

“No need.” He kissed your hand once more, pulling you to hold onto his arm. “May I accompany you home?” He gestured towards the hill.

“Yes, that would be very helpful, I am feeling a bit lightheaded today I’m afraid.” You laughed, lighthearted but he didn’t join.

“Are you well?” He matched your pace, pulling you slowly towards the house.

“Oh yes, nothing to worry about. Must have been that brandy yesterday. Doesn’t tend to agree with me.” You patted his arm and he dropped the subject.

“Aside from the brandy, how has your day been?” He smiled warmly, his stride slowing down to match yours.

“Well enough.” You sighed, “My mother and father have gone away for a few days, so I have been alone.” You tried to keep your voice neutral but his expression told you he wasn’t buying it. “It is the way things are.”

“Do they not worry about you?” His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion. “Do they not care?”

“I’d rather not know the answer to those questions.” You left the rest unsaid, he didn’t press the issue. “Let’s speak of happier things. How have you been settling in? Are you close by?”

“Yes, just down the lane, a street over. My house is nicely settled but my days are too busy to go out and meet my neighbours. Thankfully I’ve met you though.”

“It isn’t a very big place, there are people no doubt dying to meet you.” You thought about the debutants, the rich single ones who would have taken one look at Max, and gobbled him up. 

“Anyone in particular I should avoid?” He said it conspiratorially, leaning into you and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“No one too villainous.” You patted his arm as you reached the little walkway outside your house. “Come in, sit with me a while.”

“Of course, I’d love to, I need to hear all the local gossip.” 

-

You’d really only meant to invite him in for conversation this time. To have him sit with you in the dim light of your sitting room, listening to him speak about any and everything but somehow- you’d found yourself underneath him once more. 

Your face was pressed against your pillows, your hands like talons, gripping onto your sheets while he straddled your thighs. His hands were holding the globes of your backside open while his cock speared into you again and again. 

He kept your legs closed making his sex feel so much bigger, made it feel like he was splitting you open in the best way. 

You panted into the fabric, dampening it with your breath as he fucked into you—moving your body a fraction with every thrust, the friction of it against your nipples made you ache with arousal. 

“You’re so wet for me my sweet, so tight around my cock.” He spread you open lewdly and you knew he was staring at the place you were joined, no doubt watching himself disappear into your body. “You’re going to milk me dry—reach down and touch yourself, I want you to come before I do.“ he sped up, groaning when you clenched around him. 

You swallowed thickly as you reached down to obey him, shocked at how much arousal he's pulled out of you, feeling the soaked-through patch of the sheet on the back of your hand. 

It only takes a moment, your fingers slipping through your folds with a well practiced swirl and your body tightens up, the coil winding tighter and tighter and you feel him press his chest to your back, his breath in your ear and when the pleasure finally bursts like a firework—a sting.

Euphoria—a wet gush somewhere below you and a pained moan from you, or him, maybe both of you, it’s hard to tell.

You blink.

Or, you try to blink. 

Your eyelids are so heavy, it’s hard to open them but you finally do. Light is streaming in through the window, that cannot be?

Your brain feels slow, like molasses on a cold day, your limbs are so heavy and it takes what feels like hours before you can lift your arm to check the time. 

It is well past noon, and it doesn’t make sense. 

There’s a note on the table where your watch is and you stare at it for a moment, trying with all your might to read the words;

It was lovely to see you again my darling, I had a wonderful time. If you’re partial I would love to call on you again. I hope you slept well, you looked so peaceful when I left. See you soon.  Max

You put the note down and focused on gathering your strength, ignoring the ache in your body, and the fear in your gut.

-

You moved at a glacial pace, both physically and mentally and you ignored the deep-rooted fear in your belly, that you’d caught the coughing sickness. 

Does it start like this? Will I feel weaker and weaker until I cannot move? When does the coughing start? 

You shuddered and shook your head, afraid of the loops your mind was jumping through, trying with all your might to focus on the tasks at hand. Your room needed to be tidied, the linens on your bed had to be cleaned and so you went about stripping the bed. A few drops of something dried a dark brown had stained part of the sheet, your stomach sank further still when you realized it might be blood. 

Okay, just calm down. Everything will be fine, you are not sick.

You gathered the sheets, and your strength, and went about doing what needed to be done.

It took a long time, too long and instead of heading out to run your errands you decided to stay in. Make yourself something warm and hearty for dinner, make yourself a tonic. That would have to work right? 

The sun set as you finally settled in to sit by the fire for the evening, falling into your fathers chair with a groan. The doorbell rang though and you seriously debated not answering, your eyes shut tight, the internal battle raging between your health, and your manners.

“My sweet? Are you well? It’s Max-“ he spoke loudly and your heart raced, making the decision for you. 

“Yes! One moment Max!” You rose unsteadily, inching your way towards the door as quickly as you could with how you were feeling. His face lit up when you opened the door, it fell soon after though, seeing the strain of it plain on your face. 

“Oh–” He made his way past you into the foyer. “-Are you quite well?” He moved to help you over to the chair, kneeling before you once you were seated.

“No Max, I’m afraid I’m a bit under the weather.” You tried to keep your voice light, tried to avoid his penetrating gaze. “You shouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t want you to catch whatever it is.” You pulled the light blanket higher up on your shoulders.

“Oh I very much doubt I could catch anything you might have.” He took hold of your hand, kissing the back of it quickly before moving to sit in the chair opposite. “What are you feeling?” His brow was furrowed, the gears in his mind turning smoothly.

“I feel tired.” The words were a sigh, compounding the sentiment. “Just bone tired, almost as though I cannot catch my breath.” Your hand came up to rest on your chest as you spoke. “My thoughts are slow, every part of me feels like it’s been slowed down—including my wits I think.” You took a deep breath and let out a deep sigh. “Worst is I cannot contact my mother and father, I fear something may happen to me while they are away.” 

“I can stay with you for a few hours, but something tells me you’re going to be just fine.” He winked and you couldn’t help but smile at his optimism. “Do you need anything? I can make myself useful.”

A thought popped into your head then, a fear—the fear.

“Would you mind laying with me for a time? In my bed? Just laying and talking?” It felt almost pathetic to ask him, this young, vibrant, healthy man—spending his night with a young, possibly very sick woman. 

“Of course my darling, I would be happy to. Come, I will help you.”

-

To your credit, you’d both laid there in the soft candlelight for a long time, talking about all of the different places he’d been and all of the different places you wanted to visit. He made you laugh, made you forget about how horrid you felt; made you feel special and wanted and so it inevitably led to you both being naked in your bed. 

Your feelings of weakness were now replaced with a mounting pleasure. His mouth was a steady suck at your nipple, his tongue circling the sensitive tip mercilessly while his hand worked away between your spread legs. Two thick fingers pumping, a thumb gliding, his tongue–a gorgeous dance being led to the tune of your pleasure. 

His cock was flushed with blood, hard and heavy against your thigh and leaking his pearly arousal onto your skin. You couldn’t help but reach down and wrap your hand around it, collecting everything that leaked from the tip to give him a stroke; try to make him feel at least half as good as he was making you feel. 

He moaned onto your skin, his hips chasing the friction of your slick fist, quicker and quicker until he groaned deeply, spilling his passion onto your thigh. And then his eyes found yours, the whites of them gone–the whole of them blacker than night and terrifying and then you felt it. 

A prick. 

Strangely familiar. 

There was no time to dwell on any of it though because his fingers were still pumping, his thumb still swirling and the force of your climax was enough to make you scream, then the darkness came. 

-

Glimpses of light plagued you, much like the dreams. One moment you were being chased by some huge, unseen monster, skirts whipping behind you through the night, a bloody grin never far behind. Then you’d open your eyes and be tossing and turning, sweat soaked and feverish in your own bed. 

It felt like hours. 

Hours of running, hours of tormented sleep, hours of confusion and god knows what else. 

I’m dying.

The thought came to you during a precious moment of clarity and all it did was scare you. 

Your eyes opened again, the light had faded, was it night? How many hours, days had gone by?

“Max?” It felt like another dream, this one cruel because he was there, healthy and glowing and sitting by your side. 

“I’m here, my darling.” His voice cut through the delirium, his hand a cool respite from fire burning just underneath your skin.

“Max-” Your voice was a hoarse croak, “I-I think I’m dying.” Tears streamed down your face, leaning into his hand with the little strength you had left.

“Yes, you are my love, but you don’t have to.” He stroked your face, leaning close to press his lips to your feverish brow. “You have a choice.”

“I don’t understand-” Was this another dream?

“If I leave you now, you will be dead by morning.” His voice was steady, “But there is another way. I could make you like me and then we can be together forever.” 

You couldn’t die now, there was so much to do, so much to see, and Max–he could have been the great love of your life and it wasn’t fair. 

“Like you? Max, I don’t want to die.” The tears flowed faster, fear and despair running rampant. 

Why couldn’t I have met you years ago?

“You don’t have to, I can make you like me.” He lifted your hand in his, placing a soft kiss at your wrist. “Would you like that? Do you want to be with me forever? I cannot help until you say yes.” He wiped away the tears and waited.

“Yes Max, I want to be with you forever.” He smiled a sharp smile, and in a flash he was at your throat, his kiss had teeth and it made you whimper, made you close your eyes and fall limp in his arms. There was a moment when you thought you’d lost consciousness but then there was something in your mouth, a thick liquid crawling down your throat and into your bloodstream. It was a balm, something to soothe the ache and the pain but it turned to acid in a flash. The web of hurt spreading like a lightning strike and burning twice as hot. 

It was agony. 

You’d been burned once as a child, your mother had been ironing one of your fathers suits. The red hot iron had merely grazed your arm, but the pain lingered for days, caused you sleepless nights and tears to spare. 

Compared to this, that burn was a kiss. That burn was the soft caress of a lover, a cool scrap of silk against your skin. 

“Max, what is happening to me?” Your voice is a strangled cry, the linens under you felt like steel wool. He answers and he's so much closer than you expected him to be while you thrash blindly. 

“It is almost over my love, soon the pain will pass.” His hand found yours through the chaos of the pain, a lifeline in the middle of a deep, dark, ocean. 

-

It could have been minutes, or hours that passed. It could have been years, but eventually the storm abated, and with it went the pain. 

“Max?” Your fingers flew up to your mouth, pressing against your lips, shocked at the way your voice sounded. Still your voice, but somehow more. 

“Yes my love, I am here.” His voice sounded different too, so much clearer—everything sounded clear. Too clear, the sound of the floorboards creaking under his steps so much louder than you’d ever heard it. “You will adjust.” He crouched beside your place in the bed and your eyes widened when you took him in. It was as though he’d been hiding behind a paper screen before, the shape of him clear enough to distinguish him from another, but somehow vague. 

He was devastatingly handsome, his skin smooth as polished marble, his eyes every shade of honey brown at once. 

“What did you do to me?” You reached out to touch him and you noted the perfect skin of your hands, almost doll-like.

“What you asked,” he grasped your hand in his, placing a kiss on your palm. “I have made you like me. Come—get dressed and we will eat.”

His words were like a punch to the stomach, hunger spreading like a bruise throughout your body, the pain of it almost debilitating.

“I might faint of hunger Max, where will we eat?” You dressed as quickly as you could, ignoring the slight tremble in your hands.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find something.” He helped you dress, pulling you from what you’d come to believe was your deathbed and out into the night but before you’d made it out the door, you caught your reflection and gasped.

It was you, that was to be sure but it wasn’t the You you’d come to expect to see. The woman in the mirror has your face, and your eyes, your hair—but she was different. Her skin was perfect. Her eyes sparkled, her teeth shone so white.

 It was mesmerizing.

“Is that me?” You watched the reflection, her beauty shifted, something predatory in the eyes.

“Yes my love, that is you.” He placed a kiss on your neck. “Come, before the sun rises.” He pulled you away from the mirror, and into hell.

-

“It’s overwhelming, I know, but you will adjust, as I did.” His voice is the anchor, a tether holding you from getting lost in the chaos. Has it always been this bad? This loud? Your feet carry you through the streets, with his hand guiding you along and the closer you get to the thick of it–to the crowd milling about the high street where the worst it is. 

“I know my love–” His arm slips around your waist, pressing you close. “-Just a little further, and I will find you what you need.” Your stomach roils, the hunger-the thirst rips a swathe through your being. 

“Why am I so hungry Max?” You stumble over a loose cobble but he steadies you, lifting you back onto your feet as though you were made of paper and it almost scares you how strong he is. 

“Because you have not eaten.” His words are casual, a seemingly simple answer for a seemingly simple question. It didn’t feel simple though, not with the way you could barely concentrate. Everything seemed to be amplified, the dial on the radio turned to an uncomfortable volume and there was no way to turn it down. Distorted voices, an incessant thumping so loud it made you blink to its beat. 

Worst of all, was the smell. 

The city smelled rotten. The cloyingly sweet smell of overly ripe fruit, the sour smell of unwashed bodies, the moldy smell of old bread, hard packed dirt filled with worms, but threaded through it was the rich smell of butter and fine wine–the green of summer grass. Underneath everything though was something else, something mouth-watering–something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

He led you towards the park, the vast, open, green space where you would have never gone unaccompanied, much less at night. It was hard to feel afraid with Max though, it was hard to feel anything but intense hunger. 

“That one there is a good candidate.” He gestures to a middle aged man. “He won’t be missed.” He watched you, an encouraging smile on his handsome face, you frowned in response. 

“I don’t understand–” You looked at the man again, he must have been in his late forties, maybe even early fifties. 

“You are hungry my love, eat.” He gestures again and your stomach sinks. “Oh come now, no need to be coy with me my darling, I can feel your hunger.” He smiles not unkindly at what must be a shocked expression. “If it makes you feel any better, he’s the worst sort of person. I can hear it in his mind, believe me, you will be doing this world a favour.” He kisses the back of your hand, soothing. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Max.” Your hands tremble, “I cannot–” The man walks closer and the smell of him almost knocks you off your feet, the thumping is back and you’re horrified to realize it’s his blood. A thunderous sound pounding through his body and through your head, and before you realize what you’re doing, your feet are carrying you to him. 

It felt as though someone else was controlling you, something else entirely had taken over your senses, your limbs.

“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing.” The older man spots you then, his eyes light up with something altogether unwholesome, “What are you doing out this late, and all alone?” His eyes rake over your body in a way that would have scared you had you not been so focused on the sound his blood was making. 

“So… hungry…” You barely heard yourself over the sound of his heart, barely saw anything but the seemingly glowing network of veins in his skin, all of it a gorgeous lace pattern. 

“What’s that sugar-” He didn’t get to finish his question. Something in your body, something in your very being sprung out, a sudden, awful ache bloomed in your upper jaw before you bit into the salty flesh of his neck, piercing the brightest, thickest vein. 

Euphoria. 

Your body was curled around him, fingers digging into his arms, clutching him ever closer, your fingers so like the talons of some monstrous bird of prey.

He was silent as you took your fill, pull after pull of what tasted like the thickest, most delicious wine. 

“That’s enough my love, not too much.” Firm, strong hands managed to break your hold on the man much too soon. “You cannot drain him. I know, I know.” He soothed your pained expression, wiped at your mouth with his thumb, sticking it into his mouth with a sharp smile. “Believe me, it’s better to stay hungry than to kill outright. Could make you very sick. Come–let's go home.” He fussed at your clothes for a moment before dragging the man over to a bench. You glanced back at him as Max led you away, to anyone walking by, he was just some tired, old man—resting alone.

The walk back to his home was only slightly easier to handle, the sounds, the smells, the cloying press was almost tolerable now that your stomach was full. 

“Here we are, just here.” The house is much bigger than you’d anticipated, grand, but still tasteful. Years worth of ivy had already conquered most of the facade, giving it a cottage-like appeal and drawing your eye as he guided you inside. “The sun will be up soon, we must get into bed.” 

“Why?” Your eyes roamed throughout the space, noting the almost clinical cleanliness of the place. The rug under your feet, perfectly laid, cushions on the settee without a single sign of ever having been sat on. 

“Well, because the sun would kill us, my love.” He says it offhand, making your eyes widen at the back of his head. “We are impervious to almost everything, except that.” He opens a set of double doors at the top of the stairs and what greets you stops you in your tracks, eyes wide and full of terror. 

“Max, why is there a massive coffin in here?” You stand at the door, frozen in place. 

“Come now, there is nothing to be afraid of, it is where I sleep, where we will sleep–until I purchase you your own.” He smiles, his hands smoothing the worry on your face away with a welcome tenderness. “Believe me, once you get in, you will sleep just as soundly as you ever have in a regular bed, I promise you.” He pulls your gaze from the morbid thing to his own eyes, and in them you cannot help but find comfort, and honesty. 

“Promise?” You press yourself a little closer and he smiles, nodding before placing a cool kiss to your forehead.

“Of course, come–we haven't much time.” He places another quick kiss at your brow before starting to undress. You follow suit and once completely nude, he opens the box and lays in it, opening his arms to you. You hesitate for a second, but get in just the same, he closes the lid and plunges you both in complete, and utter darkness. 

 “That’s my good girl, are you comfortable?” There is just enough room to fit into one another's arms, even with your heightened senses–it is difficult to make out anything within the confined space. 

“Yes, there’s not much room, but I’m okay.” You scoot as close as you can, your face pressed into the crook of his neck. “Have you always slept here?” Your hand rests against his chest, just as his strokes at the skin of your back as best as he can. 

“Yes, since I was turned.” He moves his face, and finds your lips in the dark. “It’s nice to have you in here with me.” He kisses every inch of your face he can reach. Soft, chaste kisses that make you smile, until he deepens it. His tongue tastes sweet but you pull away before it can turn into anything more just yet. You smile when he chases your mouth. 

“Max-“ He finds your mouth again, cutting off your words and replacing them with a moan, “Max, tell me what you’ve done to me.” Your fingers thread through the short crop of his hair as he moves his kisses to your neck, to the base of your throat, and further still to the stiff peaks of your breasts. You bite your tongue as he takes on into his mouth, managing to distract you for a moment. 

He hums around a nipple, biting at it before soothing it with his tongue. You don’t know how, but you find your voice amid this assault.

“Max, tell me—oh-“ he manages to get you on your back within the small space, manages to squeeze himself between your legs and before he can distract you with his tongue again, you yank his hair back, silently relishing the deep groan he gifts you with. “Focus Max, I need you to answer my questions, I am at a loss and very confused.” You stroke the place where you yanked at his hair, “Please, Max, I need to know what you’ve done to me.” 

“I have made you into something else, something more. I have turned you into a vampire like me. Now we can be together forever.” He presses another kiss to your mouth, once again chaste. “You are neither dead, nor alive. You simply exist, as I do. You will need blood to sustain you, and a coffin at night to sleep in. You will never grow old, you will never get sick-“ he presses kisses to your neck between his words, “-you need never fear anything, and with me, you will never want for anything, ever again.”

“I am… not myself anymore?”

“You are more, you are better, you are at your full potential. You are mine, and I am yours. Neither of us ever need be alone again.” 

It was almost too much to bear, the change you now felt so keenly. His weight on top of you was nothing, the difference in your senses, the difference in your body, it was all almost too much and for a moment you thought you might drown in it.

“Peace, my love, be at peace.” He heard the sob crawl out of your throat, the emotion of it all getting the better of you. With an awkward shuffle you were in his arms again, weeping into the skin of his neck. “I know it is a big change, but I am here to guide you through it.” 

There were many and more questions you needed answered, but there would be more than enough time for that later. Eventually, the darkness of the space, the feel of him wrapped around you, the comfort in the steady sweep of his hands on your skin lulled you into just what he’d promised it would; warm, comfortable and dreamless sleep.

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