#max phillips x original female character

[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.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Everything tags: @radiowallet @sergeantbannerbarnes @pilothusband @max--phillips @starlightmornings @moonlight-prose @practicalghost @sharkbait77 @honestly-shite @shadesofnerdlygrace @salome-c @artsymaddie @niki-xie @doin-stuff @magikfanatic @astoryisaloveaffair @tintinn16 @mswarriorbabe80 @phandoz @amneris21 @tenderwhat @asta-lily @chaoticgeminate @snarwor @stardust-galaxies @readsalot73 @xoxabs88xox @harriedandharassed

#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

[prolix-yuy]

LJ's 500 Follower Requests!

This celebration is complete, enjoy all the stories!

The Debt: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

@fuckyeahdindjarin: Pero Tovar (continued from this drabble), Companionship as Salvation

Home: Dieter Bravo x OC F!Reader

@hnt-escape: Dieter Bravo (from Below the Line), Wild Card

Negotiations: Max Phillips x F!Reader

@browneyes-issac: Max Phillips, Immortality

Phantom: Ezra x Original Female Character

@the-blind-assassin-12: Ezra, Emptiness of Attaining a False Dream

Flight Plan: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (from Sex Worker!Frankie AU)

@lowlights: Wild Card, Fear of Failure

The First Ever Touch: Din Djarin x F!Reader (from the I Think of You Series)

@pedrito-friskito, Din Djarin, Companionship as Salvation

In Print: Ezra & F!Reader

@littleferal, Ezra, Immortality

Coming Due: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

@blackirisesinthesunlight, Pero, Everlasting Love

The Road Behind: Eventual Javier Peña x F!Reader

@beecastle, Javier Peña, Heroism (Real and Perceived)

The Road Ahead: Javier Peña x F!Reader

@iamskyereads, Javier Peña, Reunion and The Power of Words

My Bluebell Song: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader

@marvelouslyme96, Jack Daniels, Reunion

Legacy: Din Djarin x Original F!Character

@chaoticgeminate, Din Djarin, Identity Crisis

Two Truths and a Lie: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

@aynsleywalker, Jack and/or Marcus, Chaos and Order

Burn in My Bloodstream: Din Djarin x Xi'an

@amban-rifle, Heartbreak of Betrayal

#lj's 500 follower celebration #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x f!reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x f!reader #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #max phillips x f!reader #prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction

[littleferal]

Lissie! I love you so much for spreading this end of year love! You are truly one of the gems of this hellsite (affectionate)!

A few shout outs for some of my favorite fics over the year:

@honestly-shite Notes on Tutoring is a masterclass in tension and illicit affairs. I yearn constantly for their Dave York and it’s just plain rude the state they’ve put me in.

@asta-lily Prince of Dorne and Absence of Judgement are two of my favorites from this year. Lils is brilliant and has been responsible for me staring into the void for hours on end.

@the-ginger-hedge-witch Read You Like a Book! Better than a majority of the crime novels I’ve read! Ren is a true talent and I know one day I will own her books and place them proudly on my bookshelf.

@yespolkadotkitty Fighting Blind! Made me fall in love with that grumpy Spaniard! Seriously! I think about this story once a week! It’s so beautiful!

@mandocrasis Bonded! Birdie made me fall in love with Max Phillips and now I don’t know what to do with myself! Now all I do is think about that snarky vampire and I’m just flabbergasted!

@blueeyesatnight Amazing story Strongest Member of the Team (and her whole master list)! Blue is constantly giving out quality content that always has me laughing and smiling!

@wyn-n-tonic Frizzy verse! Seriously amazing storytelling for Frankie and her ofc Lizzy Miller! No one can take on emotionally honest source material like O.

@disgruntledspacedad Better Love series was my first Javier Peña fic and one of the first authors who encouraged me to post my writing! Jay’s talent is awe-inspiring and earth shattering.

And finally-

@jazzelsaur Between the Raindrops. A story I was woefully late to but now am completely obsessed with. Catch me outside with my banner and my bullhorn screaming about Jess’s brilliant writing and her amazing way to communicate emotions. Everything about this story is evocative and gut-wrenching and I will never stop shrieking about it.

wow! lots of love from Cat!! Thank you dear 🥰🥰🥰

@honestly-shite for Notes on Tutoring (Dave York x f!reader)

Mr York becomes your new classical guitar tutor in your final year at music college. A dark, mysterious man, you struggle to get a read on him but that doesn’t stop you from finding many ways to push his buttons. You manage to infuriate him with your stubbornness and forced complacency but there is definitely something else too. There’s a pull that you feel whenever he is near. You wonder if he feels it too.

@asta-lily for The Prince of Dorne (Modern!Casino owner Oberyn x reader)

Dorne was his kingdom, one he ruled over with reverence to those who played, and drank, and laughed; and mysterious accidents met those who dared disturb his peace - ruling his playground with the wisdom of a king yet the temper of a boy. Thus, they dubbed him - ‘The Prince’.

AND for Absence of Judgement (Marcus Moreno x f!reader)

You travel in search of inspiration; fate seems to hand it to you in the most backhanded of ways as you lock eyes with a mysterious stranger from across the bar.

@the-ginger-hedge-witch for Read You Like a Book (Marcus Pike x f!reader)

When Marcus Pike is called to Chicago for a short-term assignment, he never expects to meet someone who makes him want to stay forever. Is this Marcus’s chance at home?

@yespolkadotkitty for Fighting Blind (Pero Tovar x original female character)

Curator Jade is hurtled back in time by a mysterious axe.

@mandocrasis for Bonded (Max Phillips x original female character)

Prudence travels the country investigating paranormal claims and reports. When you get a call about a possible vampire you don’t hesitate to check it out. What you don’t anticipate are things going sideways and getting yourself bound to the vampire for the foreseeable future. If you’re lucky, you’ll make it out of this ordeal alive.

@blueeyesatnight for Strongest Member of the Team (Marcus Moreno x reader (eventual wife))

@wyn-n-tonic for The Fizzy Universe (Frankie Morales x original female character)

A snapshot series in to the lives and relationship of Francisco Morales and Elizabeth Miller, Benny’s and Will’s sister.

@disgruntledspacedad for the Better Love series (Javier Peña x original female character/named reader)

He’s a DEA Agent. You work for the CIA. You’re an unstoppable force. He’s an immovable object. A collision between you is inevitable. The fallout will be monumental. Slices of life from your adventures with Peña in Colombia.

@jazzelsaur for Between the Raindrops (Frankie Morales x original female character/named reader)

Frankie’s life is coming apart at the seams, when Ellie, a widow facing her own share of struggles, moves in next door. Together they find friendship, healing, and something more.

send some love to your favourite fic writers for new year ✨

#pedro pascal character x reader #frankie morales x reader #marcus moreno x reader #javier peña x reader #pero tovar x reader #marcus pike x reader #dave york x reader #oberyn martell x reader #author fic appreciation 2021

[madslorian]

April Fanfic Recommendations

I'm back! I have unfortunately written 3 papers in the last 2 weeks and honestly even though I had time to read at night and come reblog stuff during the day, I could not compile this list for you in my spare time.

This is a collection of I believe 3 weeks, so I left out some stories that I will include in another post instead! This week we're trying something different where I include the author's tags or warnings. That makes me feel hella vulnerable fully exposing what I read, but it's okay! I want to be more open in what is intended for those 18+.

** means NSFW and not intended for those under 18, and please pay attention to warnings!

Authors mentioned this week:

@frannyzooey

@mylifeisactuallyamess

@starryeyedstories

@tintinwrites

@dameronology

@autumnleaves1991-blog

@ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa

@absurdthirst

@bison-writes

@221bshrlocked

@heatherbel

@slater-baby

⊱{Frankie Morales}⊰

**RUNTIME BY FRANNYZOOEY

↳ Smut!!, cockwarming, PIV, and filthy dirty talk.

**TITLE MENU BY FRANNYZOOEY

↳ Smut!!, oral sex (female receiving), mutual masturbation, and another round of dirty talk making me blush.

**POST CREDITS SCENE BY FRANNYZOOEY

↳ Smut!!, PIV, and you guessed it, dirty talk.

⊱{Poe Dameron}⊰

**YAVIN HIGH REUNION BY MYLIFEISACTUALLYAMESS

↳ Smut!!, mentions of divorce, mention of a child, angst, fluff, alcohol, swearing.

IT'S TIME BY STARRYEYEDSTORIES

↳ Childbirth, swearing, emotions, but overall just a happy little Dameron family.

SOFT (MINI-SERIES) PART 1 / PART 2 BY TINTINWRITES

↳ Naughty words, sexual references, enjoy part 2...

THE LIGHT SIDE (MINI-SERIES) PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 BY TINTINWRITES

↳ Implications of sex, pregnant reader, fainting, naughty words, angry Poe, this one made my heart go soft.

**PROVOCATIVE (MINI-SERIES) PART 1 / PART 2 BY TINTINWRITES

↳ Smut!!, College Professor!Poe x Student!Reader, kinky, spanking, and then freaking out when emotions are mentioned.

INSOMNIA (MINI-SERIES) BY DAMERONOLOGY

↳ 5 chapters, swearing, fluff, angst, mentions of injury.

POE DAMERON'S WIFE (MINI-SERIES) (AO3) BY ZIVABALLERINA

↳ 5 chapters, Poe Dameron x OFC, implied death, fluff, mentions of injury, swearing, fluff again, Poe being fricken adorable with a baby for a second on chapter 3, loss of friends. (There's also a part 2 to this story listed on AO3, however, it hasn't been updated in almost a year.)

⊱{Cassian Andor}⊰

**THE SUN ON BOTH SIDES BY NO-DROIDS

↳ Smut!!, PIV, sex pollen, dub-con, drug use, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, dirty talk, oral sex (male and female receiving).

⊱{King Arthur}⊰

**LITTLE ONE (MINI-SERIES?) PART 1 / PART 2 BY AUTUMNLEAVES1991-BLOG

↳ Smut!!, PIV, really rough sex, restraint, sir/majesty kink (daddy equivalent), language, torture, spanking, nipple clamps, blindfolds, choking, unprotected sex, squirting, gagging, and a bit of fluff, so basically any filthy thing I've ever thought of was in these pieces.

⊱{Max Phillips}⊰

**WITH CHERRIES ON TOP (SERIES) BY ITHINKHESGAYBUTWESAVEDMUFASA

↳ Smut!!, language, adult themes, sexual innuendos, workplace harassment, family issues, angst, hurt/comfort, manipulation. I've already recommended this (when I was on chapter 1) but I have since finished this story and loved it!

**UNHOLY SACRIFICE BY ABSURDTHIRST

↳ Smut!!, PIV, religion kink, virginity kink, religious guilt, severe blasphemy, lewd acts in a church, desecration of holy grounds, oral sex (female receiving), loss of virginity, unprotected sex, blood, blood-drinking, creampie, death, so much filthy shit I don't even think I could explain how hot it was.

yeah I had to use that gif, he looks like a wooly mammoth and I laughed when I saw this scene

⊱{Pero Tovar}⊰

SWEEP ME OFF MY FEET BY BISON-WRITES

↳ Modern!Pero, mentions a car accident, mentions of injury, fluff.

**EL BAŃO BY ABSURDTHIRST

↳ Smut!!, PIV, handjob, derogatory language, loss of virginity, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, creampie.

**AS SWEET AS HONEY, AS TEMPTING AS DEATH BY 221BSHRLOCKED

↳ Smut!!, PIV, angst, blasphemy once again, dub-con, sex pollen, mutual pining, voyeurism to some degree, unprotected sex, hot dirty talk, spanking, hair pulling, oral sex (female and male receiving), creampie, slight choking, fluid exchange, overstimulation, squirting, I come back to this one often.

⊱{Javier Peña}⊰

USED TEA BAGS BY AUTUMNLEAVES1991-BLOG

↳ 18+, language, implied sexual situations.

⊱{Dave York}⊰

BLANK PAGE BY HEATHERBEL

↳ Smut!!, murder, violence, blood, death, reader in danger, slight dub-con, oral sex (both male and female receiving), unprotected sex.

GRAY AREA BY SLATER-BABY

↳ Canon-divergence, sharing clothes, age gap, the realization of feelings, falling in love, getting asked out, fluff, character exploration, mentioned divorce, mentioned former Dave York x Carol York, non-explicit murder/violence/injury.

⊱{Marcus Moreno}⊰

WE ARE FAMILY BY STARRYEYEDSTORIES

↳ Themes of pregnancy, babies, and childbirth (no birth scene).

THE PAST, PRESENT, & FUTURE (MINI-SERIES) PART 1 / PART 2 / **PART 3 BY BISON-WRITES

↳ **for smut!! (I'm doing all these tags on my own so bear with me) Original character, mention of injury, running away from home, friends/coworkers to lovers, mentions of Marcus losing his wife, slight steam in part 1, making out like teenagers hehe, meddling kids, kids forcing the adults into a date, drinking, and more making out in part 2, Miracle Guy interrupting stuff, kids using their powers to manipulate Marcus and OC, angry and yelling at the kids, injury.

Smut tags - oral sex (female receiving), PIV, protected sex

⊱{Marcus Pike}⊰

FAMILY MAN BY STARRYEYEDSTORIES

↳ Headcanon, parenthood, and children.

#madslorian recommendations #frankie morales #poe dameron #cassian andor #king arthur #dave york #max phillips #pero tovar #javier peña #marcus moreno #marcus pike #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #poe dameron x reader #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #king arthur x reader #king arthur x you #dave york x reader #dave york x you #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x oc #marcus pike x reader

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

Pedro Pascal Boys Masterlist

Anything without a link is a wip and anything with coming soon! means I’m currently working on it.

Main Masterlist

You’re My Stranger In The Dark  (female self insert)

Cuddling Headcanon’s

Fear of the Dark  (gender neutral reader)

Something Human (gender neutral werewolf reader) for writer wednesday 8/4/2021

Cookies Are A Love Language (gender neutral reader) for writer wednesday 12/15/2021

Grief Is Love Persevering But It Still Hurts (major grief drabble)

Gray Skies (immortal original female character)

Triple Frontier boys:

camping blurb

Cycles  (gender neutral reader)

Caught Within Your Stare (gender neutral reader) for Kinktober 2021

Agent Absinthe (Agent Whiskey x ofc!agent) Playlist, summary, moodboards  here

(mini) Character playlist for 'Doll' here

It’s Only Forever (Max Phillips x werewolf!OFC)

Vampires Don’t Sparkle (Max Phillips x werewolf!OFC) for writer wednesday 6/16/21 

Novalunosis (Din Djarin x female oc) for writer wednesday 5/25/21

Baar‘ur (Din Djarin x female oc) for writer wednesday 6/9/21

The Fruit Thief  Part 1 (Din Djarin x reader)

The Fruit Thief Part 2 (Din Djarin x reader) coming soon!

Songs for Pedro’s Characters

Florence + The Machine: Lungs / Ceremonials / How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful / High As Hope / Dance Fever

Tove Lo: Queen of the Clouds / Lady Wood / Blue Lips /Sunshine Kitty / Dirt Femme

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #triple frontier #ezra (prospect) #prospect 2018 #agent whiskey #agent jack whiskey daniels #kingsman the golden circle #max phillips #bloodsucking bastards #din djarin #the mandalorian #masterlist #duck did it

[thepeakmoment]

More Returns

Here's a superb podcast on Peaks. May 30 is the most recent episode. A great listen. Counter Esperanto Podcast: Tangents About Twin Peaks: 10th Secret: The Return

On Tue, Jun 13, 2017 at 1:53 PM, Dom wrote: I'll check it out tonight.

So my Diane prediction was on the fucking money.

I got another theory I'm working on.

Who's the mysterious billionaire? I heard some people say it may be Audrey Horne. I heard some people say it is Jack (John Justice Wheeler). I heard some people say it is Phillip Jeffries or Evil Cooper.

Put on your tinfoil hat for this one. The Billionaire is Leo Johnson. He lived through his spider ordeal. Then he took everything that Windom left behind (notes, computer files, other assorted Windom things) and built a criminal empire. I find it very hard to believe that the fucking casting director's son who was in the 1st two seasons and the fucking movie is NOT in this one.

The secret history of twin peaks tells us what happens to a bunch of characters like Leo. For instance Hank dies in prison. But not one word in the book about Leo? I got to believe that he lives and he’s not just a slobbering fool any more. I know this is probably not going to happen. But that's my theory.

I cannot imagine Leo is a rich billionaire — how did he make his money? A theory that makes sense I’ve heard on EW TP podcast that it could be BOB-Cooper attempting to catch Good Cooper if he ever left the Lodge. But really, I have no idea… not as of end of P7.

I like how Lynch-Frost are using all official Twin Peaks releases as canon to draw the narrative from — Laura’s Diary, FWWM, Missing Pieces of blu-ray edition, as well as many classic episode threads.

And like Erik, I KNOW, that Sheriff Harry S. Truman will make an appearance in this season. I feel it in my bones.

It’s looking grim for Harry — or rather, it sounds grim from Frank saying to Harry, “beat this thing.” But actually I can see Ontkean coming out of retirement to have a role toward the end of the series. I also (want to) believe Josie returning … maybe she’s the billionaire, but why would she make such a contraption mounted to the side of building?

On Sun, Jun 25, 2017 at 2:26 AM, Erik wrote: Good Morning Gents. Grab a cup a joe and settle down a minute. I got some backed up information for yous … << Starts Tape Recorder…. >>

Spot on is right Mr Domi. You got that Diane was Laura Dern AND that she drinks at the Pub we went to. I even want to say she is seated in the area of the bar that we were sitting at that night.  Glad it wasn't raining when we went, "FUCK Gene Kelly, You mother fucker!!" LOL I love Albert, he is my favorite this season. (Location: Max Von's Bar = Casey's Irish Pub, 619 South Grand, LA)

So Episode 7 should have shut up all those whiner's and complainer's of Ep 6. There was a lot of hate on the internet, and even in our FB Group, about that episode. I was ok with it. I did not like the scene with the kid getting hit by the truck, but the scene ended with the Fat Trout Telephone pole, so I'm ok with it.

"Lynch has gotten flak for the male gaze in his work, but the problems go a lot deeper than lingering shots on female anatomy.…” Laura Hudson in Vulture.

Also in EP 6 we finally got two major new pieces of music from Angelo, not his best work, but still great to hear.  The overall lack of his music is my biggest complaint this season in case I didn't make that clear.

When Johnny Jewel's Windswept first appeared, I thought that was Badalamenti  finally debuting new music. I was definitely disappointed it was not Angelo, no disrespect to Johnny. But I agree with you Erik about no AB original score. That music is what made classic Peaks so memorable. I don’t get why Lynch is using such popular music. There really wan’t any such tracks in FWWM, it was Angelo’s music and further cemented Peaks as evergreen. Lynch is acting like Scorcese in the epic cinematic story… and he doesn’t need to. Marty did not have a Badalamenti in his arsenal. Lynch does. Please use him.

EP 7...There's a body alright.. is definitely the shit. Now we are cooking. Jerry!!!! Come out of it man... Lets get Ben and Jerry back in action, not disfunction. The diary pages, Annie's message from FWWM, Leland hiding pages, DIANE from hell! ... Bringing it all back home.

There’s a dark undercurrent with Diane and Cooper. All signs are indicating something very bad happened to Diane. I think BOB-Cooper raped her.

I wonder where Frank Truman was at the time of Laura's murder? He says he remembers Leland, her father, did it, but is not really familiar with the case. BUT why the heck is Frank not asking "So what is "the Lodge" you keep talking about?” Hawk?

The way Hawk talks so knowledgable about both Lodges and the way Frank does not question or disbelieve him, then it must be common knowledge among the indigenous culture. Wonder if Frank is a Bookhouse Boy?

Ancient Doc Hayward, kinda sad, but he was still funny. Did you catch his Skype name?  MiddleburyDoc... Warren Frost was actually living in VT right? They probably actually did just Skype him and screen capture it…lol

I caught that right away about Warren Frost’s Skype handle. And no doubt, Frost stayed in Vermont to do his scene. That just recorded the screen.… I do miss Briggs. Yet he died long before Lynch-Frost’s three-year tenure writing the new story, they had plenty of time to work the presence of him into the story.

Briggsy.. Oh Major Briggs. how we miss thee. Should be interesting how this plays out. And When the hell are we going to go back to I bet the road where Andy is waiting to meet the Truck owner is up there at Frankln Canyon Pond.

The Dog Leg.... WTF?  Is Joe McCluskey the guy that rigged the car and Mr C Killed earlier on? I do think the Psycho Little guy with the Ice Pick and Gun is kinda silly. Over the top for no reason.  Oh well.… It's kinda silly also that no one has taken Dougie to the Doctor. Everyone just plays along. we have to suspend disbelief I guess.

OMG enough with the guy sweeping at the Roadhosue. Is this all the extra time he told Shotime he needed more money for to tell the story properly?  lol and more music used in hundreds of shows and commercials. I love Booker T and the MGs don't get me wrong, but ... UGH I miss you Angelo... Also... Kinda weird to see Jean Michel... Did Jacque Renault have a twin brother? lol Mr. C and Ray getting out of Prison.. Bad stuff gonna happen. I think they might have used San Bernadino County Jail for this locaton. The Cell block Cooper is located on looks familar.  I will compare some screen grabs from my Locaton and Publicity Photos we took for Beyond Scared Straight at that jail.

And beause they needed to pad the ending to get to the alloted running time... Back to the RR Diner for the end scene, and yet another over-used stock song they probably had to pay more to use than what they paid Angelo for everything. Plus, I liked that song better when they used it in the X-files episode “Home" but No, I'm not bitter.

General notes: Glad Naomi Watts has such a big part. She really owns her scenes. Wish Jennifer Jason Leigh was more present but Mr C just left Jail for somewhere... It's slightly brilliant how Lynch (but probably Frost came up with it) still has made Harry a character in the show. even if only on the phone and never even heard. I feel like Harry is there kinda. Also brilliant... Robert Forrester.... wow. Wish he was in the original or the movie. Not sure how I feel with Dern as Diane. I'll go with it and see what happens.

Outstanding questions for me....(cause I haven't been reading blogs or listening to podcasts)

What is up with all the Arthurian Legend references? Dougie lives on Lancalot Court, down the street from the Merlin Market. Janey-E meets for the ransom drop on the corner of Gueneivere and Merlin. And of course, Glastonbury Grove... Pete Martel: "King Arthur's burried in England!"

Why is it when Dougie puts his thumb up or his hand out to shake, he turns his body 180 degrees?

What is up with the creepy guy (from Mulholland Diner scene) in the Vegas Office? I can't seem to catch his meaning in the story line.

What is up with Cooper's Room Key from the Great Northern? If has finally made it back to Ben Horne...Soooo?

One last question... Did Lynch quit smoking?  He made two references to people (Gordon Cole even) quitting. Did we ever even see Cole smoke in the series or movie? weird for him to say he quit when the character never smoked on camera. "You think about that Tammy."

On Jun 25, 2017, at 4:29 PM, Dom wrote: I think Frank Truman was a police officer in Seattle during Laura's investigation if I remember the book correctly. But I think that a "Sheriff Truman" has been in power for over 60 consecutive years now between the 2 brothers and their father. It sort of like there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

To my knowledge that was the first time ever we have heard name Joe McCluskey. I have no clue who that is. But I have a feeling we will learn.

Yea, I don’t recollect Joe McCluskey. Gotta watch again to see if he first appears or is mentioned earlier.

I think Ike the Spike is either from the black lodge or an agent of the black lodge. Remember he smelled "funny" per the little girl.

Spike did look a little monstery, his teeth especially.

I actually loved that scene of the sweeping. I could just imagine everyone watching was freaking out and I enjoyed that. And I thought that Walter did some great acting while on the phone as Jean-Michel. "He owes me for two!"

That ending scene from the RR diner was weird as shit. Its either the worst continuity error of all time or something truly weird happened there. Completely different set of people dining there after David Lynch's son runs in and asks if anyone has seen Billy.

Lynch did not quit smoking. He, like Harry Dean are lifers.

Both Laura Dern and Naomi Watts are killing their roles. Both doing a fantastic job. I just cannot wait to see them come face to face over Dougie.

And MacLachlan! All his Cooper iterations are really well done. I love that BOB-Cooper character. Can’t wait to see what trouble he kicks up now!

My new tin foil theory is that we may be dealing with 2 Twin Peaks. Twins of each other if you will. I'm still working this one out. Different versions of the same town in different universes a part of a greater multiverse?

Did you notice Andy was wearing a rolex? Kind of weird.

…And he was supposed to meet the guy at 4:30. Is that one of the numbers from ????? ?

The guy from the Vegas office is working directly for Phillip Jeffries or whoever is pretending to be him IMO.

Don’t overlook the black soot guy walking in the hallway toward the female FBI agent in the morgue. I think it’s related to the guy next to Bill Hastings cell.…

Lots of Arthurian Legend stuff from way back when. I never got that. But its seems to be very important. I would love to go to Merlin's Market.

During the end credits from the last episode buried in the music is Windham Earle's theme mixed into the background too!!!!!

I might try headphones for tonight’s part to see exactly what sounds I miss. I know there’s a lot of low audible noise and rumbling that I don’t hear when our apartment is 86º and the fan is going.…

On Jun 25, 2017, at 8:10 PM, Dom wrote: Some last minute thoughts...

Yeah I agree about MacLachlan is killing it and should win an Emmy for best actor. Black soot guy is awesome and its the same dude for sure from the jail cell. Some people seem to think we have seen him a third time as a homeless man outside of Vegas at the Rachera Rosa is whatever it is called. I don't think that we did. I will need to re-watch that again. Another tin foil hat theory. On those three pages from Laura's diary she refers to knowing who it is and that its not Bob. At least everyone thinks she is referencing Leland. That is probably most right. However I am thinking that she is referring to an evil more powerful and sadistic than even Bob.Like whatever came out of the glass box and mutilated those younglings.

On Jun 25, 2017, at 8:17 PM, Erik wrote: > "Yea, I don’t recollect Joe McCluskey."

I am thinking if the guy in the diner eating food non-stop the whole scene with Ray and the chick Mr C shot in the head.  Just before he kills her, he tells her "i killed joe, and the she freaks out, knowing the gig is up.   The previous scene the eating guy "joe" does something to a car in storage and then cooper like squeezes his face for a whole minute.   Could be McCluskey?

> "Lynch did not quit smoking."

Well, its mighty fine of him to send a non smoking message to all the youths. Considering Cole does not smoke, it is a conscious message.

> "All his Cooper iterations are really well done."

Yes, Kyle will def get an Emmy nomination. Dern and Watts will also I predict.  

> “RR diner was weird as shit. Its either the worst continuity error of all time or something truly weird happened there.”

There are no accidents on a Lynch set. If an error occurs and he likes it he will use it. So who knows why he did it. On the same level as the windows  flashing code on the FBI jet.  He is throwing out decoys i feel.  

> “then it (the Lodge) must be common knowledge among the indigenous culture.”

Then why the heck is Truman not like "well lets go up there" nor does Hawk tell him he was up in those woods when Log Lady last called.

> “Don’t overlook the black soot guy walking in the hallway”

Nope, I did not mention him cause i consider it another decoy.  Kinda like the shambling being behind the diner in Mulholland Drive...never came up again. i am sure he will play a part at some point.  

But i did forget to mention the playing card Mr. C  showed the girl in the hotel bed before he shoots her.  Aliens? Very well could be.

Have a good viewing. The damn internet saying EP 8 is extra noteworthy. Could it be Phillip Jeffries? Windom Earl?  More Leland and Laura? (I actually doubt we will see either of them again).  Audrey? Big Ed? They got plenty of options.

Cheers! ~G

Sent from the Black Lodge.

#twin peaks: the return #commentary #showtime

[outercrasis]

Bonded

Part 5

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

Rating/Word Count: M (18+) / 4.9k

Warnings: an eerie vibe, ghosts, and I think that's it

Summary: Let's hunt a ghost

A/N: Hellooo, I'm baaack! There will be a longer A/N at the end but for now a big shoutout to @honestly-shite for beta reading for me!!

Previous ++ Series Masterlist ++ Next

The New England manor is much like you expect. It’s clearly old, slightly secluded from the nearby town. Your client, Molly, mentioned on the phone that she purchased it with the intention of fixing it up and turning it into a bed and breakfast. You hope she has the drive for it because the place looks like it hasn’t been inhabited in years.

Piles of fallen leaves litter the yard, the grass is well past overgrown, and shrubs threaten to start blocking out the building’s dirt streaked windows. Paint is peeling off from the siding, revealing the weather-worn boards below. The steps leading to the front door look semi-precarious and you can only hope that the inside looks a little better than the outside. With the oncoming winter weather it seems as though Molly decided to leave the yard work and house’s facade until the spring. It's all well past worn, but seems like it should hold up for another season.

“This place is a dump.”

You look over to where Max is sitting in the passenger seat. He’s leaning forward, squinting at the manor with a critical look. The position rewards you with a perfect view of his profile, the backlight from the late afternoon sun casting a slight and undeserved halo around him. You cover up your staring with an eye roll and a scoff. “It’s old and she’s fixing it up. Were you expecting something five star?”

You roll to a stop in the drive to the right of the stairs leading to the double front doors. Molly’s car isn’t anywhere to be seen, but you figure if you need to move your car to somewhere else on the property she’ll let you know.

Cutting the engine, you twist in the bench seat to face Max. “I know I might be asking a lot here, but can you actually manage to not be an asshole around this woman?”

Max’s brow scrunches, those two little lines on his face deepening between them. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that this isn’t some game to me, it’s my job, and I’d like to continue doing it. I don’t need you and your stupid nicknames causing someone to deter others from calling me with a possible case.”

“I know how to be professional, sweet cheeks," Max smiles.

You don’t believe him in the slightest. Something about your comment seems to have gotten under his skin though and you hope that’s enough. Molly sounded extremely kind on the phone and the last thing you need is for Max to go and call her something like kitten. You considered pushing him out of the car when he used that one on you around two hours ago.

You pull your hair back into a half-ponytail, using the rearview mirror to make sure there are no awkward bumps or loose hairs sticking out at weird angles. Stepping out of the heated cabin of the Suburban, you desperately hope Molly has at least gotten the heat to work in the old house. Despite all your layers, the deep autumn chill cuts through and a night or two spent in near freezing temperatures sounds like your personal hell.

Dufflebag slung over your shoulder, you march up to the house with Max following close behind. The doors look heavy, a stained dark oak with brass handles and knockers that look to be the real deal. Pulling the patinated metal ring, you take a deep breath and knock three times. Here goes nothing.

It’s quiet while you wait for the door to be answered. There isn’t so much as the whistle of the wind or the chirp of a bird and you almost wish Max would run his mouth just to fill the silence. Unnerved, you reach for the door knocker again, half looking to confirm you haven’t suddenly lost your hearing.

Your fingertips brush the cold metal again and the door swings open. A woman stands on the other side, her dark brown hair pulled up in a scrunchie, wearing light wash overalls and a bright purple sweatshirt underneath. She looks like she just walked out of a Sears ad from the nineties and greets you with a big smile. With how warm she was on the phone, it isn’t difficult to assume this is Molly.

"Hello. Please, come in," she says, stepping back from the doorway. Eager to get out of the chill, you step into the old manor.

The inside of the place doesn’t look much better than the exterior. The entire foyer is in a state of half repair, as though all the projects were stopped midway through. Molly hadn’t been joking over the phone when she said the contractors all up and left. Light barely breaks through the filthy windows, stretching out the shadows of the space.

You push through your mild shock and smile back at Molly. No reason to blame her for not having the help she clearly needs. "Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”

"You as well. Thank you for coming, really I almost feel silly for calling." Normally that would bother you, but the affable way Molly says it removes any of your typical annoyance. She seems genuine and possibly a little embarrassed that it has come to this.

"No need. This is what I do."

"And your friend?" Molly asks, gesturing to Max who’s standing just behind you, still looking around the space. He’s been so uncharacteristically quiet since walking inside that you nearly forgot he was there.

"Oh, right. This is my… business associate, Max." You desperately hope she doesn’t get the wrong idea about your relationship with him. You don’t want to go through sorting that out.

Max smiles, friendlier than you’ve ever seen discounting that first night in the bar. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. You really have your work cut out for you here.” There’s no underlying sarcasm in his voice. He’s being genuine. It freaks you out more than the potentially haunted mansion you’re standing in.

Molly rests her hands on her hips, looking around the space. “I hate to admit I may have bitten off more than I can chew. It would be nice if I could get at least someone in here to help me, but then I guess that’s why the two of you are here.”

“Hopefully we can get you some answers and let you get back to it soon.”

Molly looks relieved by the prospect that whatever’s happening could be explained sooner rather than later. “Right! Well, I guess I better show you around. I know we spoke a little on the phone, Prudence, but it would probably help to see what I was talking about?”

You smile, nodding at her. “Please, lead the way.”

Molly takes you on a tour of the hot spots, offering little bits about the manor’s history along the way. The home was originally built in the 1880’s, passing through a few family’s hands before ending up in Molly’s. The last time anyone lived in the home was the 1970’s, sitting vacant, waiting for someone new to come along and take ownership.

There’s a lot of potential in the building. Many of the features still remain from when it was originally built from the multiple functional fireplaces throughout to the sculptured reliefs on the walls. Your favorite are the stained glass windows, the intricate work remaining intact even after all these years. They’re in equally desperate need of cleaning as the other windows in the home but their beauty still shines through.

Distracted by one of the more ornate windows, you miss something Molly says, causing Max to nudge you with his elbow. Molly doesn’t seem to mind, offering you a small smile. “It’s gorgeous work isn’t it? I’m hoping I might be able to figure out who made them.”

“They’re beautiful. I can’t imagine what they’ll look like cleaned.”

Molly gives you an odd look, but just as quickly presses on. Max nudges you again as she turns around, nodding at the window you were just admiring. “That shade of yellow is ugly though, right?” He whispers and you ignore him, quickly moving to follow after Molly.

She shows you to a couple of rooms, explaining that there’s a bathroom down the hall for you to use. “I guess I’ll let you get to it. Just give a shout if you need me for anything."

"Thank you ma'am. We'll let you know," Max says, offering her a grin that you're stuck between admiring and wanting to slap off his face. There's something about it that doesn't quite fit, regardless of how handsome he looks.

As nice as Molly is, you're glad she doesn't want to stick around for your full investigation. Dealing with Max is already going to be enough of a handful without someone else hanging around. As she silently slips around the corner of the hallway, you turn to face Max, perturbed.

“What the hell was that?”

Max looks truly dumbfounded. “What? You told me to be professional.”

“Ma’am? Really?”

“Sorry, was that the wrong thing to say pumpkin?”

“No, it- oh my god forget it.” You’re not doing this right now. You have a ghost to find and you’re never going to manage that standing here and arguing with your unwelcome investigation partner.

The rest of your afternoon is spent wandering around the home, cataloging anything and everything that seems to be of interest. Max is of no help, mindlessly following you and providing unhelpful commentary about the repair work that needs to be done.

You're thankful when Molly reappears, distracting Max temporarily as you poke around the den. You tune out their conversation, absorbed in looking for anything and everything that could tell you what's going on. This house has a lot of history and this ghost problem could be far more long standing than Molly thinks.

As annoying as Max is, you can't help but notice that he's raised some good points while looking around. The manor is in an extreme state of disrepair – more so than you expected it to be. Did the contractors barely start before bailing? You can’t even tell where in the house Molly has been working or living in the meantime, unless she truly doesn’t mind the squalor, blinded by what it all could become.

Tucked away in the corner of the room, something colorful catches your eye. Strewn on the ground are a handful of Pokémon cards alongside an old yo-yo and a flashlight. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say this was some little kid’s hideout and you shudder to think what would drive a child to hide out in this old building.

“Hey Molly,” you call over, interrupting her conversation with Max. “You aren’t aware of any kids running around here, are you?”

You’ve caught her off guard, a deeply confused look now set on her face. “I um-” she drifts off, searching for an answer to give you. You thought it would be a fairly simple yes or no question, but she looks troubled by it, like she’s looking for information she can’t quite reach.

“Molly?” Max asks, snapping her out of whatever brain fog your question sent her into.

“Sorry, what? I- no I don’t recall any children around here.”

Normally you’d push a little harder, try to gain some additional information, but Molly looks so addled you let it go. Maybe there's some history you're unaware of there. Whatever it is, it's not your business.

Molly leaves soon after, mumbling some excuse before drifting out of the room. You're more than happy to give her some space if she needs it.

"What was that all about?" Max asks, hardly waiting for her to be out of earshot.

You wait a beat before responding. "I don't know. Clearly there’s something going on there so let’s give her some space, okay? Most people don’t buy a dilapidated manor for fun.”

“Oh so you can see that this place is falling apart.”

You push past Max, heading towards another room in the manor. “I’m not blind, Max. Some of us just don’t feel the need to point out the obvious.”

The rest of the evening remains uneventful. You poke around the place, looking and listening for anything out of the ordinary. From what you can find there are no sigils, no strange items, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Of course with a possible ghost that doesn’t mean much – it simply means that you aren’t dealing with anything else. Still, it is nice to rule things out. The rest of your investigation waits until well after sundown.

“We had to wait until the middle of the night to do this?” Max complains behind you, feet shuffling on the worn boards of the hallway.

You readjust the bag on your shoulder, careful not to jostle it too much for fear of breaking any of the equipment inside. “What do you care? You’d be awake anyway.”

“It’s a bit cliché, isn’t it honeybee?”

“Cliché for a reason, jackass. The veil between worlds is thinner at night, so if there’s a ghost around they should be easier to contact.”

Max offers a non-committal hum in response, as though he doesn’t even truly believe you. You ignore him, stepping into the room you decided to hold your main investigation in tonight.

The room is in a state of disuse and disrepair like the rest of the manor. Dust settles heavily over everything – some of the furniture covered in white sheets that would no doubt release a heavy cloud if you were to lift them up. The items that are uncovered are discolored by the layer of grime and cobwebs sticking to nooks in the furniture and remaining decor. It feels extremely stereotypical for a haunted house and if it weren't for your afternoon spent poking around the whole place you'd be convinced you were being punk'd.

You uncover a couple wooden chairs and a small table in the corner of the room, covering your nose with the collar of your sweater to avoid breathing in too much dust. You take the nicer of the two chairs, carefully setting your bag at your feet. Max is strolling around the room, hands shoved into his pockets.

“What are we supposed to do?” he asks. “Shout until something answers or moves?”

You roll your eyes, plunging your hand into your bag. “No. I have equipment that we’ll use to try and get the spirit to talk with us.”

Max laughs, endearing crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “What, like a ouija board?”

“Don’t laugh," you snap, looking back down at the maglite you're lightly unscrewing. "Those have their uses. We’re not using one tonight though. They’re too volatile if you don’t know the spirit you’re trying to connect with.”

Max throws himself into the chair opposite you. It's a small miracle it doesn't collapse for how feeble it looks. He's watching you intently, hands folded on the table. "Do you have one of those loud radio things?”

You're genuinely shocked he has knowledge of any ghost hunting equipment. Probably saw it on some ghost hunting TV show.

“A spirit box? I mean yeah, but we aren’t going to use it. They’re annoying and usually more trouble than they're worth. How are you going to know if it’s actually a ghost speaking to you or if you’re catching clips of late night radio talk shows?”

Max actually looks disappointed.

“Don’t worry, I have other fun toys you can play with.”

A wicked smile appears across his face, thick with gross implication. "Have you been holding out on me Prudence?"

"Not like that, you perv."

You busy yourself with pulling out some additional equipment you've found useful in past ghost hunts. An EMF meter, digital recorder, and your trusty DV tape recorder.

"Oh come on, you can't be serious. That thing is a relic."

"Yes and it records in film but plays back digitally,” you say, turning on the recorder and getting it set up properly.

"And why does that matter?"

You heave a heavy sigh, irritated that you're forced to explain ghost hunting 101 to a literal supernatural creature. "The paranormal, especially spirits, appear better on film. On digital they cause distortions, but it's never concrete enough. A couple glitches, a light orb or two maybe. Film doesn't distort in the same way digital recordings do. With this, I can record on film, but play back in digital, which is considerably easier when I'm looking through the footage later."

“Hm. Smart.” You can tell that he’s genuinely impressed, but the way he says it still feels like a slight – as though he hadn’t expected you to actually find a solution instead of muddling your way through with worse equipment. You try not to let his apparently low opinion bother you.

You finish setting everything up and check over the camera one more time before getting up and turning out the lights. Your eyes take a moment to adjust, but the small beam of the maglite gives you enough light to make your way back to your chair without bashing a toe or shin on anything. Max is looking around the room as though he expects something to pop out at him at any moment. It’s sweet and reminds you a bit of the first time Nana took you to a haunted house.

She was performing a seance with a couple other old contacts of hers, trying to connect with the spirit and allow them to cross over. You’d been waiting for the ghost to jump scare everyone and spent most of the night on edge until Nana finally told you to relax.

The seance went as everyone had hoped, the strength of the energy around the circle enough to connect and allow the spirit to pass on with the comfort that their final message would be shared and remembered. You never even saw them – a small flicker of the candle light and somehow you all could feel that they had gone. You don’t expect anything like that tonight. If you’re lucky, you’ll make any form of contact.

You turn on the digital recorder, placing it at the edge of the table and call out into the room. "Hello. My name is Prudence and this is Max. If anyone is in here with us we'd love to talk to you."

Max snorts, raising an eyebrow at you.

"What?" you snap at him.

Max is still stifling laughter, unable to look at you with a straight face. "You can't actually be serious, babe."

"Ghost hunting shows aren't all bullshit. We're starting a conversation. It's rude to not introduce yourself. Now say hi.” You gesture to the empty room, hoping that you’re channeling enough of Nana’s calm authority to make him actually listen.

To your surprise, he does. “Hello,” Max says. It’s dry and lacking any emotion, but it’s something.

Satisfied, you continue to talk into the empty room. This is always the part you find nerve-wracking. Uncertain if you’ve made the right call about what room to be in, unsure if you’ll be able to make contact with anyone. The uncertainty gives Max’s laughter some credence. There is a chance all of this could be for nothing and you’re simply talking to air. You desperately hope he isn’t right.

“If you’re here with us I’d like to ask you some questions. I have a couple objects here that will help you talk with us.”

You pause, hoping for some kind of sign. Anything to let you know that you and Max aren’t alone. The silence lingers. Minutes pass. Patience has never really been a virtue of yours.

“We don’t mean you any harm. You can make yourself known however you’d like.”

Again you wait. You know you can’t rush spirits. They work on their own time, revealing themselves when and if they see fit. It’s for that very reason they're one of your least favorite anomalies to investigate, but they’re also the steadiest work you can find. A blessing and a curse.

Another ten minutes creep past without a sign. You’re resisting the urge to check over your equipment, unwilling to let Max see how fidgety you’re starting to get. Instead you rub circles into the valley of your hand between your thumb and forefinger in a vain attempt to relieve some of your anxiety.

Max looks completely calm across the table, bored and slouched with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. The long sleeve shirt he chose to wear does nothing to hide his muscles underneath, even in the low lighting. The fabric pulls in a way that leaves you torn between staring and telling him to wear clothes that actually fits instead of being one size too small. Once again, you’re thankful for his inability to read minds, or you’re sure yours would be coming across loud and clear to him with how quiet the room is otherwise. You don’t need him knowing you think anything about his physique.

“Hello?” Max suddenly calls out into the room, boredom easily giving way to frustration. The abruptness of his voice startles you. You only now realize how incredibly silent the room has been, reminding you of the silence you heard before the front door opened earlier today.

"Anyone there?" Max calls into the room again.

The silence stretches on for another long beat. You're convinced nothing will change. Why should it? Nothing substantial has changed in the room. All that happened is a cranky, impatient vampire gave a little shout.

Then you hear it.

Two distinct knocks coming from the corner of the room. Not pipe creaking, house settling noises, but two clear as day knocks. You and Max look at each other with wide eyes.

“Hello? If someone is there, could you do that again?" you ask.

Two more distinct knocks echo from the same corner. You quickly double check the camera and digital recorder, making sure both are in working order. The EMF meter hasn't changed at all, but the spirit may not be close enough to register.

“If you’d like, I have a couple things you can use to speak with us. This is an EMF meter, you can make the lights turn on and off, or there's a flashlight you can play with.”

You wait with bated breath to see what they'll do next. Those knocks could be all that you get. Max actually looks interested in something for once rather than his usual passive boredom. You should have known that while books and research hold no interest for him, the prospect of actually interacting with the paranormal, beyond himself, would grab his attention.

The maglite rolls to the left on the tabletop you placed it on, the otherwise steady light beam flickering slightly. You’re about to ask if that was the spirit when it turns off completely. A moment later it sparks back to life, shining brightly before returning to what it's looked like for the past twenty-five minutes. Whoever is with you and Max in this room, they’re ready to talk.

The relief you feel is immense. There’s always some level of concern that nothing will pan out, essentially wasting your time as well as your clients. Normally you don’t feel quite as bad about the latter but you’d been hoping for something this time. Molly has been nothing but kind and it truly feels like she’s counting on you for answers. You might just be able to provide her with some.

You glance over at Max before turning your attention back towards the flashlight. Here goes nothing. “Can you turn the flashlight off and on again for me? So I know you’re there?”

The maglite follows the same pattern – off, bright, and back to normal. Max mutters something under his breath in clear disbelief and you can’t help feeling prideful that he’s awed on any level.

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.” You look at Max pointedly, prompting him to follow your example.

“Uh- Nice to meet you,” he says in the direction of the maglite. Good enough.

“Can I ask you some questions?” you ask.

The maglite doesn’t turn off this time. Instead the beam only flashes brightly once. Whoever this is, they’re very responsive – hardly a minute passing between each question and answer. You once worked a case where there was nearly a five minute wait between each reply.

“Brighter for yes and dimmer for no?” The beam flashes again in reply.

You shift in your seat, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees. “Do you live here?”

"Did,” Max says before the flashlight beam changes.

"What?"

"Did you live here,” Max clarifies. “They're dead."

You cast a deeply annoyed look at Max. "Just because they're dead doesn't mean they don't live here anymore. You died and your annoying ass is still wandering around."

Max for once doesn’t have a response for you. This whole ghost hunt must be throwing him off his game.

"Sorry about him,” you say, turning your attention back to the maglite. It still hasn’t changed. “Do you live here?"

The beam flashes brightly for you again. You figured that would be the answer to that question, but the confirmation is still nice to have. Limited to yes or no questions, you have to think them through carefully, using the information Molly was able to give you.

“Have you been here a long time?” you ask.

The maglite sputters, going bright before plunging the room into near total darkness. You’re not sure what kind of an answer that is. Yes and no? Does the spirit not know? It’s possible. You know through Nana and your own research that some ghosts have no concept or a warped concept of time in their limbo. Not exactly helpful here.

"Are you the reason the construction crew isn’t here anymore?” you ask next.

The flashlight sputters for a moment before flashing bright once again.

“Did you chase them away on purpose?”

This time the light beam goes dark in reply. No. Not what you expected. From what Molly had said it sounded like the construction crews all cleared out the moment this ghost made itself known. You’d expected it to be a somewhat purposeful outcome on the ghost’s part.

“What do you want?” Max asks, suddenly contributing to your little Q and A. The flashlight doesn’t change.

“Yes or no questions only, Einstein,” you remind him. Max scowls at you, but amends his question.

“Do you know Molly?” he asks this time. You’re not really sure what insights that question will offer. You’re surprised when the light flashes yes.

“Did you know her when you were alive?” you ask, following the clear path that Max’s question laid out. You find yourself even more shocked when the answer is once again, yes.

Max looks as surprised as you feel, eyebrows arching upwards. This isn’t a turn you expected this conversation to take. Molly hadn’t mentioned any recent deaths in her life or on the property. You’re more than a little puzzled, unsure of what to ask next. The maglite rolls slightly again, the spirit lying in wait to provide another answer.

You almost ask another broad question if only to keep whoever this is engaged, when you suddenly remember something from earlier in the day. Molly’s strange reaction to your question about children. You take a deep breath, nervous to ask the question you now can’t avoid.

“Are you a child?”

The flashlight burns bright. A chill runs through you, this time not the fault of the drafty manor. If you’re honest with yourself, you expected this spirit to be some past owner upset with the changes that Molly was making. This possibility hadn’t even been on your radar.

Did Molly know somehow? Could she have known that this ghost is so young – who this is. You imagine it would be difficult for her to forget the death of a child that she knew in any capacity. Perhaps that’s the crux of it all though. Denial can be a powerful thing. It may not be a possibility she’s willing to consider.

You’re about to ask another question, trying to figure out what the relationship may have been or what happened to this child, when the beam flickers off and on twice before returning to normal. No question prompted the phenomena, leading you to ask a final question.

“Are you still here with us?”

Minutes tick past. There’s no response. The beam of light holds steady, not so much as a minute flicker darker or brighter. The spirit’s last message comes across loud and clear. Good-bye.

“Thank you for talking to us,” you say to the room, despite knowing your young visitor has likely disappeared. You’re not about to stray from the etiquette Nana taught you to use with the other side.

Max is quick to follow up your gratitude with his own, catching onto how this works. He also doesn’t hesitate to turn to you only a second later. “What the fuck, Prue?” If you aren’t mistaken, there’s genuine alarm in his voice.

You flick off the digital recorder and the camera, standing to collect your maglite and EMF meter. “I really wish I knew.”

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 💕

A/N: Hi there! Sorry for the months break between chapters, life got busy, writing got hard, and yadda yadda. But I'm back to it! Writing is still slow going for me right now, so I can't promise regular updates, but I'm hoping to avoid anymore months long breaks 😅

I want to give a huge shout out to everyone who has continued to give me love for this fic over the unintentional break because I don't know what I would have done without you all supporting me. Truly, it means the absolute world to know that you all still care about my fic💕 I also want to give a shout out to my bf, who won't see this note, but who helped me outline the entirety of Bonded one night and listened to all my ideas about these characters he knew nothing about.

I love you all, I'm very excited to be writing more Bonded, and I hope to see you all with another chapter again soon!!

#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

[outercrasis]

Bonded

Part 4

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

Rating/Word Count: M (18+) / 2.8k

Warnings: a little melancholy, brief suicide mention, & I think that's it for this one

Summary: Research is coming up short

A/N: This is a bit of a transitional chapter, but there are big things on the way!

Previous ++ Series Masterlist ++ Next

“Prudence?”

You look down from your perch on top of the shed's roof to see Max standing below, arms crossed over his wide chest.

“Go away," you shout at him.

“Nana sent me out here. She said I’m not allowed back in until I return with you. Revoked my entry into the house and everything.”

That garners a smile. You can picture it in your mind – Nana asking him to find you, Max giving her attitude in response, her reminding him of whose house he was staying in. A beautiful little scene you regret not being able to see for yourself.

It's been a week. 7 days, 168 hours, 10,080 minutes since Nana discovered your mystery sigil. You've felt every excruciating second of it. Spending hours going through books, scrubbing the internet for any and all useful information, only to come up with nothing. Every avenue leading to another dead end.

The closest you've come is an incomplete and vague account about a couple from the 1970s where the husband died of a gunshot wound and the wife followed five minutes after despite having no apparent injuries of her own. To say you're discouraged is underselling it.

As a result, you’ve resorted to measures you haven’t taken since you were a moody teenager, angry at the world. The roof of the shed a perfect place to try and find some solace, the literal change in perspective helping to calm your mind.

Climbing the makeshift footholds was nostalgic. A reminder of when the world seemed a bit more wondrous and exponentially less messy. The roof groaned a little in spots with your added weight, but your grandfather’s carpentry held true.

It's been pleasant breathing in the crisp air. The leaves of the trees are in their full autumnal bloom. Vibrant reds and oranges mixed with golden yellow hues reminding you of the story of the phoenix – the forest setting itself alight to be reborn from the ashes in the spring. A few pines dot the treeline with their evergreen needles and act as a comforting constant in contrast.

In an attempt to better ignore Max, you lay back against the roof, closing your eyes to prevent being blinded by the sun. Maybe he’ll get the message and leave you alone. You doubt it.

Max has been nothing short of irritating all week. You tried to get a small reprieve from him but Nana had seen right through it, sending him into town with you. That forced you to go through the awkward and seemingly endless repetition of no, he’s not my boyfriend, he’s just a friend, to people who stopped you and wanted to chat. You had said the word friend with great disdain. You know the town is gossiping anyway.

You’re annoyed that your peace has been broken. It was nice, sitting up here alone without a certain nuisance pestering you for a little while. You can hear the shed creaking and Max’s less than inventive swears though, warning you that your time is just about up.

"Why are you all the way up here?" Max huffs at you. "Breaking your neck seems a little drastic, babe."

Your arm stays firmly in place over your eyes. "If I was going to kill myself, I wouldn't do it somewhere Nana could find me."

Max offers a small hmm, in reply. He sits beside you, assuming the position you'd been in before lying back. "It's a nice view."

"I know." Your answer is clipped and while you suppose it's not deserved you can't help it. There was a real reason you came up here and it wasn't to flirt with death. Or the undead.

Max glosses over your small snipe. "Nana says lunch is ready."

You adjust your arm and peek at him from under it. The sight you're met with makes you snort with laughter. Max has brought an umbrella with him, using it to protect himself from the harsh afternoon sun. Somehow you missed it in his hands when he first called up to you.

Max looks down at you with an exaggerated squint. "Is the sun too much for you today?" you laugh.

He grumbles under his breath, looking out towards the trees. “What was that?” you press.

“I didn’t know how long you’d force me to be out here so I came prepared,” Max says, adjusting his grip on the umbrella and hunkering down a bit more beneath it. The sun plays at his feet and ankles, but they’re otherwise covered by his boots and well-fitting jeans. Of course you'd taken no notice of how well the denim hugged his ass earlier, certainly not spilling some water on yourself at the sight.

You sit up on your elbows and nudge him slightly. “I’m messing with you, Max. The umbrella was smart.”

He appraises you, looking for the insult hidden in your words. You don't blame him. Managing insults around Nana is an artform, towing the line before she gets irritated with your carefully worded jabs. When he finds none he settles back down, seeming content to settle in and wait until you decide to give in and go eat lunch.

The devil on your shoulder is calling for you to test his patience – staying out here until Max is properly pissed, that one vein next to his temple bulging from sheer annoyance. Your stomach growls instead and makes your decision for you. Lunch, even if it's just some sandwiches Nana has tossed together, sounds heavenly.

Wordlessly, you get up from your chosen seat while taking one last look around the property and go back down the way you came up. Max is already waiting for you when your boots hit solid ground.

"How did you-?" you start to ask. There's no way he could have beat you down with you having taken the only path to and from the shed roof.

Max answers as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Jumped.”

"You jumped?" You look up towards the top of the old shed. It's not that tall, somewhere around a story, but it's certainly higher than anything you'd ever willingly jump from. Falling the right way could easily spell a broken bone, a rolled ankle if you get lucky.

Max gives you an incredulous look, like he can’t believe that’s a question you’re really asking. Logically, you get it. He’s a vampire, supernatural abilities come with the territory, but he hasn’t actually used his powers all that much around you. Grotesque meals aside and nearly two weeks from seeing what you’ve termed in your mind as his “Buffy-face” it’s almost easy to forget that he’s more enhanced than your average person. Nearly enough time to make you forget he’s not like you.

You’re not entirely comfortable with that much of a shift in the way you think of him already.

Lunch is a short affair, the expectation of sandwiches met, but also one-upped by Nana’s exceptional skills in the kitchen. She could make a can of tuna fish taste like heaven if you gave her the chance.

Afterwards, you wander aimlessly to the back of the house. There’s a sunroom tacked on – completed when your dad had been a teenager. It was a summer project for him and your grandfather at the behest of Nana. You’re pretty sure it was meant as a way to keep your dad out of trouble for all the good that did.

As a kid you would spend afternoons in the cozy space, creating a small city with your Polly Pockets. The bookshelves in the corner usually made for good apartments, carved out with the books you pulled down. The casualties to your construction became stores, larger houses, whatever your imagination required. Nana never seemed to mind so long as the books got back on the shelves in some order at the end of the day.

You take a seat in one of the rocking chairs, pulling your feet up into the chair with you. You’re not sure what to do with yourself. Research has been getting you nowhere, all the projects you can find around the house are complete, and short of rereading the same three books over again there’s nothing left for you to do. Nothing other than accept the fact that you are stuck with Max for quite possibly the rest of your life and that it is entirely your own fault. Not really how you saw your life going.

You hear Nana enter the room, her slippers making a soft shuf shuf against the worn carpet. She sits in the twin chair beside you, quiet, not disturbing the somber ambiance you’ve created. You pick at your lip, staring across the yard, trying to let your new reality sink in. Watching the chickens peck at the grass doesn’t do much to help.

“You know there was a time when I thought sitting there worrying about things would change them too.”

You turn towards her, chin in hand. She offers you a gentle smile. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice, child? You went on that damn roof again.”

A small grin breaks through. She hates when you climb up there. Probably why she sent Max to collect you. “Not to mention you wandering around here like a damn morose ghost.”

“Sorry, Nana,” you say sarcastically, but without any true bite. “Please tell me how to adjust to being soul bonded to an asshole of a vampire. I know you have a lot of experience in that area.”

“There she is," Nana teases.

You roll your eyes, knowing that she’s just trying to get more of a rise out of you. Attempting to inspire your usual attitude rather than this melancholy one you’ve been sporting the past couple days. It’s a little annoying that it’s working.

"What am I supposed to do?" you ask. It's mostly rhetorical, knowing there's no real answer to your question.

Nana answers anyway. "Could be worse. He could be ugly."

You can’t help but laugh. You’re not sure what it is, the ridiculous situation, the frankness of her statement, or the still retained secret of that kiss that never should have happened in the first place. The laughter takes hold until there are tears in your eyes, a burning in your chest from the lack of complete breaths. It’s more than a little manic, the emotions you’ve been bottling up over the past week escaping you now in short, uneven bursts.

You don’t settle until Nana’s hand finds your knee, offering you a way to ground yourself and return to reality. Her hand stays, telling you without so much as a word that she’s not going anywhere. You’re more than a little grateful that Max is nowhere to be seen, not wanting him to bear witness to the momentary breakdown. It’s a weakness you’re not yet willing to let him see.

Words slowly return to you. “Seriously Nana, what am I supposed to do?” you ask again, this time hoping for an answer.

Nana sighs softly. “You do the only thing you can, child. You live.”

Your hand grips hers from where it rests on your knee. There's a remnant of sadness in her eye, remembering dark days long gone when she found herself in a similar mental space as you are now. Lost, confused, and unsure of what to do next.

She continues. “I know that’s easier said than done and it’s sure as hell going to get messy for you, but I’ll always be here. Rain or shine, child.”

“Thanks, Nana,” you say, giving her hand a loving squeeze.

“Besides, I can always kick him out of the house if you need some space.”

You chuckle. “Mind doing that again today?”

Nana gets up, patting your cheek and pushing a loose blonde piece of hair behind your ear. “Now let’s not abuse it.”

She shuffles back into the main house, leaving you to your thoughts again. The melancholy still lingers, but for now the squall has been abated.

The gentle hollow thunk of wooden wind chimes hanging just outside the sunroom offers company along with the warmth of the enduring afternoon sun. Your thoughts drift aimlessly, never truly settling. You ignore that Max seems to keep popping up over and over again in them.

The sudden ring of your phone breaks your quiet reverence. You scramble to pick it up, the caller ID showing you an unsaved number. “Walker Investigations, Prudence speaking.”

A pleasant, feminine voice greets you at the other end. “Hello. This is- well, I feel a little silly calling you, but I think my house might be haunted.”

Finally, your mind is able to focus – sharper than it's been in days. This is exactly what you need. “Tell me everything.”

You're trying to pack as quickly as possible. With any luck you'll be able to slip away before anyone catches you. You can call Nana from the road. She won't be happy with you dumping Max on her, but that's a problem you can deal with later. You just need to get away from things – have a chance to truly think things through for a minute.

Unfortunately, you let yourself get complacent with the extended stay. Your things are scattered around your bedroom and the bathroom, requiring an obvious effort to round things up before you can leave.

Max catches you as you leave the bathroom, your arms full of essential toiletries.

“Where do you think you’re going, muffin?”

"None of your business." You breeze past him, ignoring the new, stupid pet name and desperately hope he won't follow. He does.

Most of your things are already shoved into your duffel, fitting in the toiletries where you can. Packing isn't much of an exact science for you, instead shoving things in and praying they fit and don’t break. You've only had a lotion bottle explode once so far – your method imperfect but overall functional in the end. Max leans against the doorframe to your bedroom, watching you push and shove in your bag.

“Want a hand with that? Or should I go pack my things too?” he asks.

You speak through gritted teeth, trying to close the overstuffed main pouch. “You- aren’t- coming!”

The zipper teeth catch, quickly pulling closed and you stand triumphant over the bag. Turning around, Max seems extremely unimpressed. His one eyebrow is raised, arms folded over his chest.

"Why wouldn't I be coming, cupcake?" He seems to be stuck on a food theme with the pet names today. Yesterday had been animals. Both are not as cute as he thinks.

"Because I don't need you to," you tell him, throwing your bag over your shoulder. Pushing past him again you continue, "And I don't want you to."

Max scoffs and follows you downstairs. Irritation is already rolling off him in waves and you can tell he's gearing up for an argument. You both stop short at the sight of Nana waiting for you in the hallway, hands firmly planted on her hips.

"Where are you suddenly off to, child?" Nana asks. It's clear from her tone you can't get away with the same dismissive answer you gave Max.

There's a smirk on Max's face that you desperately wish you could slap off. Fear of Nana's wrath just barely edges out the desire.

You sigh, relenting the information. “I have a case. It’s a couple states over, but I’ll be back before you know it.”

Nana looks like this is what she expected. Max looks offended – he sounds offended too. "You were just going to leave me here?"

"I told you. I don't need you," you say, shifting the duffel strap on your shoulder. You don't. You've been doing this for years without him and barring a brief hospital stay two years ago and your recent fight with him you've gone relatively unscathed.

"Sure, you'll just go and get yourself killed somewhere." It’s insulting really – that he thinks you’re some amateur who can’t handle herself.

"Aww, Max. Are you worried about me?" You ask, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"No," he spits at you. "If you die then I do, and that's not exactly something I'm eager to do, honeybun. I'm coming with you."

You look to Nana, hoping that she might cut in and tell Max to stay. She puts her hand up instead with a slight shake of her head, removing herself from the argument. You’ve never known her to be passive in an argument which tells you that she agrees with Max.

You feel backed into a corner. Unable to give a truly good reason beyond simply not wanting him with you and without Nana to back you, you’re stuck. Your only option is to let him come and hope that he doesn’t mess something up. The woman on the phone had been kind and you don’t need Max scaring her or worse, ruining your reputation.

The duffel bag falls to the floor with a heavy thud. “Fine,” you say, “We leave after dinner.”

Taglist: @castleamc @sharkbait77 @janebby @spideysimpossiblegirl @roxypeanut @paperbag33 @escapades-to-rivendell @thisshipwillsail316 @lellowberry @danidrabbles ​ @stevie75 @tintinn16 @doin-stuff @honestly-shite @hdghty @cannedsoupsucks @max--phillips @salome-c @serini-ty @beautyagegoodnesssize @greeneyedblondie44 @snow30285 @fic-appointment @kirsteng42 @athalien @radiowallet @ezrasbirdie @inkededucatednnerdy @starlightmornings @beskarboobs @kesskirata @tacticalsparkles @missminkylove @niki_xie @gaiuswrites @thirddeadlysin @kotemorons @tothejedi @tuskens-mando @nakhudanyx @quietpainter

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

[outercrasis]

Bonded

Part 2

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

Rating/Word Count: M (18+) / 6.2k

Warnings: alcohol, blood, general violence, knife violence, language (let me know if I missed any)

Summary: The situation with Evan and Max comes to a head and you're caught in the middle of it.

A/N: Big thank you to @escapades-to-rivendell for beta reading for me!

Previous ++ Series Masterlist ++ Next

You wake the next morning to someone tapping on your car window. Groggily, you try to open your eyes and return to the waking world. You lift your arm to block out the punishing sun and expect to find yourself face to face with a police officer. Despite making the responsible choice to not drive drunk they never seem thrilled to find you in the parking lot in the morning. Hopefully this one will just wake you and let you go about your day.

“Prudence! Are you okay in there?” To your surprise, it’s not a cop. It’s Evan. He sounds panicked, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other outside your passenger door.

Sitting up, you toss your pillow into the backseat and pop the car door open. “Get in.”

He hesitates for a moment before climbing in, staying quiet as you continue to wake up. His presence is unexpected and you’re more than a little annoyed that he didn’t stay at home like you told him to. It’s like he wants to get himself killed.

Evan looks around the old station wagon, giving it a similar expression to the one he wore while appraising your appearance last night. Once again you ignore the slight judgement, thinking of exactly how much money you might be able to charge him later. “Did you sleep here?”

You tilt the rearview mirror towards yourself, checking over your appearance. You wipe away the smeared mascara from under your eyes and try to fix up your hair while answering Evan. “Yes. Twenty eight people die from drunk driving every day, I’d like to not add to that number.”

He doesn’t address your concern for others welfare, instead asking another question. “What happened to your lip?”

“Huh?” You glance back into the mirror, finding your bottom lip angry and swollen. Flashes of last night return to you. One too many drinks. Handsome stranger. A far too impulsive kiss. The metallic taste of blood.

Hastily you tilt the mirror away, doing your best to avoid your reflection. Shame boils in your stomach, embarrassed that you let things get away from you so quickly last night. “It’s nothing, just knocked myself in the face."

You hope Evan can’t decipher the truth from the now throbbing wound. You’d like to maintain some guise of professionalism with him, otherwise he seems liable to send you on your way without a cent more than what he already gave you for your services. You turn the conversation back on him in hopes of further distraction, asking, “What are you doing here, why aren’t you at home?”

“I tried calling you but you weren’t answering. Have you heard the news?"

The urge to point out that you were literally just sleeping is strong, but you resist. “What news?” you ask while searching for your phone. Surely you would have woken up to your phone had he actually called. You locate it on the dirt-covered car floor. Dead. In your half-drunken stupor last night you hadn’t even thought to charge it with your portable battery.

“Somebody else was killed last night." Evan looks terrified, as though this is entirely unexpected despite his current situation. You can sense there's something more though, something he's hesitant to add and you wait for him to spit it out.

"They- they're saying the person was drained of blood." Another pause. "It was our secretary," Evan finishes quietly.

It's not exactly surprising. In a bizarre way it's almost relieving, more or less confirming that Max's supernatural identity is that of a vampire. A final nail in the coffin. The death is terrible, but this way you're saved the work of multiple avenues of research and can simply focus on the one.

You don't voice any of this to Evan. Instead you awkwardly pat his shoulder and offer your condolences. He accepts them and then his expression hardens. "This is Max's fault. We need to find him." The implied and kill him goes unsaid but hangs heavy in the air.

You ignore it, instead telling Evan to drive home and that you'll meet him there after getting some breakfast. Hours of research are stretching out ahead of you, a task that’s impossible to do while starving. That and it’ll be something to quell the uneasy feeling rolling around in your stomach. You watch Evan take off in his sensible black sedan and hope it won’t be the last time you see him.

Evan's house is more of what you've come to expect from him. A nice squat brick condo, tucked snugly between town and the suburbs; the perfect starter home for a young professional such as himself. In a few years he'd probably have a round little wife and a golden lab running around the yard.

Your beat up brown station wagon looks out of place in the driveway. Too old, too worn down for a fresh new development like this one. You wonder if the neighbors will talk. In a small subdivision like this one it seems likely.

Evan answers the door midway through your second knock. He ushers you into the house and immediately guides you to the kitchen, not even bothering to give you a tour. You're not sure if you should be offended or relieved by that.

From what you can see, nothing is a surprise. The walls are all painted the same inoffensive creamy beige, there’s some basic art likely bought at the nearest home decor store hung on the walls, and his furniture all looks straight from an Ikea ad. You’re not sure if he cleaned up in preparation for you coming over but you wish he hadn’t. There’s no mess in the house, making it look barely lived in. It’s almost unnerving how clean and orderly everything is, not to mention a bit disappointing. You’d hoped he might have something about him that was interesting and not cookie-cutter single white man in America. You were wrong.

Sitting down at his kitchen table, Evan looks at you expectantly while you pull out your laptop and journal. "What do we do now?" he asks.

"You can help me with research or you can go do whatever else you want to. I don't mind either way," you say simply.

Realistically, you don't want or need his help. He'll only slow you down with questions you've known the answers to since you were seven and inaccurate research. However, you've found that people are more likely to choose the latter when you give them the option instead of trying to dismiss them right away. Thankfully Evan decides it would be best to go do something else – after all, what is he paying you for – and you get to work.

A few hours later and you’ve taken over his table. Papers are splayed everywhere, your laptop has no less than 40 tabs open, and the remnants of a half-eaten lunch is lost somewhere in the mess. It’s coming together, a couple connections made that you’ve never had the time to put together before. You’re thrilled by your progress – the information from Brooke propelling your work that much further. It feels as though you’re slowly teasing out vampiric secrets that have remained in the shadows for millenia.

There’s just one thing.

The symbol you rediscovered in the margins of your journal – the one that you were so enamored with before you were interrupted last night. You can’t find anything on it. It was so long ago you can’t remember where you copied it from, other than the fact that it dealt with vampires in some capacity. If it didn’t, it wouldn’t have ended up in this section of your journal.

It’s not even complex which makes it worse. If it was truly complex there might be more hints to go off of, something to use as a keyword in your numerous and fruitless internet searches. As far as sigils go, it’s simplistic; a triangle with another inversed over top, a circle surrounding them both, and a single line dissecting it all.

You’re tracing it with your finger, once again lost in the possibilities of what it could be when Evan reenters the kitchen. “Have you found anything?”

You snap out of your stupor, quickly reordering your thoughts. To your left you’ve taken some pertinent notes, the first two questions starred for their importance. “Yeah actually, but I have some questions for you first if you don’t mind.”

Evan takes the chair next to you. “I don’t know what I can tell you about, but okay.”

You know this first question is going to make him uncomfortable. If you’re honest with yourself, there’s a little part of you that relishes in making him squirm, feeling it’s fair for his thinly-veiled judgemental looks.

Did he really think you didn’t notice his expression when he looked at the papers that you’ve spread across the table? What did he want, for you to work without seeing it all laid out before you? Absurd and impossible to see the connections that way. Nana has always encouraged you to spread everything as wide as possible, allowing you to step back and quite literally see the bigger picture. More than once has this method paid off, allowing you to connect ideas or concepts you might have otherwise missed.

You lean back in your chair and fold your arms over your chest before saying, “So, I think it’s probably about time you told me. Why does Max Phillips want to kill you?”

As you predicted, Evan fidgets in his seat, suddenly looking everywhere but at you. Obviously this was a question he’d been hoping to avoid. “We uh, we didn’t really get along in college.”

Way to state the obvious. “Got that. I’m going to need a little bit more here.”

Evan focuses on something just beyond you in the kitchen, clearly warring with himself. You stay quiet, waiting him out. He’ll have to tell you eventually whether he likes it or not. The clock in his kitchen ticks slowly, each movement of the second hand feeling momentous as Evan works to gather his words.

It’s quiet until Evan suddenly blurts, “He slept with my girlfriend, okay? And I may have gotten him kicked out of school.”

Well shit. That's not what you expected. To be honest you weren't sure what you expected, but that wasn't it. How did that even work? Is infidelity somehow an expel-able offense?

“So... you got him kicked out for sleeping with her?” you ask.

“Yes- well, no," Evan sighs and launches into more exasperated detail. "He was cheating on exams and I informed the academic integrity board. I might have reported him because of what he did to me, but he deserved to get kicked out anyway. The guy was a douche.”

You're not really sure how to respond. Clearly Evan feels as strongly about his choices now as he did in college. You're honestly not sure if the punishment truly fits the crime, but at least it's clear why Max wants him dead now.

Instead of addressing all of that, you ask your other question. “What does he look like?”

"Why does that matter?" Evan spits at you.

You put a hand up to him in shock, not anticipating that much venom for the simple question you asked. “I'd just like to know who to look out for.”

Evan returns to himself, seemingly embarrassed by his reaction, and pulls out his phone. You’re guessing Max is attractive. If he managed to sleep with another person’s girlfriend and get that reaction out of a person years on, your money is on someone handsome who still makes Evan insecure.

It's quiet while he searches for a photo, eventually finding one on a mutual college friend's facebook page.

"There, the one on the end," Evan says, pointing to the right side of the screen.

Your stomach bottoms out at the sight. Staring back at you from the screen is a face you already know. Your guess about him being attractive was right – it’s the handsome stranger from the bar. Your thoughts shift rapidly, pieces of information moving like a slide puzzle that's been set to auto-complete.

He looks nearly identical, a few years older in appearance now than when this photo was taken. In the photo his hair is a little longer with a light curl to the chocolate strands. He's not quite as broad, not fully filled out yet, t-shirt hanging loose on him. His smile however is exactly the same, wide and showing off his perfect set of pearly white teeth. There's no mistaking him and still you ask, “That’s Max?”

“Yeah.”

Well fuck.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself outside the bar door. Explaining to Evan how you knew Max would be here had been tricky without revealing your drunken mistake, but he bought the bullshit explanation easily. You don’t even remember what you said now, far too concerned with keeping him away from Max, now for more reasons than one.

Convincing him to stay behind had been the hard part. Evan seemed convinced that you couldn’t handle yourself or would need some kind of back-up, despite your assurances that you know exactly how to deal with vampires and that it’s his life that’s actually at risk. It took far more effort than you would have liked to keep him from coming with you. You somewhat regret even telling him where you expected Max to be, unsure of what he’ll do with that information.

The bar is just as dingy, but it feels more foreboding than it had yesterday. It’s no longer just the little shithole Evan chose to meet you in, but rather the little shithole you could die in. That somber thought has evaporated any of the charm the place seemed to hold before.

The light outside of the bar door flickers and you watch as a moth bumps into the aged bulb over and over again. Its futile efforts don’t exactly instill you with confidence. Taking one more deep breath, you push the creaky bar door open and step inside.

As expected, Max is sitting at the bartop, seemingly waiting for you (or possibly Evan) to arrive. After getting over the initial shock of holy shit you kissed Max, the fucking vampire you’re after earlier, your brain was able to catch up and think things through. Max being at the bar last night was far too much of a coincidence. It’s one you should have considered based on the other clientele, but alcohol and good looks had left you terribly distracted at the time. You can feel the phantom smack of Nana’s hand on the back of your head.

Max catches your eye the moment you step in, flashing a wide smile at you. "Angel, I knew you'd be back. You left in such a rush last night."

He’s wearing a different suit, a black tie swapped out for the red one. It’s difficult to not be annoyed by how good he looks in it. The smug look on his face makes you think that he might be able to tell what you’re thinking about before you swiftly remember that is not a power vampires have. Max is simply an intuitive ass.

You could punch the expression right off his face. If you didn’t know that it wouldn’t hurt him, you honestly might have tried. Doing your best to not let your irritation show, you stroll up to the bar and take the seat next to him. “Max. Let's cut the shit."

He offers you a surprised look and gestures with his drink for you to continue. Maybe this would go better than you’d been hoping. "I know what you are and why you're here,” you tell him frankly.

"Do you now?" Max throws back, a teasing lilt to his voice.

"You're a vampire and you're here to kill Evan Sanders." There’s no point in mincing words. The same alcoholic regulars are the only other people in the bar and just like last night, they aren’t listening to anything the two of you have to say. Hell, none of them had even glanced in your direction when you made out with him right in front of their faces.

Max seems far too relaxed for what you just revealed. He had to know then, know who you are and why you’re here. The only question now is how – unfortunately now is not the moment to ask. You’re not sure how long you have until something goes sideways and you need to get this dealt with.

“Maybe you’re smarter than you look,” Max says and now you really want to hit him. You grit your teeth, shoving down the urge to act on that want before continuing.

"I don't want to kill you-"

"Cute that you think you could,” Max intejects.

"-but Evan would love to. You need to leave now, while you still can."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" You’ve caught his full attention now. Max sets his glass down and leans in, eyes locked onto your face. His gaze is so intense that despite yourself you can feel your face growing hot. You’re honestly not sure if that’s a vampiric quality or just him.

You reach over and finish his drink to calm your nerves. It’s probably not the most sanitary, but considering that your tongue had been in his mouth less than 24 hours ago, you have bigger concerns. “It means that you’re lucky he called my number first and not someone else’s. In a couple days though who Evan called won’t matter and this place will be crawling with hunters because you haven’t been quiet.”

"Why do you care? Did I rock your world so hard you're willing to keep me alive, sugar lips?"

You roll your eyes at him, opening your mouth to shoot back a quick response but someone else beats you to it.

"What the fuck?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. You whirl around in your seat to find yourself face-to-face with Evan. There’s a wild look in his eyes, like something just broke in his mind, and you’re no longer sure which man you need to be more scared of. This situation just became far more dangerous and delicate than you wanted it to be.

You glance back at Max to gauge his reaction to Evan’s appearance, slightly surprised he hasn’t already jumped him, and catch his smirk. Asshole, he knew Evan was there. It’s the reason he asked such a stupid and borderline vulgar question in the first place.

"Evan, it's not what you think." God, how did you end up here? You sound like someone who just got caught cheating and the irony of the situation is not lost on you. It feels like you’re rehashing Evan and Max’s past for them, only this time you’re caught in the crossfire and instead of being expelled Max will end up dead.

"What the fuck else is that supposed to mean? Oh my god, have you been in on this?" Evan looks crazed, a pit of hate welling to the surface as he looks at Max behind you.

"No,” you try to reassure him. “This is the first time I've met him, I only know who he is because of you." A bit of a lie maybe, but you need Evan to calm down. You hadn't known it was Max at the time anyway.

Max tuts, cutting into the conversation. "Now there's no need to lie to the man. Are you embarrassed by our moment?"

Maybe you will let Max die. He seems set on getting himself killed, either by you or Evan at this point. Who are you to get in the way of a vampire and his eternal damnation?

The energy in the bar is thrumming, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. You're almost convinced there's actually dust being shaken from the old memorabilia that adorns the walls. Evan is clutching at his jacket, looking ready to explode and you can feel Max's heavy presence behind you. You feel like the cork in an expensive and old bottle of champagne and once you move out of position a mess is sure to take your place.

The old bartender wanders over, looking at the three of you and points to the door. It's as though the bar itself is rejecting the mounting pressure. “Take it outside.” It’s clear that it’s not a question.

You follow Evan out of the bar, Max hot on your heels, and frantically try to think of a solution to the current problem. Evan seems convinced now that you’ve been in on this the whole time with Max, like some sort of thrall under his spell. It's a little bit insulting honestly.

Max isn't helping things, but explaining what happened last night to Evan somehow seems worse. Call you crazy maybe, but the unhinged vibes you're getting from him make you think he won't exactly be understanding.

The parking lot is casted in shadow, lit by the single flickering light outside the bar and a couple spare street lights. There's a light fog rolling over the asphalt, mixing with the dim lights to create an otherworldly glow. For just a brief moment, the world sits still.

You're still positioned in the middle of the two men, trying your hardest to prevent the explosion that you know is coming. They haven't even spoken to each other yet, seemingly communicating through body language and tense stares alone. You snap first, unable to last under their pressure.

"Can we all just calm down here? Talk through this like adults?"

Evan lets out an ugly laugh at the same time Max shakes his head. Men.

"He's going to kill me and you want us to talk?" Evan yells, practically spitting.

They’re circling each other around you, as though your physical presence has erected a wall between them. You turn with them, hands up to mimic the invisible barrier. “If you would just let me do my job he won’t and we can all go about our lives.”

This time it’s Max who responds, confidently asserting, “Oh no, I’m going to kill him.”

This is absurd. It’s wholly and truly ridiculous and you don’t know what to do next for fear of triggering one of them into action. Whatever’s about to happen between them, it isn’t going to be pretty. You’re trying to think, trying to come up with something when everything shifts. Evan has been grasping tightly at his jacket since he arrived in the bar, you assumed out of nerves, only to now be proven wrong. He reaches into the jacket and pulls out a large, sharp… kitchen knife.

Max laughs at the weapon and if you weren’t so preoccupied with the danger it posed to the two of you very fleshy, very mortal humans, you might laugh with him. Idiot. A twelve year old knows that you kill a vampire with a wooden stake. That or beheading of course, but you can’t imagine that simple kitchen knife getting through Max’s neck. Really, what had been his plan? This is why jobs should always be left to professionals.

Against your better judgement you edge towards Evan – slowly like you’re approaching a cornered animal. For all intents and purposes, you are. Evan’s eyes are wild, not unlike a prey animal would look when their lives are being threatened. The knife weighs heavy and clumsy in his hand. You’re not sure if he’s going to drop it or start swinging wildly.

“Evan- Evan, drop the knife. It won’t do anything against him,” you try to tell him calmly.

Evan, predictably at this point, doesn’t listen to you. Instead he charges at Max, knife held above his head, only for Max to easily knock it from his hands and clutch the smaller man by the neck. The knife clatters pitifully to the blacktop, skittering to a stop just before your feet.

“Really now, Evan? Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Max taunts before releasing his neck and landing an easy punch to Evan’s kidney. Evan doubles over, gasping out in pain and clutching at his side. Max’s eyes flash red, a change you can see even in the gloomy haze. He’s sizing Evan up, waiting for him to recuperate a little so that he can hit him again and you know you need to do something. If you don’t, Evan is already as good as dead.

You look down at the knife at your feet and decide it’s better than nothing. Unlike Evan, you have a bit more tact and don’t run head first at the vampire. You move slowly, carefully watching as Max lands a couple more blows on Evan. Each one looks more painful than the last but you’re thankful for the distraction it provides. Max’s attention remains on him and not your slow approach. Finally, Max turns his back to you entirely and gives you the opening you need.

You move quickly, keeping a firm grip on the knife. He hears you at the last moment, changing the final trajectory of the blade from Max’s back to his arm, plunging deep into his bicep. Max roars in pain, reaching up and pulling it from his arm.

The blood that spills from the cut is thick and dark, reeking of something cloyingly sweet. Death, you register in the back of your mind. He stinks of death, which, all things considered, makes sense. He isn’t exactly a living member of society anymore.

Properly enraged by your nearly pointless attack, you watch as Max transforms. A scowl fixes itself onto his face, teeth permanently bared. His canines grow long and sharp, his own personal miniature daggers. Veins and arteries bulge from beneath his skin, patterns of crisscrossing blue and green. His brow bone sinks lower, shadowing his eyes that are permanently glowing a violent shade of red.

You barely have time to react, registering Evan's terrified and spluttering Jesus Christ somewhere in the back of your mind as Max picks you up like a ragdoll and throws you against a nearby car. "That hurt," Max growls, watching with satisfaction as your head makes a sickening thump against the back quarter panel.

You're pretty sure you don't fall unconscious. Darkness simply flickers like a blink and then your mind is left as foggy as the air surrounding you. Seconds feel like hours as you try to regain your focus, pieces of a heated argument between Evan and Max breaking through.

“You ruined my relationship."

“You ruined my life.”

There's a few more words you hear thrown around like girlfriend, expelled, Romania, but none of them really come together to anything coherent. From your position on the ground, you watch Max and Evan circle each other again, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Evan doesn't stand a chance. Of course he doesn't, he’s fighting a supernaturally enhanced person that already has size and muscle on him. It’s just a matter of time before Max gets tired of this little dance and goes in for the kill.

Okay, so, stabbing him clearly isn’t going to work. Not that you really thought it would – you had simply been hoping to slow him down. Max’s arm is hanging a bit more limply now, but unless you somehow become able to hack and slash him to bits that method isn’t going to be effective in the long term. You need to figure out something else, yesterday.

You sit up, groaning and rubbing at the back of your head. Max and Evan are still going at it, ignoring your presence again almost entirely. The thick stench of death is pungent and while it makes you want to retch, it’s also helping to bring you back to earth. You look around the parking lot as you fully regain your bearings, hoping to find some piece of trash strewn about that you can use to better fight Max. Unfortunately, you have no such luck and only manage to relocate the knife. Max really needs to do a better job of moving weapons away from his enemies.

Crawling over to it, you can hear as their argument reaches a fever pitch. The end is coming soon and you need to act fast. Picking up the knife once again, you’re left to make a quick decision. There isn’t much you can do and frantically you think through your options.

An image settles in your mind just as Max slams Evan onto the ground. Without hesitation, you draw the blade against your palm and paint the asphalt with your blood. You can feel rocks and dirt biting into the open wound but you ignore it, pushing through to continue your macabre art project. Max has Evan laid out before him, neck stretched and exposed, ready to bite into just as you slam your palm into the center of the sigil, redrawn from the margins of your journal.

Max screeches, his face transforming back, teeth retracting to normal. He’s holding his head as he pushes away from Evan, managing to give him a sharp kick to the head that sets off a renewed yell. Your eyes are wide, watching him with fascination, hand still pressed down into the graphic mark.

His eyes open to easily find yours, a fire burning in their now ochre colored depths. "What did you just do?"

"I don’t really know," you answer honestly.

Evan is knocked out cold – Max’s final kick finally too much pain for his body to bear. You and Max had stared at each other in disbelief for a long moment, unsure of what to do with each other. He tries to approach Evan again with his fist raised, only to cry out in pain when he gets too close, clutching at his head in agony. Whatever you’ve done, it’s clear that Max won’t be killing Evan today.

You pull yourself off the ground as Max approaches you. He grabs at you roughly only to release you a moment later, palm pressed to his forehead.

“What the fuck?” he grits out, stumbling back.

“I think you should stop doing that,” you tell him, intrigued by the adverse reaction. What have you done? Clearly that sigil has something to do with vampires, but you never imagined it having this kind of an effect. Max couldn’t seem to raise so much as a fang without some sort of splitting pain ripping through him.

You look down at Evan sprawled across the pavement and breathe a sigh of relief when you see his chest shallowly raising and lowering. Still alive then. You walk over to him and attempt to grab hold of his arms, only for your palm to sting painfully in protest.

Right. The cut. You look at it regretfully, flecked with filth from the asphalt. You'll need to get the wound cleaned and wrapped before you can do anything substantial with your hand.

With no other plan to move Evan, you look over at Max. “Pick him up,” you demand.

“Excuse me?” Max asks, squaring you with an indignant look.

“You heard me, pick him up. We’re going to put him in the backseat of my car and take him home.”

Max barks out a laugh. “I don’t know who you think you are toots, but I’m not going anywhere with you and I’m sure as shit not helping him.”

You step over Evan carefully and walk up to Max, getting directly in his face. It’s easy to do now that you’re confident he can’t so much as pull your hair without experiencing a far worse pain in return. “I think if you want to know what I just did to you, you’ll do anything I ask, stud.”

Max stares you down, sizing you up, trying to see if you're bluffing. When you don't back down he sighs, a leftover habit from when he needed to breathe, and wordlessly walks over to Evan. Max lifts him easily, tossing him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Between his supernatural strength and broad shoulders, it's almost too easy of a feat.

Max looks bored and irritated, waiting for you to lead him to your car. Walking towards it, he scoffs. "This piece of shit is your car?"

You glare at him, opening the back door with your good hand. "Yes and don't talk about her that way."

Max unceremoniously tosses Evan onto the bench seat and opens the passenger door. He tries to climb in himself, only to be prevented by an invisible barrier. "What the fuck is it now?" Max complains.

Good to know your sigils work at least. Or would have, if you didn't now need to destroy them to let Max into the car. You quickly find them, breaking them one at a time until Max is able to get in. A couple still remain and you make a mental note of which ones acted to allow or deny Max entry.

The drive to Evan's place is deathly silent. He's still knocked out cold in your backseat and at some point you roll the window down, hoping that the cool night air will both clear the remaining fog from your mind and rid the car of the stench coming from Max's arm wound. You're a little surprised it hasn't begun to heal already.

You really don't know what you've done to Max. The heat of the moment combined with your own head trauma left only that marking in your mind. It had been fairly stupid to use it without knowing what it did but you hadn't had much choice. Your only hope now is to find the book you copied it out of all those years ago or pray that somehow Nana knows what it is.

Evan's house is locked and without Max having permission to enter, you can't make it farther than the porch. You direct Max to set Evan on one of the cushioned wicker chairs and check his pulse.

"I'm a little concerned he isn't awake by now, how hard did you kick him?" you ask Max.

"Not hard enough."

You roll your eyes at Max and walk back to the car in search of a water bottle. When you return, Max is clutching at his head again and Evan is still blissfully unconscious.

"What did you just try to do?" you ask.

Max sets you with another glare and replies with a mumbled, "Nothing."

You ignore his obvious lie, splashing Evan in the face with the water. The cold and wet shock returns Evan coughing and spluttering to the waking world. When he catches sight of Max over your shoulder he panics, nearly falling out of the chair.

"Max, go wait in the car," you tell him.

Something dangerous flashes in Max's eye before he spits back, "I'm not some dog for you to order around, princess."

"I don't give a shit Max, go wait in the car while I talk to Evan."

You know he wants to challenge you further, if he could he'd probably be hurting you in some fashion right now but he can't, so instead he relents. He throws a final glare at Evan and leaves the porch, slamming the car door harder than what's necessary.

Evan looks terrified and angry but you're confident you can handle him now. He's too beat up to do any real damage to you. "So, about my fee. You already paid me for my call-out, which thank you, but I'm going to need a little more for everything else."

He stutters, not sure of how to reply. Finally he settles on a frenzied, "He's still alive!"

"And so are you!” you immediately hit back. “Look, dead or alive, Max won't be bothering you anymore and I did technically save your life tonight, so… you owe me."

Evan continues to stare at you in open disbelief. Part of you does feel a little bad, but you never said you were going to kill Max and realistically, your services have been rendered. The vampire threat has been neutralized, just not in the way Evan imagined. Or you did for that matter.

You decide to wait him out. It's worked on him for other things and really, you want your money. A girl needs things like food and gas and the 400 he already paid will only last so long. Slowly, Evan gets up from the chair, wincing slightly and goes to retrieve your money.

He hands you 600 dollars and looks you dead in the eyes. "I never want to see you again."

You nod, understanding his position and shove the money into your pocket. You get into the Suburban, throw it into reverse, and peel out from the quiet suburban neighborhood.

Max is quiet beside you, arms folded over his chest. You're not really sure of what to do or say now that Evan is behind you. Instead, you turn on the radio, letting it scan, and drive.

Taglist: @castleamc @sharkbait77 @librariantothejedi @janebby @spideysimpossiblegirl @roxypeanut @paperbag33 @escapades-to-rivendell @thisshipwillsail316 @lellowberry @danidrabbles ​ @stevie75 @tintinn16 @doin-stuff @honestly-shite @hdghty @cannedsoupsucks @max--phillips @salome-c @serini-ty @beautyagegoodnesssize @greeneyedblondie44 @snow30285 @fic-appointment @kirsteng42 @athalien @radiowallet @ezrasbirdie @inkededucatednerdy @starlightmornings @beskarboobs @kesskirata @tacticalsparkles @missminkylove @niki_xie @gaiuswrites @thirddeadlysin @kotemorons @tothejedi @readsalot73 @tuskens-mando

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

[outercrasis]

Bonded

Part 3

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

Rating/Word Count: M (18+) / 6.9k

Warnings: descriptions of Max’s new eating habits, language, brief discussion of religion (let me know if something was missed!)

Summary: Over the river and through the woods to Nana's house we go

A/N: Sorry this one took so long to get out! It's a long one to hopefully make up for the wait 😅 See the end for an additional note and thank you as always to @escapades-to-rivendell for the beta read, I couldn't do this thing without you 😘

Previous ++ Series Masterlist ++ Next

All things considered, the car ride is not as bad as it could be. It's not great, considering your passenger is a sullen vampire that's pissed at you for essentially neutering him, but it's not bad either. You were even considerate, stopping at the hotel he'd been staying at to let him gather his things before jetting out of town.

Max doesn't have much – a suitcase far nicer than your ratty blue duffel and a few suits kept carefully preserved in garment bags. You wanted to laugh at those, but you can tell you’re already on thin ice. No need to make it worse.

You expect him to be irritating while you drive, but he's surprisingly quiet. Quiet does not mean easily ignored unfortunately. His stare weighs on you like a twelve-ton brick across the bench seat. You don’t look at him, not wanting him to know that he’s getting to you. Your eyes stay firmly focused on the road ahead as you try to preoccupy yourself with figuring out what exactly that sigil you used did to him.

It's obvious that Max is currently unable to attack anyone, biting or otherwise. The pain that shoots through his head is unquestionably strong enough to overcome his desire to maim and kill. For you, this is good news – for him, you're not sure.

Your vampire friend Brooke had essentially proven that on-tap blood wasn't necessary and bottled would work just fine, but it's still concerning. You're not sure if that's something she can maintain forever or if she'll need to top-up from a fresh source every once and a while. Max won’t be able to manage that in his current state. And sure, maybe he had thrown you against a car, but you stabbed him in the arm so fair is fair, right? That doesn't mean you want him dead.

You make a couple stops along the way, calling Nana about halfway to let her know where you are and who you're bringing with you. She's excited by the news which shocks you when it shouldn't. The vampire part was never going to bother her – she just heard the word guest and ran with it.

When you get back in the car after the second stop (this time for gas and snacks, not the bathroom), Max finally speaks. "Where are we going? Somewhere more private so you can stake me?"

You roll your eyes, peeling open a Slim Jim with your teeth. "You still think I'm going to kill you?"

"Well you did stab my arm, so,” Max sneers. The wound in question had finally closed and Max cleaned it at your first stop on the drive, relieving you both from that overwhelming death stench. By your estimation it had taken an hour and a half to fully close. You wonder if feeding would have sped that process up for him.

"Arm. With a knife that we both know wouldn't kill you, so."

Max isn’t pleased with your answer. He knows you’re right, but definitely doesn’t want to admit it. "Then where the fuck are we headed?" he spits at you.

There's no reason not to tell him. A few more hours of driving and he'll have his answer. There's something about seeing him squirm though that you can't help but enjoy. He's certainly accustomed to having the upper hand and right now you're holding all the cards. You take a bite of the processed meat stick and talk around it. “You’ll see.”

You’ve always enjoyed the drive up to Nana’s house. The long twisting two-track nestled into a dense smattering of trees and undergrowth. It gets tricky at times in the winter, but ever since Nana purchased the plow attachment for the truck they’ve become more manageable.

Thankfully, it’s only autumn and the worst you have to look out for is a dead tree that could have fallen and blocked your path. It happened once before and you’re hoping to never have to deal with it again. Processing a tree is not your idea of a good time and you’re willing to bet Max won’t lend a supernatural hand to help.

Max sits up when you turn in the drive, his pouty mood dissapaiting slightly as he realizes you’ve finally reached your destination. Nana’s house sits in a large clearing within the small forest, looking aged but well cared for. It’s a small, old two-story farmhouse with a porch that wraps around two sides. Plants adorn the sun faded railings, some intentionally planted and others not. It would look overgrown if it weren’t for the careful eye Nana keeps, maintaining the growth to be healthy rather than choking.

There’s a small greenhouse out in the yard for Nana’s more specialty plants nestled in by the shed Grandpa built before you were born. The garden boxes have mostly died off for the season, a few squash plants and green beans all that’s left. Chickens roam the yard, pecking indiscriminately through the grass. A few near the driveway flutter and squawk when they hear the rumble of the station wagon approach the house.

You watch the front door swing open, Nana shuffling out on the worn boards of the porch to welcome you home. It’s been a number of weeks since you were here last, stretched longer by Evan’s unexpected call, and seeing her alive and well comforts you in a way that her voice over the phone simply can’t do. She’s not ill or all that fragile, especially considering her age, but still, you worry.

Dirt crunches below your boots as you hop out of the Suburban, throwing your duffle over your shoulder. You’ll deal with the trash that’s accumulated in the car later – for now, you’d just like a hug from Nana and a bowl of whatever delicious meal she’s surely made.

Halfway up to the house, you notice that Max isn’t following. He’s outside of the car just… staring. It’s not the heavy gaze he’s been leveling at you for hours. This one is quieter, full of something you’re not confident enough to identify. It disappears just as soon as you’ve noticed it, Max returning to himself and confidently striding after you. Satisfied, you turn back and keep walking.

Nana waits patiently as you clomp up the steps, dropping your duffel and leaning down slightly to hug her. She’s not much shorter than you, just enough to require a slight bend in your knees, and it’s well worth it. When you were a kid you were convinced her hugs could heal anything and to some degree you were right. There’s a small part of you now that still holds onto that belief.

Her gray hair is pulled back into a simple bun, a few strands fallen loose from her own long day. Necklaces and bracelets clack as she moves to pull you into her arms. She smells like home, bergamot and jasmine mixing pleasantly with the scent of dinner that clings to her eclectic clothes.

Pulling away from the hug, she rests her hand on your cheek. "I made your favorite."

Your mouth is already watering at the thought of the chicken and dumplings that you now know await you inside. There’s no denying she’s a phenomenal cook, but there is something about her dumplings that are just perfect. You’re certain there’s a secret ingredient she puts in beyond ‘love’ as she’s so fond of telling you.

Nana gently pats your cheek a couple times before looking around you. Max is standing at the bottom of the stairs, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, looking out across the yard. The way the sinking sun catches his facial features is striking. The warm glow lights his skin, erasing the ashen color that made itself more apparent while you drove. He almost seems like a member of the living.

“You told me you were bringing a vampire here, not that you were bringing a hot one," Nana says while gesturing for Max to join you on the porch properly.

"Nana!" you admonish. You can't believe she actually just said that. She’s always spoken her mind but you’re not sure you can handle this. You’re trying to ignore his effortless attractiveness, purposely not acknowledging how good he looks even in his day-old torn and rumpled suit. Max takes Nana's compliment as invitation and stands beside you on the porch.

“What? I’m old, not dead," she says before turning to Max. "Oh, no offense dear."

The smile he gives her is easy and obviously amused. "None taken, doll."

"A charmer then. I'll keep that in mind," Nana laughs and waves him off.

She turns to lead you both into the house, remembering at the last moment to specifically invite Max in. You head towards the kitchen, lured by your nose and the promise of hot home cooked chicken and dumplings. You barely even notice Max as his head twists and turns, taking in the decor of the farmhouse. It’s become so normal to you that you’ve forgotten how strange it can look to others.

The house is filled to the brim. Not in a hoarding way, but in a Nana clearly said fuck the minimalist decor movement sort of way. The kitchen is clean, but cookware and appliances of various ages and styles litter the counter space. It all looks well loved and well used, something you know from personal experience to be true.

On the one wall, Nana has plants strung up and drying for equal use in cooking and the small amount of witchcraft she dabbles in. There are photos hanging on the other walls alongside some kitschy decor. A hodgepodge of clipped out recipes, old photos, and your childhood drawings litter the fridge. You’ve attempted to remove the drawings and more embarrassing photos a handful of times but Nana refuses to take them down. You stopped after she threatened to replace the photos with even worse ones.

It’s busy and there’s something to see in every corner, but there’s also an inescapable feeling of being at home. Even Max seems to feel it, visibly relaxing in the chair Nana directed him to.

You make yourself a plate while Nana rummages through the fridge for what you assume will be some kind of chilled dessert. Instead, she pulls out a take-out container that’s filled with something you can only describe as guts and another full of scarlet red liquid. Max looks equally surprised.

Nana is nonchalant, plating the gruesome meal as though it’s any other delicious feast she would whip up. The contrast of the organs and raw, bloody meat laid out on her reproduction blue willow china is almost enough to make you laugh. Almost. The fork and knife she pulls out are what elicits a snort.

“Prudence told me that you can’t feed like normal right now, but that’s no reason you should go hungry,” Nana says as she sets down Max’s food in front of him. “I made sure to get a few extra livers, I’m sure you could use the iron.”

You can’t imagine Nana going into town and getting that from the butcher has done much to improve her reputation. You’re also willing to bet that she doesn’t mind it in the slightest. For as long as you can remember Nana has been somewhat of a living legend around town, much to her delight.

Whispers suggest she isn’t simply the kind-hearted old woman she appears to be. Rumors that she’s involved in the – gasp – occult float around, most of which are spread because she doesn’t attend a weekly mass. Back when you were no older than six and the rumors first spread to you, you asked her about it and she let you in on her way of thinking.

“There may be one god, child, or there may be many. They don’t know any better than I do and the way I see it, I’m hedging my bets far better than they are.”

Even as a kid you could see her logic in that. As an adult, you’ve grown to appreciate it even more. Worst case scenario, Nana has just been giving the singular god’s creations special attention. If He’s as loving as He’s supposed to be, then you can’t imagine Him taking issue with that. She’s certainly better off than the gossiping townspeople.

You bring your own food to the table, taking a seat across from Max. It occurs to you that you should find his macabre meal more disturbing – that other people would have a difficult time watching him consume the wet flesh and muscle, drinking down the cup of blood that you assume to be a pig's. He's shockingly clean about it though, actually using the cutlery and making it seem almost normal.

It’s quiet through dinner. Not in the same way that it had been in the car – the new location has had a calming effect on the both of you and the food has created an odd sort of armistice. Nana continues to move around the kitchen, the gentle clatter becoming a comforting backdrop to the meal.

After you both finish eating, Max looking significantly less pallid, you move to the living room. Max, to your immense displeasure, takes your spot on the old, worn couch. You debate fighting him over it but you know Nana won’t tolerate that, so you unhappily take a seat at the other end. You reach over and grab your favorite blanket before he can steal that too.

Nana joins you, sitting in her armchair positioned closest to the old fireplace and stares between the two of you. She arches an eyebrow, waiting for one of you to start talking before letting out a long sigh. “I’m not getting any younger.”

You glance over at Max, the discomfort on his face readily apparent. You’ll take this one then. “Max was trying to kill someone, I stopped him, and now he can’t feed or hurt anyone.”

“You told me that on the phone, child. Tell me something new.” Nana reaches down next to her chair, pulling out her knitting needles and resumes work on her current project. It looks like it’s shaping up to be a pair of mittens.

You don’t really want to tell her this next part. You know you have to, that if you want her help the information will have to be divulged at some point, but that doesn’t mean you’re looking forward to it. You feel ten years old again – when you forgot to close the chicken coop at night and a coyote had snuck in and had himself a small feast. You didn’t want to admit your mistake then either.

Your mouth goes a bit dry. “I may have done a small amount of blood magic with a sigil that I don’t know the origin of.”

Nana’s needles stop. Her eyes fall to your bandaged hand. The fire flickers in the hearth and the grandfather clock in the corner finds that it’s the perfect time to chime. The tolls are deep and loud, rolling like thunder before a devastating crack of lightning. You hope you don’t see it strike.

Nana gets up from her chair, a deep frown settling in, and walks away. As the clock’s ringing ends she returns and throws a pad of paper and pen into your lap. “Draw it.”

You sketch the sigil that you last drew in blood on the dirty asphalt and hand the image back over to her. Sinking back into your position on the couch, you draw your blanket up over you. Her unforgiving stare at your hand makes you feel guilty – an emotion you don’t want to feel given that you saved someone’s life with that wound.

Max breaks his self-imposed silence. “You mean you really don’t know what you did to me?”

Nana ignores him, studying the sigil, and you throw him a confused look. “I told you I don’t know what I did.”

“I thought you were lying,” he says, crossing his arms. The motion sinks him slightly further into the couch. Your irritation grows seeing him get comfortable in your spot.

“Why would I lie about that?”

“Because you’re an asshole?” he supplies. If he were anyone else, you might give him that. Certainly Evan would have every right after you overcharged for the callout fee and still made him pay more later. Max though? He could shove it.

“Says the murderous vampire in the room.”

“Vampire. Murder is in the job description, sweet cheeks.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” you scoff. You look out towards the window, watching the plants rustle in the gentle night breeze. The clear moonlight gives the world outside a ghostly glow. You’ve lost track of the moon cycle, but given how bright it is, it must be somewhere close to full.

Nana interrupts further argument, looking puzzled. “I’m not sure what this is. You’re going to have to give me time to do some research, but first you need to tell me exactly what you did.” It’s clear that this is not up for debate.

You relay the events of your days since Evan first called, carefully avoiding any mention of the kiss you shared with the vampire on the other end of the couch. Max interjects randomly, protesting your view of events at certain points but overall he lets things stand as you tell them. Thankfully, he doesn't bring up the kiss either. It seems he still has enough decency left in him to not air your dirty laundry to your grandmother.

When you explain that the knife you used to cut open your hand was the same one you plunged into Max’s arm, Nana tuts. You hadn’t given it much thought before now, but she caught it immediately. If Max’s blood remained on the knife and mingled with yours in any way, this might be more than a small amount of magic you dipped your toes into. You’re suddenly thankful that vampires are created in part by venom and not a simple mixing of blood.

Max chimes in again as you finish your story. “Another thing, I tried to compel her and it didn’t work. Why?”

Your temper flares. Watching him slowly grow more comfortable in your spot on the couch is one thing. To hear him easily admit to trying to compel you is another. “You did what?” you grit out.

Max shrugs in reply, turning back to look at Nana for an answer. You want to hit him. Better yet, you’d love to have that knife again and sink it into his other arm just for the hell of it. Here he is complaining about what you did when he tried to rob you of your free will. If Max has one thing, he certainly has audacity.

Nana gives a straightforward answer. You know it too, but you’re far more preoccupied with not following through on every violent urge you’re currently feeling. “Compulsion works based on the person’s strength of mind. Prudence is stronger than your average person so it would take a fair amount of effort, if you were able to affect her at all.”

You can’t help but preen under her praise. Realistically it’s because of your knowledge of the paranormal that strengthens your mind against him, but it’s still nice to hear. Doubly so after a night of feeling foolish in front of the person who taught you everything. A welcome reminder that despite your errors, she still loves you and always will.

Max looks a bit put out at this answer and you’re surprised he didn’t know it already. You’re not sure when he was turned, but it couldn’t have been too long ago. Most are perceptible to compulsion, but for you to be the first he tried and failed with? He must be the world’s luckiest vampire. Either that or his usual type is just a susceptible bunch. Considering his general persona, the latter is a bet you’re willing to take.

The grandfather clock chimes again, alerting you all to the late hour and you find yourself unable to stifle a yawn. “Go on to bed, child. We won’t be figuring this out tonight.”

You offer a nod, pulling yourself out of the couch. You can feel exhaustion start to hit you hard, the events of the last few days and less than excellent sleep in the Suburban catching up. Nana speaks again as you get to your feet. “Oh, and please show Max to the guest room. I’m sure he could use some rest too.”

“Thank you, Nana,” Max replies, a look of pure shock and joy on his face.

“Of course, dear.” Nana returns to her knitting, eyes focused on the pad of paper still in her lap. It’s clear that she expects you to do as she’s asked. You aren’t going to protest, it’s her house and she makes the rules in it, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be happy about it.

You don’t say anything to Max as you leave the room. If he wants to see the guest room then he can follow. You head upstairs, the steps creaking slightly beneath your feet. Still irritated by his attempt to compel you, you merely stop in front of the bedroom Max will occupy and gesture to it before moving down the hallway towards your own.

“You sure you don’t want to share, angel?” Max asks.

That stops you in your tracks. Your bed is desperately calling out to you, ready to wrap you in its loving and soft embrace, but really? That’s where he’s taking things? In your grandmother’s home no less?

He’s leaning against the doorframe, a shameless grin on his face. It’s difficult to tell if he’s joking or serious. “In your dreams,” you shoot back.

Max takes a moment to inspect his fingernails, incredibly nonchalant about this entire situation he just created. “I don’t know. I seem to remember someone being very eager not that long ago.”

“And I seem to remember leaving someone behind with blue balls. Or are they just always that color now?”

That breaks his cool facade a little, eyes narrowing on you. “I’d watch yourself, Prudence. If whatever you did to me wears off I’m coming for you first.”

You roll your eyes and readjust the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “I’d love to see you try.”

You don’t offer Max the chance to reply, taking the few remaining steps to your bedroom and closing the door swiftly behind you. You’re fairly certain if you have to hear one more comment from him tonight that you will go out and find a stake with his name on it.

The worst part is that he’s not even the most annoying person you’ve ever had to deal with. He just gets under your skin, like he knows exactly where to pick that will bother you the most. It certainly doesn’t help that the last remnants of his bite to your lip are still healing – a near constant reminder of your stupid mistake. You caught him glancing at it a few times tonight and if it weren’t for Nana being in the room, you would have called him out on it. It’s not something you want to explain to her.

Not bothering to take your clothes off, you flop into bed and let yourself become consumed by familiar pillows and blankets. Your body rejoices at a real mattress beneath you. Within minutes you’re softly snoring, drifting off to sleep.

It’s late in the morning by the time you wake. You can tell by the way the sun spills in, lighting up old band posters you put up when you were in highschool.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you run a hand over your face and change your clothes. Jeans are not comfortable to sleep in and less so to wake up in. Swapping them out for sweatpants and locating an oversized t-shirt, you take a deep breath and shuffle downstairs in your fuzzy purple slippers. Hopefully today will bring answers.

Making your way into the kitchen, you’re greeted by the strong scent of coffee and Max’s broad shoulders at the table. He’s pulled on a soft gray henley that’s a little too tight, pulling the fabric taut and making you forget for a moment that you are refusing to think of him in that way. Remember: asshole, attempted compulsion, death threat, vampire.

Once you can trust your brain to start functioning properly again you let your presence be known. You make a beeline for the coffee, pouring it into your favorite mug. It’s a hand thrown piece your grandfather had made, the glaze a soft sage green. Nana once told you how he thought it would come out purple. How he managed to mix up the colors so badly you’ll never be certain.

Turning around to face Max you find him eating some sort of animal guts and another glass of blood only to feel your stomach churn. Watching him feed in the mornings was apparently not as easy as you’d found it last night.

“Cold?” Max smirks.

You’re confused until you follow his eyeline, looking down to find your hardened nipples poking through your shirt. You quickly cover them with your arm and frown. “What are you? Five?”

Max shrugs, finishing the last of his drink. You tear your eyes away from the way his neck moves while he swallows, instead focusing on the way the light catches the strings of cut citrus Nana has drying in front of the window. He’s drinking blood anyway. It’s gross.

“Where’s Nana?” you ask. You assume he’s seen her, given his lack of need for real sleep and Nana’s early morning habits.

“She said something about the cellar. I don’t know,” Max offers.

“Thanks. Real helpful.” You leave him in the kitchen and reclaim your spot on the couch. Regretfully you left your favorite blanket upstairs, so you grab another and settle in.

Your journal is sitting on the coffee table in front of you, pulled out last night to show Nana where you’d found it in your disorganized organization. She’d hoped that it might give a better inkling as to where you discovered it based on everything else around it, but you’re not sure it had been helpful. Internally, you vow to never add something to your journal again without at least a bare mention of what it actually is.

The rest of the day passes without major incident. Nana is down in the cellar for most of the day while you and Max do your best to avoid each other. Any time you cross paths there’s usually a snippy comment or two passed between you, but things stay mostly civil.

You occupy yourself by attending to the things around the farmhouse that Nana can’t do or finds more difficult at her older age. You’re pleased that Max stays out of your way, not wanting him to mansplain everything to you. Changing a tire on the lawn mower is well within your skillset, thank you.

Nana comes up from the cellar around dinner time, shaking her head slightly. No luck. She keeps her more important books down there in a small temperature and moisture controlled storage area to keep them safe from harm. When you were a child it was also to keep your nose out of things that were far too gruesome for you to handle yet.

Despite your protests as a child, you’re glad she kept them locked away until you were ready. You still shudder a bit thinking of the firsthand account from a shapeshifter that you’d read in one of them – the vivid detail they’d gone into describing the way it feels to have bones shift and grind, to tear away skin and muscle that should no longer be there. It was enough to give you nightmares for a month.

The next two days that follow are more of the same. You’re starting to feel disheartened, taking up research of your own to try and find this elusive sigil and its intended use. Max is less than pleased. He doesn’t seem to understand that books are unlike the internet and don’t have handy search keys that make things easier to find.

“Have you even tried googling it?”

You look up from the book you’ve been pouring over, glaring at him. It’s clear that he’s bored. There isn’t all that much for him to do here and your suggestion that he help research had been met with a derisive laugh. He’s leaning against a column of the porch, tossing an apple you grabbed for a snack back and forth between his hands.

“Have I even- yes, I have. It’s not exactly easy to search for when I have very few keywords to work with. Do you even know how many sigils and wards involve circles and triangles?”

The apple stops moving. “No.”

“Basically all of them,” you reply and bury your head back into your text. “Now make yourself useful or fuck off.”

Instead of a witty comeback Max wanders off the porch, with your apple, aimlessly walking around the farmhouse grounds. It’s frustrating how easily he distracts you. You’re sure to not make it obvious, but you can’t keep your eyes off of him. Since staying here he’s been wearing more casual clothes instead of the suits, Nana offering him an old pair of boots of your father’s, and it almost looks like he could fit in here. It would, that is, if he didn’t flinch at every chicken that comes just a bit too close to him. A perfect piece of blackmail for later.

About ten minutes after you’ve kicked Max off the porch, you hear Nana calling for you. She’s in the living room, three books splayed out on the table before her.

“What is it?”

Nana looks up and furrows her brow. “Where’s your vampire?” she asks.

“He’s not my vampire,” you protest.

“Semantics,” Nana waves. “Go get him.”

You’re hopeful this is good news – that Nana uncovered something in her research where you’d been unsuccessful with your own. Going back outside, you find Max in the shade of the shed, poking at a clump of lichen working its way up a worn board.

“Come on, Dracula. We’re going inside.”

Max wrinkles his nose at you. “That’s insensitive. And I told you before, I’m not some lapdog for you to order around.” He continues to pick at the fungus, letting flakes gently drift to the dirt below. You don’t know what happened to your apple.

You huff at him. He’s so... petulant. “If you want to know what Nana found you will,” you tell him.

He perks up visibly at that. You imagine you’d shared a similar expression at seeing Nana in the living room. It seems like there’s finally a light at the end of the tunnel. An answer to what you’ve done and how to fix it so that you and Max could go on your own merry, separate, ways. Being stuck with him for any longer than you have to does not sound like your idea of a good time.

Nana is sitting in her chair by the time you return, reading glasses on with her multi-color beaded chain dangling from the arms. You’re quick to grab your spot on the couch, not giving Max the chance to steal it from you again.

“What did you find?” you ask, eager to know why she’d called you so urgently.

Max is perched against the other end of the couch, half sitting on the armrest with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression is stern, but you can tell he’s just as anxious as you are from the consistent drum of his fingers on his bicep.

"I found Prudence's sigil. Would you prefer the good news or the bad news first?” Nana asks.

You feel your stomach drop. “Good first.” Whatever the bad news is, you need to hear something positive beforehand.

“I know what the sigil is.” That’s comforting at least. Having it identified can go a long way in the world of research. At the very least it can set you on the correct path instead of chasing down every possible lead. You expect Nana to continue, to tell you whatever other good news there is. The pause endures though and it’s clear that’s the extent of it.

“What is it?” you ask.

Nana takes the book in her hands and holds it out to you and Max. “It’s meant to be for protection.”

Max’s eyes narrow on the page. You’d like to make a joke saying how surprised you are that he can read, but now isn’t exactly the time. “What do you mean, meant to be?”

“In its original use it protected the spell caster and one other. The two triangles represent the two being protected, the circle is the shield around them, and the line binds all three together.”

Your eyes trace over the lines on the page, putting the pieces together as Nana explains them. It makes sense. Used properly it likely protected from a variety of dangers, supernatural and otherwise. It’s like a walking protection ward that follows the people rather than an object. It’s sweet in a way – trusting another enough that one would willingly enter this bond.

You’re not sure what you’ve done using this with a vampire instead of another human.

Nana pulls the book back. It’s obvious to you that she’s trying to figure out how to phrase the next part. You fear that you already have an inkling as to what she’s going to say and you hope you aren’t right. You consider praying despite not being particularly religious.

She settles on the blunt approach. “You bonded your souls together.”

Both you and Max are taken aback by that, eyes going wide. “He’s a vampire, he doesn’t have a soul,” you immediately protest.

“Not in a literal sense but he still has a sort of life force around him. You know how this works, child. Anything that’s up and moving has an energy you can tap into, unalive or not.”

She’s right. You know she’s right and still you don’t want to believe it. You bound yourself to him? It’s absurd in every sense of the word. Somehow this little sigil, almost overly simplistic in design, has changed the course of your life forever. Now you know why you didn’t write out what it was all those years ago. You never thought you’d use it.

“So why don’t I just push through the pain and kill her? Our souls wouldn’t be bonded and then I’m free to do and eat what and who I want again,” Max says.

“Are you just skipping over the part of that where I’m dead?” you ask, blood boiling.

“Details, toots.”

“My life is not details, you fucking ass.” You don’t even think twice about swearing in front of Nana, getting up from your seat and crowding Max’s personal space. If he wanted to kill you he could try. You’d love nothing more than to see him cower from the splitting pain that’s guaranteed to torment him if he tries to hurt you.

Max doesn’t back down, but he also doesn’t make a move towards you. He’s waiting for his answer before he does anything other than talk.

Nana’s not pleased with either of you. “Knock it off. You’re not killing my granddaughter and there’s nothing you can do to him, child.” Her voice is stern, cleaving between you both like a sharp knife. You continue to glare at one another, but you both back down. The threat of Nana’s wrath is far more terrifying than each other.

“It wouldn’t work anyway,” Nana continues. “I’m almost certain that if she dies then you will too.”

Your staring contest breaks, turning and speaking in unison to address Nana. “What?”

She sighs, picking up one of the other books she brought up from the cellar and begins to read. “To all those who use this sigil be wary, for the protection it grants may also become your undoing. Should one of you die from causes other than natural, the other will also perish.”

She peers over her glasses at you and takes in your reaction. You’ve fallen back onto the couch cushions, disbelieving at her words. There’s no way you ever thought this would be a good sigil to use. The risk is far too great and now you’ve used it with a member of the living dead. How the hell does that work?

Nana allows you both a moment to overcome the initial shock. “I’m unsure what your death would do Max, as technically you’re already dead. Prudence’s, however, would certainly mean your end as well.”

“That doesn’t explain why I can’t hurt her or others without my brain tearing itself apart,” Max says. He raises a good point. Is it some sort of effect due to the nature of the sigil? Has it worked in reverse, preventing him from attacking to protect others? It’s yet another mystery laid out before you to solve. Something tells you it’s going to be even more difficult than uncovering the sigil was.

“I’m not sure. Couldn’t find anything in these books about using this sigil with a vampire.” You consider the books laid out before you. Three books out of Nana’s hundreds that mention the sigil and all of them are from the cellar. This doesn’t bode well for any sort of continued research. It’s a red flag screaming at you that you’re going to have a difficult time finding anything else on the damn thing.

“So I’m stuck with her,” Max says.

“Yes, you’re stuck with my lovely granddaughter,” Nana confirms, a trace of annoyance laced in her words.

You can’t do this. This is not how this was supposed to go. Nana or you were supposed to find the sigil, break it, and then you’d never have to see Max again. He would go on to live a long immortal life or a short one if hunters found him, and you would continue on with your own mortal one. You were not meant to be tethered to him for the rest of your natural life.

The crowded farmhouse suddenly feels too small, too oppressive, and you need to get out. Need to do something that allows you to feel even the slightest bit in control of your own destiny. You frantically get up from the couch and run outside, ignoring Nana’s calls after you.

Without your jacket on the cool autumn air is a shock to your system. You ignore it and press forward, trying to get somewhere you can think straight. Maybe when you get back you’ll learn this was all just some big mistake. A misunderstanding of the texts or some missed passage explaining how to break the bond once it’s been formed. Certainly you aren’t the first two to want to sever this tie.

You don’t even make it off the porch before Max is behind you, grabbing onto your wrist to prevent you from going any further. There’s no yell of pain from him and the surprise from that stops you more than his grip. Max pays it no mind, squaring you with a serious look.

“Where are you headed, angel?” It’s the softest you’ve ever heard him speak.

You pull your arm back, glaring at him. “Somewhere away from you.”

Max hardens again. “I’m not the one who got us into this mess.”

Technically he’s right, but you’re pissed and you’re not going to let him think he’s won this fight. There’s plenty of blame to go around. “Excuse me? It never would have happened if it weren’t for you trying to kill Evan,” you accuse.

“You didn’t have to try so hard to save him. The world would be better off without him.” You go to protest, only for Max to cut you off. “Don’t pretend, sweet cheeks, I know you hated him too.”

Fine. He had you there. You didn’t like the self-important little twerp. So what? “Yeah well, that’s not any reason to let someone die.”

You sit down on the porch’s top step, feeling equal parts embarrassed and annoyed. With your mind clear it’s hard to believe that you’d been so stupid as to use that sigil without knowing what it was. In the moment it made sense – chock full of adrenaline and fighting through the fog in your mind from the mild brain trauma. It had been your only answer. You desperately wish it hadn’t been.

Max sits down beside you, making you grimace. He lets out a sigh and says, “Look, angel, it seems like we’re stuck together until we can figure this out. Can we call a truce until then?”

He extends his hand, offering it for you to shake. You stare at it, weighing your options. You could leave him hanging, making things more contentious than they already are or… you could shake it. That doesn’t mean you have to like him, you just have to work with him. You think you can manage that.

“Fine,” you say and shake his hand. “Consider us partners.”

Hopefully you won’t come to regret this.

I couldn't help myself and made a little moodboard for Nana's house 💕 (Nana doesn't have a dog but the vibes of that room were perfect)

Taglist: @castleamc @sharkbait77 @librariantothejedi @janebby @spideysimpossiblegirl @roxypeanut @paperbag33 @escapades-to-rivendell @thisshipwillsail316 @lellowberry @danidrabbles ​ @stevie75 @tintinn16 @doin-stuff @honestly-shite @hdghty @cannedsoupsucks @max--phillips @salome-c @serini-ty @beautyagegoodnesssize @greeneyedblondie44 @snow30285 @fic-appointment @kirsteng42 @athalien @radiowallet @ezrasbirdie @inkededucatednnerdy @starlightmornings @beskarboobs @kesskirata @tacticalsparkles @missminkylove @niki_xie @gaiuswrites @thirddeadlysin @kotemorons @tothejedi @tuskens-mando @nakhudanyx @quietpainter @spanishmossmagnolia @kirsteng42 @fanficmybeloved @dihra-vesa @let-the-imaginationflow @silver-pieces @girlofchaos @readsalot73 @sergeantbannerbarnes @ezrasbirdie @liviiii98

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

[outercrasis]

Morning Pancakes

Bonded drabble inspired by this week's Writer Wednesday prompt

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

Rating/Word Count: T / 340

Warnings: blink and you miss it reference to wax play, language

A/N: So sorry the next chapter is taking so long - please take this little drabble in the meantime!! Big thank you to @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape for hosting these 💕

“Max? What the fuck is that?”

You sit up on your elbows, looking at the plate Max set down on the nightstand beside you. There’s a small pile of mini pancakes, little blue and white birthday candles shoved into them haphazardly. You have to admit, the pancakes themselves look pretty good. Only a couple of them are burnt and a few have lost integrity due to the candles, but it’s overall edible. You’ll just have to pick off the dots of wax from the dripping candles before you eat.

You pull your legs out of the way, allowing Max to sit on the edge of the mattress without crushing you. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, not quite looking at you or the food. “You mentioned that you missed Nana’s cooking so I thought I’d try to make you something. I know it’s been a while since we’ve been back there.”

Maybe it’s because you just woke up and the world isn’t quite centered yet or maybe it’s because you said that at dinner three nights ago and never expected Max to do anything about it, but for just a moment you feel as though you could cry. It’s absurd how soft and sweet this menace of a vampire can be when he wants. There’s just one thing about his touching gesture you don’t understand.

Arching an eyebrow you ask, “And the candles?”

A smile breaks out across Max’s face. “Happy birthday?”

“You know it’s not my birthday, idiot. Come here.” You pull on his hand and Max diligently follows, covering your body with his own.

“What about your pancakes?” he pouts. “I worked hard on those, Prue.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, placing a kiss against his scruffy cheek. “Help me work up an appetite first then.”

His eyes gleam, reaching over to pull a candle from the pancake stack. You know you should have seen something like this coming. You’re not sure you have any regrets though.

“I think I can do that.”

A/N: Birthday candles should not be used for responsible wax play - they burn at inconsistent temperatures and could end up hurting your partner. This is fantasy and not a guide! Please seek out proper and legitimate sources if this is something you’re interested in.

#hehe im posting it early #for my time anyway #writer wednesday #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x prudence walker #max phillips x original female character #bonded #crasis writes

[outercrasis]

Oh what's that? Is it- a fic announcement? You bet it is.

Bonded

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

Paranormal Investigation AU

Summary: Prudence travels the country investigating paranormal claims and reports. When you get a call about a possible vampire you don't hesitate to check it out.

What you don't anticipate are things going sideways and getting yourself bound to the vampire for the foreseeable future. If you're lucky, you'll make it out of this ordeal alive.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 18+ (pls see my A/N regarding explicit content)

Warnings: it's a story based on the supernatural and a vampire so things are bound to get bloody, messy, and a bit dark at times. There will be more specific/individual warnings for each chapter, but if you don't like spooky and/or violent things this probably isn't the fic for you.

A/N: Hello there! I am super excited to announce this fic, I've been hard at work on it and to finally be sharing it with all of you is thrilling! First I want to say thanks to @castleamc for listening to me ramble and share random stuff about this fic, it has been very much appreciated, ily bestie 💕

This fic is mostly born out of my love for the supernatural/paranormal. I've been fascinated by it for as long as I can remember, watching Ghost Hunters with my mom as a kid. You can quote me as having said that if money was of no object my dream job would be to travel the US/world investigating paranormal claims, whether they be spirits, cryptids, demons, aliens, or whatever else.

Writing this has more or less become my excuse to fall down internet rabbit holes where the paranormal is concerned. I've also been wanting to write a more linear fic as well as something with Max so this just seemed like a match made in heaven (is that ironic? maybe).

I went with a Named Reader/OFC, as I wanted to flesh out the character a bit more, but I'll be writing in second person so insert away if you please! I really struggled to decide if I wanted this fic to be completely reader insert or an OFC and I think this is a happy medium for me. (I'd be remiss to not shout out @wyn-n-tonic Frizzy Universe & @radiowallet Poorly Wired Circuit for giving me the confidence to write the character this way💕)

There won't be a regular schedule for posting chapters as I'm still working my other series while I write this and I'll need to do research for (most) chapters. Life can easily get in the way of doing things like research and I don't want to make any promises I can't keep!

Regarding E rating: This fic is going to be a slow burner, so if you're expecting smut right away, I'm sorry but you won't find it here. It'll be there when it's natural for the story, not just tossed in for the sake of things (not that I think anyone else does that - I don't, I just want to make things clear here). I'm still rating it as M before that as I don't think it's suited for a general audience and I don't feel comfortable rating it lower when I know there will be sexual content in the storyline.

I'm very excited to start posting this fic and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do writing it!

Coming soon!

(In the meantime, check out the spotify playlist I made for this fic!)

Everything/Max Phillips taglist: @castleamc @sharkbait77 @librariantothejedi @janebby @spideysimpossiblegirl @roxypeanut @paperbag33 @escapades-to-rivendell   @thisshipwillsail316  @lellowberry @danidrabbles ​ @stevie75 @tintinn16 @doin-stuff

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this, please fill out my taglist here or reply directly to this post! (This will help me stay organized and not miss tagging you!)

If you'd like to be removed from this taglist, no hard feelings, just let me know however is most comfortable for you 💕

#max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x ofc #max phillips x original female character #max phillips x prudence walker #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips fanfic #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #max phillips au #mandocrasis fic #bonded